Scott Pratt - Injustice for all

He coughs a couple of times, then continues. “If one of the samples in this bag matches the baby, somebody’s going to have a lot of explaining to do. So what do you have for me?”

“A couple of coffee cups from the trash can in Mooney’s office, and a soft drink can from Tanner’s desk. I hope Tanner didn’t have anything to do with this.”

“He may not have. Even if it turns out he’s the father, Hannah could have been trying to blackmail his daddy.”

“Hannah wouldn’t have blackmailed anybody. There’s no way.”

“You’re sure about that. You knew her so well that you can say that without any doubt.”

“I’m sure.”

Bates drains his coffee, stands, and picks up the bag off the table.

“We’ll see, Brother Dillard. I’ll let you know what the lab boys say as soon as I can.”

An hour later I’m back at home, sitting on the edge of the bed, cleaning Caroline’s wound. She’d barely spoken to me after my clandestine dinner with Rita, and she hasn’t said a word to me this morning.

“Something wrong?” I ask as I begin to swab.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

“No, Joe. Everything’s just peachy. I love lying here while you dig around inside this horrific piece of trash that used to be my breast. I love the smell, especially. Don’t you? It’s so sexy.”

“It isn’t bad, baby. I don’t mind it.”

“You don’t mind it? That’s nice, Joe. I’m so glad you don’t mind it.”

Her tone is heavy with sarcasm, which is definitely a bad sign, because Caroline rarely resorts to sarcasm. I continue to work on the wound quietly, wondering whether she’s going to tell me what’s on her mind or whether she’ll need prodding. I don’t have to wait long.

“Where were you last night?” she asks.

There are things I don’t tell her occasionally, but I’ve never been able to lie to her. I opt for a compromise.

“I had dinner with a friend.”

“Which friend?”

“An old friend. What difference does it make?”

“And what about the other night? Just like last night. I came home and you were gone. All the note said was, ‘Back in a while.’ ”

“I went to see somebody. What’s wrong with you?”

“And this morning? You left early, but you didn’t go to the gym.”

“I had a cup of coffee with Bates.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t work for the district attorney anymore, so why would you have coffee with the sheriff?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t have anything else to do.”

“Stop it!”

She’s upset now. She turns on her side to face me and pushes my hand away from her breast. She grabs me by the wrist and squeezes.

“Why can’t you give me a straight answer? What are you hiding?”

“I’m not hiding anything, Caroline.”

“Stop lying to me!”

“I’m not lying.”

“Are you having an affair?”

I nearly fall off the edge of the bed. I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Caroline and I have been married for more than twenty years, and being unfaithful to her has never entered my mind.

“Have you gone crazy? Of course I’m not having an affair.”

“Then where were you last night?”

“I told you. I had dinner with a friend.”

“Which friend, damn it. Which friend?”

I lower my eyes. I have to tell her.

“Rita Jones.”

She throws her legs over the side of the bed and stomps off toward the bathroom. “I knew it! I knew it!”

I get up slowly and follow her. Explaining dinner with Rita to her means I’m going to have to explain a lot more. I don’t really know why I haven’t told her about Hannah. I suppose it’s because I just didn’t want to upset her. She’s been dealing with cancer for such a long time now that I’ve probably become overly protective of her. But I should know better. She knows me so well.

The bathroom door is locked. I can hear her sobbing inside.

“Caroline, it isn’t what you think.”

“Stay away from me! I hate you!”

“Open the door and let me explain.”

“Explain what? How you’re fucking another woman?”

“Hannah’s dead, Caroline. I’ve been trying to help Bates find out who killed her. Rita helped us out, that’s all. We needed DNA samples from a couple of people in the office, and I called her and asked her if she’d collect some things for me. I met her last night and picked them up. That’s all it was. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now. Please open the door.”

The crying stops, and a few seconds later I hear her feet shuffling across the tile on the other side of the door.

“Hannah’s dead?” she says weakly.

“Bates found her the other day. He’s not going to tell anyone until we figure out what happened.”

“I knew she was dead. I knew it the night you told me she was gone.”

“Open the door, Caroline. Please?”

“Why did you have dinner with Rita? Why couldn’t you just pick up whatever it was she had?”

“You know how she is. I bought her dinner and took her home, that’s all. I swear it.”

“You took her home?”

“She was too drunk to drive.”

“Did she make a pass at you?”

“Several.”

“You promised me you wouldn’t keep things from me anymore, Joe. You promised.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t blame you, you know,” she says through the door. “I mean, I’d kill you, but I wouldn’t blame you. I’m a freak.”

“I love you, Caroline. Nothing will ever change that.”

I hear the lock click, and the door opens slowly. She’s standing there with her robe hanging open and tearstains on her cheeks. She’s so beautiful, so vulnerable, that it nearly moves me to tears.

“You promise you love me the way I am?” she says. “Mutilated…”

I step toward her and take her in my arms.

“I love you just like you are, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Anita White walked quickly through the front door of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation’s forensic laboratory in Knoxville. The same day Tommy Miller was arrested, Dillard had left her a message on her cell phone saying he’d talked to the night clerk at the convenience store. The clerk had identified Tommy. He also said Tommy slept off a drunk in the parking lot that night and didn’t leave until after five in the morning. The next day, Anita learned that the DNA sample they obtained from Tommy Miller didn’t match the DNA the lab technicians had taken from the cigarette butts found near Judge Green’s body. With each passing hour, Anita’s belief that they’d arrested the wrong person intensified.

She’d been hurt and angry following her conversation with Dillard at the restaurant, but after hearing his message, reading the DNA report, and spending a sleepless night deep in thought, she realized Dillard was right. She should have voiced her concerns over Harmon’s tactics during the interrogation. She should have helped the boy. But as she told Dillard, what was done was done. She couldn’t undo the confession, but she could keep on working, keep on digging. If someone else killed the judge, Anita intended to find him.

She walked into a small office on the third floor. The office was occupied by Harold Teller, a forensic computer analyst. Teller had called Anita early that morning to say he was finished with his analysis of Judge Green’s computer and would be mailing a hard copy of his report. When Anita asked him whether there was anything interesting in the report, his reply was, “Several things,” so Anita asked Teller if she could meet with him later in the day. She’d driven the ninety miles to Knoxville in just over an hour.