J. Jance - Betrayal of Trust

“You wanted to see me?” she asked cheerfully.

When Gizzy caught a glimpse of Mel and me sitting there at the picnic table with her parents, she hesitated. Her air of unquestioning confidence faltered a little.

“Mom,” she protested. “These people are cops. What are they doing here?”

“They came to talk to you, Giselle,” Marsha said.

It was June. Morning cloud cover had burned off during the course of the afternoon. Outside temperatures hovered in the low eighties, but Governor Longmire’s voice was pure ice.

“I’ve spoken to both your father and to Monica,” Marsha added. “They both agreed that due to the seriousness of the situation they would abide by my decision, and I have made it.”

“What situation?” Gizzy asked, feigning innocence.

“Ron has been taken into custody,” Marsha announced, making no effort to soften the blow. Gizzy’s sudden sharp intake of breath showed it had landed.

“Initial charges have to do with assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest,” Marsha continued, “but my understanding is that there are far more serious charges coming-something about the murder of a girl named Rachel Camber and about the fire at Janie’s House last night.”

“I don’t know anyone named Rachel Camber,” Gizzy protested. It was a halfhearted denial. I didn’t buy it; neither did anyone else.

“She was from Packwood,” Mel inserted quietly. “You may have known her as Amber Wilson.”

Giselle Longmire suddenly looked stricken, but only because the seriousness of her situation was finally beginning to dawn on her. “You mean she’s really dead?”

“Yes,” Marsha replied coldly. “Like on the video clip I found hidden in your underwear drawer, as opposed to the pretend dead in the video we found on Josh’s cell phone.”

Gizzy stood very still and said nothing.

“Right this moment the authorities don’t know what all is involved, who did what, or how much you participated,” Marsha continued. “If we’re lucky, you’ll be considered an accessory after the fact. I’m telling you straight out that though you may be my daughter, you are not above the law. You could do yourself some good and speed the process considerably if you’d simply tell these investigators what you know.”

Gizzy looked at her mother incredulously. “You think I should just talk to them? Shouldn’t I, like, have a lawyer present or something?”

Marsha stood up.

“That’s entirely up to you,” she said. “If you want to ask for an attorney, that’s certainly your prerogative, but if you want our support-Gerry’s and my support, your father’s and Monica’s support-then you’ll grow up and start taking responsibility for whatever part you played in all this.

“That means you need to come clean and to tell the truth. If you’re not prepared to do that, you must understand that your father and I are fully prepared to cut you loose. Yes, we love you, but don’t believe everything they tell you about unconditional love. There are conditions. We refuse to squander anything more on someone who has no respect for us or for our values.

“If you demand an attorney, fine, but be prepared to have one that is appointed for you by the courts. We won’t be paying for it; neither will your father or Monica. Gerry and I took Josh into our home thinking we’d be able to give him a better life than what he’d had before. Your behavior and that of your friends took that chance away from him. Zoe has always looked up to you, but she’s evidently known all along what you and Ron were doing to Josh. She finally told Gerry about that ugly texting nonsense this afternoon. She kept quiet about it out of misplaced loyalty to you, but the secret has been eating away at her for months, tearing her apart. So you’ve destroyed Josh, you’ve harmed your sister, and you’ve ruined me as well. As of tomorrow at this time, I will no longer be governor-all because of you.”

“But. .” Gizzy began.

“No buts!” Marsha mowed over her daughter’s attempted protest and stormed on. “You need to figure this out for yourself, Gizzy. You can cooperate with the cops in the feeble hope that your cooperation will buy you mercy from a judge or jury somewhere down the line. Or you can deny everything and trust that Ron Miller won’t sell you down the river. If I were you, though, I don’t think I’d count on that. We’re all prepared to stick by you, but only if you do the right thing. If not? We’re done.”

Stunned with disbelief, Gizzy Longmire stared at her mother as Marsha stood up. Then Marsha reached down and helped her husband to his feet.

“Let’s go,” she said to him, pocketing her cigarettes. “We need to get back to our guests. We’ve left them alone long enough.”

“But wait,” Gizzy wailed as Marsha and Gerry started toward the house. “What’s going to happen to me?”

Marsha stopped long enough to look at her.

“I have no idea,” Governor Longmire said, shaking her head. “It’s in your hands now. It seems to me you should have thought about that a long time ago.”

On Gerry’s way past his stepdaughter he paused long enough to lay a consoling hand on her shoulder. “Your mother’s right, you know,” he said softly. “If you want us to stick by you, we will, but you’ve crossed over the line, betrayed our trust. It’s time for you to do the right thing.”

With that, Governor Longmire and Gerry Willis disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Gizzy standing there dumbstruck watching them go.

Once the kitchen door closed behind Gerry and Marsha, what followed was something my mother would have called “a pregnant pause.” In all my years as a cop, I had never seen a suspect’s parents step up the way Marsha and Gerry just had. And the fact that the other set of parental units was evidently on board and in total agreement with this unflinching bit of tough love was even more astonishing. In my experience, a crisis of this kind in divorced families usually devolves into a circular firing squad of finger-pointing.

As for Gizzy? I didn’t know if she would go ahead and demand an attorney, as she had every right to do with or without parental approval, or if she would run for the hills.

“Is it true?” she asked finally. “Is Ron really under arrest?”

Mel nodded. “Yes, he’s really under arrest. Usually, in these situations, the suspect who talks first is the one who gets the best deal. Not that Mr. Beaumont and I can make deals,” Mel added, “because we can’t.”

“How bad will it be for me?” Gizzy asked.

Mel shrugged. “I have no idea,” she answered. “That depends on what you’ve done, how much you know, and how much you can help us.”

“Are you placing me under arrest?”

“Not right now. We’re only taking you in for questioning.”

“Will I have to walk through the house in handcuffs?”

Mel’s handcuffs had disappeared much earlier in the afternoon when Ron Miller was locked in that capitol cop’s squad car. I still had mine. We could have used those.

“We’ll go around the outside of the house instead of through it so as not to disturb your parents’ guests,” Mel said. “But I don’t think handcuffs are necessary at this time, do you?”

“No,” Gizzy said. “They’re not.”

Mel took Gizzy’s arm and started to lead her around the side of the house, back to the driveway. I was going to follow, but then thought better of it.

“I need to do one more thing,” I said. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

I ducked back into the house through the kitchen.

When I stepped inside, the cook stopped what she was doing, placed both hands on her hips, glared at me, and shook her head.