Jason Pinter - The Fury

"The killer must have used gloves," I said. "Some thing that didn't disturb fingerprints that were already on the weapon. Human skin has oils, that's what leaves the marks. Dry rubber gloves, if used carefully, would leave whatever marks were already on the weapon.

Whoever it was not only knew enough about firearms to keep those fingerprints intact, knew him well enough to shoot him in the back of the head from close range, and was cold-blooded enough to shoot him again after blowing his brains all over the wall."

"They say keep your friends close but your enemies closer," Amanda said. "Stephen's killer must have been somebody he knew."

I noticed my father sitting there, his face looking older than ever, fear gripping his whole body. He was waiting for us to say something, to offer some piece of advice or solace that would prove he was innocent. The story he told us, assuming it was true, would have to be proven in court. But from what Detective Makhoulian had told me, Helen Gaines had disappeared. As of right now she was the only person who could corroborate my father's story. And she was a woman who certainly owed him nothing.

"Sign the waiver, Dad," I said grimly, gritting my teeth, trying to force him to see that his only option would be to fight nobly. The longer he held out, the more public opinion would tilt away from his favor. "Go to New York. We can do more for you there than we can here."

"I don't want to go to jail," my father said. His words were whispers, and if there was ever a moment my heart might have bled for this man, it was now.

"Mr. Parker," Amanda said. "James. All we can do right now is try to prove your innocence. We can't do that here. Henry's right. We'll find you a lawyer. We'll help you."

He looked at both of us. I could sense gratitude trying to squeeze its way through his hardened veins. Instead,

James Parker simply nodded and said, "I'll sign it."

Amanda nodded, smiled. I couldn't show that emotion, that happiness. My father had been lying to me his whole life. Innocent or guilty, I had a hard time mustering pity for him. Many times over the years I'd hoped someone would lock him up for one of his crimes. As a young boy I'd wished I was strong enough to stand up to him. It didn't matter how far I went, how much I distanced myself. His sins followed me wher ever I went.

Amanda got up and knocked on the door. A cop opened it, keeping his eyes on James Parker. As we left the room, saw Captain Whalin talking to two uniformed officers. When he saw us, Whalin came over, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well?" he said.

"He'll sign the waiver," I said. "Let's get this over with and get him back to New York."

Whalin let out a pleased sigh. "I'm glad to hear that.

Last thing we need is another body taking up a jail cell we can't spare. He still needs to appear before the judge tomorrow morning, but that's a formality. I'll call the

NYPD. We'll have the waiver ready for him to sign at tomorrow's hearing, and they'll send officers to escort him back to New York. Then he's all yours. Thanks for talking some sense into him."

Whalin walked away. I was glad to hear he wanted my father out of his hair, it would help the process move faster. I felt Amanda's hand loop through my arm. I put my palm on it. Her skin felt warm.

As we headed toward the exit, I saw a woman sitting in the lobby. Her hair was blond, unnaturally so, as though she kept her hair colorist in good business. She had on a white cotton blouse, simple jewelry. She was teetering, swaying back and forth. Her arms were wrapped around her thin body, one hand covering her mouth. She looked like she was debating between falling over and vomiting. A pair of knitting needles poked out from her handbag. Memories came flooding back. The more he raged, the more she knit. Losing herself in stitches and patterns.

"Mom?" I said, approaching nervously. I hadn't seen her in a long time. That pale, thin body turned around, hand still at her mouth. She cocked her head to one side, trying to determine whether she knew the man standing in front of her.

"Is that…oh my God, is that you, Henry?"

Suddenly she righted herself, ran over as fast as her sensible shoes could carry her. She flung her arms around me and I found myself nearly supporting her entire body weight. She sobbed onto my shoulder as I bit my lip, did everything I could not to break down as well.

"The police…they called me at Spano's house…

What have they done to him?" she wailed. My mother pulled away, looked at me, hoping for some answer, some assurance that this might have been a terrible joke.

"He's going to be okay, Mom," I said, trying to inject belief into that line when deep down there was none.

"It's a big misunderstanding."

"When are they going to let him out? I bought chicken breasts for dinner."

"Mom," I said, "I don't think he'll be back in time for dinner."

"Then when will he be back?"

I looked at Amanda. Her eyes said, What do you want me to do? My mother looked so lost, confused. It wasn't that I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth about my father and Stephen Gaines, it was that for whatever reason, she'd lost the ability to truly under stand just how many wrongs this man had committed toward her. Over the years her defenses had rusted.

Nothing allowed in, no anger, hostility or resentment out. I wondered, now, if my attitude toward him, my anger, was compounded by the lack of hers.

"I don't know when," I said. I took her hand. Held it. She held on to mine, but her eyes were far off, distant, trying to process the situation but clearly failing. To her, the notion of my father being arrested was like him being sent into outer space.

"Well, what do I do?" she said. "Should I wait at home for him to be released?"

"Home is a good idea, Mom," I said. "Do you have money?"

She thought about this. "I don't know our checkingaccount information, but we keep a jar of emergency money in a safe."

"How much is in there?" I asked.

"Five thousand dollars," she said.

"That should be enough for now," I said.

"Mrs. Parker?" Amanda said. My mother turned to her. "My name is Amanda Davies. I'm Henry's…friend.

I'm a lawyer, so please don't talk to anybody you don't know. Don't speak to reporters, don't give anybody money, and only talk to the police if you have a lawyer present. If you need one, tell the detective on the case and he'll help you retain one, free of charge. We'll do our best to get your husband out of this as soon as we can. So put that chicken in the freezer."

"Thank you, dear," my mom said, her eyes twin kling as she smiled at Amanda. "You said you're a friend of Henry's…are you two in college together?"

My mouth opened, but I didn't say anything.

Amanda responded, "Something like that. You're welcome to come to New York with us if-"

"Oh no, I could never do that." It was definitive. I wondered when my mother last left the state.

"Do you want us to, I don't know, come over for dinner?" I asked.

"Oh no," she said fervently. "The house is a godawful mess."

I nodded, felt my eyes begin to sting.

"Then I'll call you as soon as we get back," I said.

"Be strong. We'll sort this out. Remember what Amanda said. Don't talk to strangers, and also don't believe anything anyone says about Dad."

"I know your father," she said sweetly. "If anyone says he did something wrong, they just don't know

James."

"I love you, Mom. It's good to see you." I ap proached, wrapped my arms around her. She hugged me back, fragile, like the tension in her joints might cause them to shatter. When we untangled, I held her hands for an extra moment, then she let them go. Sitting back down, she turned her attention to the ceiling. And we walked away.