Kathryn Shay - Tell Me No Lies

He stopped short at the headline on section B. Fifteen Year Anniversary of Tragic Accident. Shit, small towns. They never forgot nothing. You couldn’t make one single mistake without it following you for life. He was going back there to get Trixie, but he planned to leave that hick town in the dust. Morbid curiosity made him read the article.

Fifteen years ago today, Franklin R. Hamilton ran a red light and drove his car into the back end of a Chevy truck, killing Mrs. Serena Summers and her daughter, Joanna, age five. Shock filled our small community when it was discovered that both Hamilton and his companion, Tessa Lawrence, had been smoking marijuana and drinking alcohol. An undisclosed amount of cocaine was also found in the trunk of the car.

Frankie stopped reading. Tessa? Who was she? For a minute he didn’t remember. Then he did—her sister called her that. Frankie had given her a nickname. To him, she was always Trixie. His Trixie.

Hamilton was sentenced to twenty years in a federal penitentiary for negligent homicide and possession of a controlled substance, and Lawrence received three years in a federal prison camp on the possession charge. Lawrence was released on probation after serving eighteen months. Hamilton is up for parole as this article is being written. He refused to talk to reporters at the prison. The husband and father of the slain family could not be reached for comment.

The reporter then went on to enumerate statistics about drunk drivers and increased penalties for DUI and drug possession, and ended with a comment about never being able to make up for such an atrocity.

Screw them, Frankie logged off the Web site. His life was gonna be just fine, as soon as he could get out of here and be with Trixie again.

Hmm. It was time for another letter from her.

DAN WANTED A CONVICTION on Eddie Cramden in the worst way. As the defendant sat in the witness chair, wearing a spiffy suit his rich father had most likely bought him and his hair slicked back in a ponytail, Dan had to curb the vehement urge to nail the guy. He forced himself to wait until his assistant district attorney brought in the new evidence that had come to light last night.

Cramden was on trial for a VOP, violation of probation, and Dan was losing his case. The witness who was to testify that Cramden had completed a drug transaction had recanted, so Cramden was off the hook not only for that crime, but for the VOP, which had been hinging on the drug deal. For his entire career in the D.A.’s office, Dan had fought to get drug dealers and users off the street and away from innocents, like his family.

The judge sat behind her oak bench, her face inscrutable, and nodded to him. “Mr. Logan, would you like to cross-examine the witness?”

In his peripheral vision, Dan saw Karen Jackson, his assistant D.A., enter the courtroom carrying a folder and, better yet, smiling.

“Yes, Your Honor, I would. Might I have a minute to confer with my colleague?”

“Do you want a recess?”

“I don’t think so. I need to confirm the relevance of a question I have for Mr. Cramden.”

In her no-nonsense way, Karen handed him the folder. “Got it. K-Mart store, last year. The amount was low, so he pleaded guilty to a noncriminal offense of disorderly conduct when he appeared before a judge at the arraignment. Though at that time he was indeed on probation, he was never prosecuted, therefore no one got him on the VOP. His daddy managed to make the charge go away.”

“Hooray.” Dan strode to the witness stand and stood in front of Cramden. The guy was at ease because he’d been informed before the proceedings got under way that Dan had no case. Which had been true up until a few minutes ago. “Mr. Cramden, were you ever arrested for shoplifting?”

“Objection!” Allison Markham, the defense attorney, was on her feet. A partner in a prestigious firm, she was one of the best criminal lawyers in town. “Mr. Cramden is not on trial for shoplifting.”

“Mr. Logan, are you going somewhere with this?” Judge Wicker asked.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Sweat began to bead on Cramden’s face, and he frowned over at his father, who was paying Allison’s enormous fees. “I didn’t get a conviction for shoplifting.”

Dan held up the file. “I have here a document that shows you were involved in an incident at a K-Mart store.”

Cramden’s smiled disappeared. “That was nothing. I didn’t get charged with a crime.”

“Approach, Your Honor.” In her blue power suit, Allison was already marching to the bench. “What’s going on, Dan?”

“Your client was picked up at a local discount store for shoplifting. He stole a ten-dollar fishing pole.”

“Was he arrested?” the judge asked.

“No, he got off with noncriminal disorderly conduct.” He nodded back to the rows of spectator seats where the indulgent father sat. “A deal was made.”

Judge Wicker’s eyes narrowed on Dan. “You know, Mr. Logan, any case involving prosecution for ten dollars is liable to be thrown out of court.”

“Maybe not. Given the security tape and the testimony of the supervisor we just obtained, which wasn’t used before, a judge might reconsider opening the case. If he does, even prosecution for the incident constitutes a violation of probation.”

Though a judge might not consider opening the case, the defense couldn’t afford to take the chance that Cramden would go back to jail for ten years.

Allison’s face flamed. “I know nothing about this! The D.A. withheld evidence.”

“That came to us only minutes ago.”

“This is a witch hunt.”

Judge Wicker bristled. “Violation of probation, no matter how minute, is something my court takes seriously, Ms. Markham. I’m adjourning for today in hopes you and Mr. Logan can come to some agreement so we don’t have to go through a full-fledged trial.”

Stifling a grin, Dan knew he had the guy.

Allison came to the same conclusion. By four, they had a plea bargain and Cramden was headed back to prison for three years. Happy, Dan sauntered to his office. He was meeting Tessa at the library at five and they were going to the lake for dinner. Nick was taking the girls to SeaBreeze, a local amusement park.

Dan dropped down behind his desk. Tessa. Now that he had a minute to think, he played back what had happened in the week since her car accident. Most of the bruises on her face had faded, but the ones on her legs and butt were still nasty. Poor baby. Her mood had improved, too, and she was no longer blaming herself for the crash. He’d waited until last night to bring up the question he’d had about her past….

“Tess, honey, sit with me a minute.”

She’d been standing at the kitchen counter, and he had taken a chair at the table. “I should finish up the salad.”

“In a minute. The kids are watching a video. I’d like to talk to you about something.”

She had sat down. “What’s going on?”

“When you were in the emergency room, I overheard you and Janey talking about the car accident you had when you were nineteen. You said something about still feeling guilty.”

Her hands had clenched the skirt she wore. “Did I? I don’t remember.”

“Tess, love, you can tell me anything. We all make mistakes.”

There had been a wounded look in her eyes. “I didn’t have a happy childhood, and I had a worse adolescence.” She had drawn in a breath. “One of the reasons I didn’t want a relationship with you all those years ago was because you were always prying into my past. I hate it when you do this.”

The accusation had stung. Sure, Tessa had been more than wary of his attention when she worked at Chico’s Diner and waited on him. She refused—innumerable times—to date him. He didn’t remember one of the reasons being his interest in her past, though.