Margaret Haffner - A Killing Frost

‘I am serious. Deadly serious.’

Tracy squealed with pain as her arm was twisted behind her back. Cold eyes, empty of compassion and reason, stared into hers.

She shuddered when the gaze shifted, releasing her from her paralysis. As Tracy struggled to free herself, she saw her assailant’s other hand snatch up her new red scarf from the hall table. Before she could even guess the reason, the scarf coiled around her throat.

Her two hands suddenly free, Tracy scrabbled at the choking tie. She struggled as cords of pain tightened around her convulsing lungs. Desperately, she kicked at her attacker’s shins, but she might as well have kicked a mountain. She tried to speak, to say she’d changed her mind, but the tongue protruding from her mouth couldn’t form the words. Red haze misted her sight as her knees buckled. In this world, utter terror was the last thing Tracy felt.

Ed Royce sat in the courtroom with his head in his hands. Beside him, bored but still alert, his guard kept a wary eye on him. At a scarred table in front of him, his lawyer shuffled papers and tried to conceal her anxiety as they waited for the jury to file in. Ed tried to blank out all thoughts and focus on nothing, but pictures kaleidoscoped in his mind. Tracy’s nude, sprawled body … Her distorted and protruding tongue … The colourful splash of the blood red scarf tightened like a garrotte around her slim neck. Handcuffs around his own wrists. His son’s white, agonized face. The quivering jowls of the relentless prosecutor. The revulsion on the faces of the jurors. Dear God, they were going to convict him! He’d never make it in prison. Being kept in gaol while he awaited trial had been bad enough, but the stories he’d heard about the federal prisons … He clenched his teeth and gripped his hair until his knuckles whitened.

He knew he’d blown it in the witness box. He should have heeded his lawyer’s advice and refused to take the stand. Until he’d lost his temper, all they had was circumstantial evidence. He groaned. He’d have plenty of time to work on his self-control while serving a life term for second-degree murder.

Ed shifted slightly in his seat so that he could see some of the spectators filling the rows of seats behind him. Since all the ghouls come out for murder trials – especially ones with a hint of sex – there were only a few empty seats. Even those people talking with their neighbours periodically glanced at him, the accused. He wondered why they bothered. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, not even odd-looking. Without putting his hand to his head, he knew his wavy blond hair looked uncombed – it always did. And his glasses had slid down his nose again. Although he’d lost his incipient paunch in gaol, he still didn’t look like either a hero or a villain. He hated the stares, but the armed policeman by his side ensured he stayed on display like some exhibit in a freak show. Step right up folks! See the two-headed monster, the dog-faced boy, the strangler. He couldn’t bear to see the blood lust in their eyes so he turned back to face the judge’s bench.

Again his thoughts returned to his own testimony. He’d proven the reports of his lightning temper, but at least he hadn’t admitted having a fight with Tracy the night she died. Even under oath he’d denied it and the only person who could have contradicted him was a senile old man who wouldn’t swear the male voice belonged to Ed. Ed sighed. It wasn’t the words he’d said in court, but how he’d said them. His vehemence had made him sound belligerent and unconvincing and the more nervous he got, the more strident his tone became. He buried his head in his hands. What would happen to his son?

Ed’s head jerked up. He hadn’t heard the jury arrive, but there they were, twelve of his peers, solemnly staring at him. He tried to read the verdict on their faces but he couldn’t tell. No one smiled at him. The judge examined him over the frames of his gold-rimmed glasses, then addressed the jury.

‘Foreman, have you reached your verdict?’

The foreman, a stout middle-aged woman sporting a black mole beside her narrow mouth, rose and cleared her throat. She turned her flinty face towards the defendant and Ed saw tombstones in her eyes. He ran a finger under his collar and licked his parched lips as he waited the eternity until she spoke. ‘We have, Your Honour.’ Her voice grated like a rusty padlock in Ed’s ears.

‘And how do you find the accused?’

‘We find the accused not guilty, Your Honour.’

Ed heard the words but they didn’t register until Sue Weldon, his lawyer, squealed with delight. The haggard, hunted look which had inhabited his features for months melted with the dawning of his huge smile. Even before the judge retired, Ed lifted Sue off her feet and swung her around. She giggled as he finally put her down.

‘Where’s Jason?’ he asked. His searching eyes found his fifteen-year-old son struggling through the crowd. Dancing with excitement, Ed waved. ‘Jason, I’m free!’ Jason’s smile mirrored his own as they found and hugged each other.

‘Oh, Dad … it’s over. At last it’s over.’

Ed closed his eyes, absorbing and magnifying Jason’s delight. When they finally eased apart, they glowed.

‘Congratulations, Ed.’ Jason’s grandmother extended her hand but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She’d always been a little wary of her dead daughter’s husband.

Ed touched her fingers. ‘Thank you, Vera. Thanks for looking after Jason.’

The smile finally kindled in her eyes as she put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘I’m always happy to spend time with my Angela’s boy, even under difficult circumstances.’

Ed’s attention was captured by the jury foreman. ‘Congratulations, Mr Royce.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Fitch. Thank you.’ He kissed her cheek. That mole of hers was quite attractive after all, he thought. Wonderful woman. Very perceptive. He wallowed in happiness and relief. Even the sun chose to break through the clouds at this moment, its beams streaming through the window on to the celebrants.

The crowd thinned, leaving only a few people in the courtroom. Ed scanned the faces, ready to share his elation, but his grin froze in place as he caught the eye of Paul Desrochers. The man glared at him and shook his fist. Ed turned away – he didn’t want to deal with the representative of the dead woman’s young son.

Jason tapped his father’s shoulder. ‘Dad? What about that dinner you promised? Can we go celebrate?’

Ed laughed, tilting his face to the sunshine and letting his joy bubble out. ‘You bet. The biggest steaks this side of Alberta.’ He threaded his arms through those of his mother-in-law and his lawyer. ‘Coming, ladies?’

Ed could hear the regular breathing of his son in the other bed as he lay awake in his hotel room. His euphoria had worn off and, while he was still a happy man, he’d come back down to earth. Tomorrow, he and Jason would be returning to Atawan where many of the villagers were convinced he’d murdered Tracy – one of their own. Would they accept the verdict?

He threw off his tangled blankets and got up. By the dim light of the city filtering through the curtains he made his way to the bar fridge and poured two fingers of rye. He took a sip, savouring the burn on his tongue. Alcohol hadn’t been allowed in the gaol where he’d languished for ten long months awaiting trial. Again he cursed the judge who set the bail at two hundred thousand dollars. Even if he’d sold his garage business he couldn’t have raised that much. He took another sip, a bigger one this time, and sighed. At least his mother-in-law had taken Jason to her home in Toronto so the boy wasn’t around to hear the town try and convict his father before Tracy’s body was even in the ground. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Let them eat crow. He was returning a free man and they couldn’t do anything about it. They couldn’t hurt him now. Ed’s gaze found the shadowy outline of his son and his satisfied grin faded. He just hoped the people of Atawan would be kind to Jason whatever they thought of him.