Brian Freeman - Spilled Blood

He’d followed his plans precisely.

Florian’s eyes roved the hallway like a cautious tiger and found the two of them on the bench. Seeing Chris, he reacted the way a father would react, spotting an enemy to his family. His face darkened with anger and suspicion. He saw Olivia, too, and Olivia saw him, and Chris grabbed his daughter’s shoulder as he felt her muscles harden into knots. Her teeth actually bared.

Florian wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but he had the charisma that comes with wealth and success. He was as tall as Chris, with a high gloss on his balding head and prominent ears that grew sideways out of his skull like two halves of a severed heart. His black eyebrows were thick, straight smudges. His jaw was squared; his face was long. He had the gaunt look of a fanatical runner, someone who watched every milligram of salt and fat and measured his own HDL and LDL. Everything about him screamed of self-discipline, and Chris remembered that Florian had maintained a rigid work ethic even in law school, when Wednesday beer parties were typically as important for most students as Morrison’s constitutional law.

His wife, Julia, was a different story altogether. She was blond and small, like a golden doll. From the photos he had seen of Ashlynn, Julia was an older portrait of her daughter. She looked born to money, wearing her gray silk dress like a runway model, with hair up and her skin powdered and perfect. Black pearls wound around her neck and hugged her earlobes. She was the kind of woman who had always mystified Chris, because she was supremely unapproachable, like a museum sculpture protected behind glass. Hannah was the opposite. His ex-wife wore every emotion on her sleeve and never censored what was in her head, whether it was fury or passion. Julia Steele was beautiful, but she radiated no sexuality at all, and her emotions were carefully masked. Even her grief didn’t seep through her makeup.

Chris pressed down gently on Olivia’s shoulder to keep her on the bench, and he stood up.

‘Hello, Florian.’

‘Chris.’

Florian didn’t offer to shake hands. There was no small talk to make. They had been classmates once, and now they were adversaries and parents, one with a dead daughter, one with a daughter accused of murder.

‘This is my wife, Julia,’ Florian added.

Chris didn’t smile or pretend that they were pleased to meet each other. ‘I’m very sorry about Ashlynn,’ he told her.

The ice woman’s eyes didn’t melt. Her stare had the hardness of diamonds as her gaze flicked between Chris and Olivia. She said nothing at all. Olivia, on the bench, smoldered. Like her mother, she couldn’t hide how she felt. Florian held his wife’s hand, as if protecting her, but she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who needed protection.

‘I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time, Florian,’ Chris told him. ‘Maybe later today?’

‘For what purpose?’

‘I’d like to learn more about your daughter.’

Florian took his time to formulate a reply. ‘You don’t expect me to help you, do you, Chris?’

‘No.’ He didn’t bother arguing Olivia’s innocence in front of two people who would never believe it. ‘We’re lawyers. This is discovery. I’ll do my best to make it as painless as I can, despite the circumstances.’

Florian acquiesced with a glance at his wife. ‘Three o’clock at Mondamin.’

‘I’ll be there.’

Florian tugged on his wife’s hand to pull her with him, but Julia Steele remained rooted in place. She and Olivia stared at each other. Her expression was inscrutable. When she spoke, her voice had a dark, sad music to it, which was the first hint of her emotions. ‘Is there anything you want to say to me, Olivia Hawk?’ Julia asked.

Chris held up his hands immediately. ‘Olivia, don’t say a word. Mrs. Steele, I’m sorry, but my daughter can’t talk to you.’

Julia Steele didn’t acknowledge him. She held Olivia’s eyes like a magnet as the silence dragged out between them. He was afraid his daughter wouldn’t be able to control herself and that she would blurt out whatever she was feeling or thinking, but Olivia finally pushed the hair out of her face and turned her eyes down to the floor. Florian’s wife treated it like a victory, shaming Olivia into looking away. She allowed her husband to lead her toward the exit from the courthouse. Neither of them looked back.

Chris watched them go. He realized that Florian and Julia Steele looked as out of place in the town of Barron as he did. They were like royalty, elevated above the crowd. The King with his Queen. That was a title that Chris had never wanted. There were people who bowed to the king, but there were plenty of others who wanted to cut off his head.

It had to be lonely. Florian had his work to fill the void, and he wondered what Julia Steele had for herself. Arts groups. Hospital board meetings. Fundraisers. He didn’t think that was enough for a woman like her, and the answer jumped to his mind immediately.

She’d had a daughter. A child to bring meaning to her life.

But not anymore.

7

Chris dropped Olivia at Hannah’s house in St. Croix, and his daughter retreated to her room to sleep. He let her go without asking more questions. She wasn’t in any condition to talk, and he wanted to know more about Ashlynn and the feud before he confronted her again. Hannah promised to stay with her during the day. She also offered to make dinner for the three of them that evening. He was surprised, but he said yes. It was a tiny glimmer of what his life had been like in the old days, when they were a family in Minneapolis.

With that thought in his head, Chris drove back to Barron. He stopped at a shop on the main street to buy new clothes to replace what he had lost at the motel, and then he set out to find the local high school, which stood on a bluff above the river valley. The school drew students from the entire region, including St. Croix. The sprawling, one-story brick building was surrounded by acres of athletic fields that butted up against rutted rows of corn fields to the west and the tree-lined residential streets of Barron on the east. During the warmer months, the fields would be lush green, but the grass was brown and yellow now, flattened by snow and soggy from the early storms.

He parked in the crowded lot and went through the glass doors into the school lobby. Inside, he was surprised to find metal detectors and a uniformed security guard screening visitors. He gave his name, showed identification, and asked to see the school principal. He waited, smelling fried food in the cafeteria and hearing the thunder of basketballs in the gymnasium. Five minutes later, a middle-aged black woman arrived past the rows of red school lockers to greet him.

‘Mr. Hawk? I’m Maxine Valma. How can I help you?’

She was slender and tall, with graying hair cut in a short, practical bob and a dark ebony complexion to her skin. She wore a burgundy pants suit and heels, making her look even taller than she was.

‘I assume you know why I’m in town,’ Chris said.

‘I’m Olivia’s father.’

‘Of course.’

‘I’d like some information about the young people around here.’

Valma’s lips pursed with concern. ‘I’m not sure what I can tell you, Mr. Hawk. School records are private unless you get a court order, and I can’t let you talk to any of the students on campus unless you have parental permission.’

‘I understand. I’m not asking you to violate any privacy laws. I was just hoping to find out what’s going on in this town.’

‘I see. Well, I’ll share what I can. I feel terrible, not just for Ashlynn and her family, but for Olivia, too.’

She gestured for him to join her, and Chris accompanied her down the school corridor. Two teenagers passed them going the opposite direction, and he saw their eyes lock on his face and heard them whispering as they passed him. He heard Olivia’s name.