Isolated Judgment Page 23

  He didn’t know how much time passed as the wind howled around him and the yellow Labrador ran in nervous, agitated circles in the sand. But when at last the scarlet rage rustled out of him, leaving him suddenly cold, he saw what he had done.

  Daniel Prosner was impaled.

  Michael collapsed to his knees. The sword filled his vision, the length of it still trembling above the dying man. Michael sucked a desperate breath into his chest and felt doom descend over him. He had done what he feared he would do. He had ruined himself. He had ruined Rebecca.

  Daniel Prosner wheezed.

  “Please...” A rattling, wet sound in the dying man’s throat.

  Michael surged forward again. Without thinking, he had his hoodie off and balled in his hands. Blood was welling up around the spot where the sword ended and Daniel began. Michael pressed his hoodie down against the gathering puddle, positioning himself over Daniel like he was giving CPR.

  “Hold on,” he croaked, and tears sprang up in his eyes. “Jesus. Hold on. This is okay. Okay? Just hold on, man.”

  He kept his weight on the wound and glanced wildly around, hoping madly for someone to appear on the beach beside him. Someone who could help. Someone who could stop what the sane part of him knew was happening, no matter how badly he wished it wouldn’t.

  “Please,” Daniel burbled, and blood foamed on his lips. His eyes were glossy, aimless orbs in his head. Michael felt a bubbling sort of ripple run through Daniel’s chest, and then all the tense rigidity went out of Daniel Prosner. His eyes grew sightless, reflecting the pinpoints hung in the night sky. He was dead.

  Michael collapsed backwards into the sand, a mournful sob escaping his throat. He lay there miserably and let the feeling of ruination roll over him. The yellow lab appeared at his side and touched its cool, damp snout against his cheek. He ran one hand over the dog’s head and whispered “I’m sorry.”

  He remained like that for a while, patting the dog and whispering his regrets into the air. Eventually, he heard her. The wind was furiously alive. It blew his hair around his eyes and sent a chill through him.

  Michael got to his knees and looked around in terrified confusion. The yellow lab bounded away and let out a yowl into the sky that was drowned away under the heartbreak of the Wailing Woman’s eternal song.

  Sluggishly, haltingly, Michael rose to his feet. The song called to him, echoing the regret that filled him. His mind a tempest of heartache, Michael Shore plodded off into the woods, drawn to her twin sorrow.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Issabella brewed coffee while Michael sat at the card table and related what had happened. After she’d set out steaming cups in front of the other three, she brought her own cup with her and sat in the fourth chair. She felt exhausted and sad. Looking at the morose young man across the table, she wanted to reach over and touch his cheek or his head and comfort him in some way.

  Darren took a sip of his coffee, set the cup down and looked at Michael. His unshaven face was a blank. He’d listened to Michael’s story silently, and given no indication of what he felt one way or another.

  “The Wailing Woman,” he said.

  Michael looked up from his hands.

  “You know what I’m talking about?” he said.

  “Yeah,” Darren nodded. “Me and Izzy heard it when we were out there. A little cave, right? Filled with quartz?”

  Michael’s answering grin was bleak and devoid of humor.

  “No, man. Not just quartz. Full of jewelry.”

  The two lawyers exchanged a confused look.

  “Jewelry?” Issabella prodded.

  Michael nodded.

  “Yeah. Gold and silver and ivory. Watches with diamonds in their faces. Diamond rings. Everything, you know? A fortune of it. I...”

  Michael glanced at Rebecca. She was seated on his left and had one hand squeezed around his wrist. It had remained there throughout his story, as if she was certain that he would be whisked away from her forever if she let him go.

  “You took it,” Issabella finished for him.

  Again, Michael nodded.

  “I told myself I could give it to Rebecca,” he whispered. “You know, because I’d be gone. They’d get me for killing him. I told myself I could give her that jewelry at least. So maybe she would have it a little...I dunno. Easier. A little easier.”

  Darren took another tentative sip of his coffee. His bottom lip had swollen considerably from the blow Michael had delivered, and he was careful with the hot liquid. As he drank, he seemed to be turning things over in his head. He looked at Issabella.

  “You’re on board with where I’m going?” he said. Michael and Rebecca gave her matching looks of confusion, but Issabella ignored them.

  She looked at Darren. At his injured lip. At his calm, seemingly simple acceptance of where they were and what they were going to do. While Michael had talked, Issabella had caught Darren repeatedly glancing at Rebecca. He’d done his best to keep his face stoic, but she knew him. She’d seen the compassion in his eyes, and the resolve that rested behind it.

  A little girl named Shoshanna haunted Darren Fletcher. And if he could never find her, or find the answers to what had befallen her, he could still try to make amends with her ghost. He could make certain he never failed another wounded girl who came within his orbit.

  “Kid?” he said.

  Issabella nodded her head once, knowing that if she spoke up she’d sound more emotional than she wanted to. She wanted him to forgive himself for Shoshanna Green for his own sake. That he couldn’t was one of the things that made her love him. But that sort of declaration was for another time, when they were alone.

  “Alright,” Darren said in response to her silent acknowledgment. To Michael he said, “You need to give us the jewelry so we can return it. Whatever else gets decided here, the jewelry has to go back.”

  Michael shrugged and sighed in bitter resignation.

  “I don’t have that, man,” he said. “That island cop found it in the boat and took it. I couldn’t even get that much right.”

  “A cop took the jewelry?” Issabella said. “You mean...”

  “Yeah,” Michael continued. “I got back to Put-in-Bay and saw this lady down the beach, walking with a towel like she was going to camp out. So I ran up to this house and hid in there. I didn’t have time to drag the boat up, so I watch it just kind of drift on out, you know? And I’m like, Fuck, there goes the only thing good that might come out of all this. But then this cop shows up and drags the boat back in, and I’m like, Okay, cool, maybe I can get that jewelry back some way. Then the cop takes the tackle box I stashed it all in. He looks in it, shuts it, looks around to see if anyone is watching him. Then he carried it off in a hurry and I knew I was fucked.”

  Rebecca leaned in and ran one hand through Michael’s hair lovingly.

  “I don’t want any jewelry,” she said softly. “Just you, Michael. Don’t you know that?”

  “Baby, it was for if I was gone.”

  “Don’t even think that.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and the two of them wrapped their arms around each other in that fierce, immediate way young people in love have about themselves. In the silence that followed, Darren looked at Issabella and arched a brow.

  “The forthright Chief Fish,” he said. “Say it isn’t so.”

  “I’m afraid it looks that way.”

  “My faith in the system is shaken, dear Izzy.”

  “You looked thunderstruck, it’s true.”

  “Well, mildly disappointed at the least.”

  Darren finished his coffee in a long swallow. He set his empty cup down on the table and stood abruptly. Staring down at the entwined youths, he retrieved a business card and extended it out toward Michael.

  “In
case the cops ever come knocking,” Darren said. “Me and Izzy can’t turn you in because our deal with the Judge forbids us from saying anything. Though even without it, I’m not really in the habit of pointing the cops toward wrongdoers. Bit of a professional prohibition, I guess.”

  Michael took the card, holding it out between them.

  “So...that’s it?” Rebecca said, putting voice to the consternation on Michael’s face.

  “Almost, but not quite,” Darren said. “Look, Mike, from what you’ve said you’re looking at manslaughter.”

  “Um,” Issabella said.

  Darren chuckled and kept on.

  “Izzys a pragmatist. She wants to point out that a prosecutor would still charge you with first degree murder since you went out to the island in the night with a weapon. That looks an awful lot like premeditation. And that’s a good angle for them to take if it ever comes to that. But I’m actually really good with juries, believe it or not. So if the world comes crashing down around you, you call the number on that card. I’ll argue that Daniel provoked you with what he was saying right before you skewered him. It’s a workable defense. Prison? Yeah. Definitely. But not life. I mean, not if I’m successful. But no promises. Life is still a possibility.”

  All of the color drained out of Michael’s face as Darren prattled on. Rebecca hitched back a sob and grabbed Michael’s hands in a death grip.

  “Wait,” Issabella said, loud enough to get all three of them to look at her. “He does that. It’s a stream-of-consciousness thing. It makes him sound crazy, I know. But don’t panic, okay? There aren’t any guarantees that the cops are going to come knocking. Our client is more of a mind to cover everything up. Daniel’s already been buried. With the sword. In secret. By an old man and an idiot. And apparently the local police chief is covering things up so he can keep that jewelry you found. You two can start breathing again.”

  Michael stared at the card in his hand, then set it on the table in front of him. He scratched at his beard and frowned.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “What...what should we do now? Just wait for the cops to come arrest me? We can’t live like that, man. I should just go talk to them, you know?”

  Darren exchanged another silent look with Issabella.

  “Um, no, Mike,” he said, like he was talking to a child. “Generally, I don’t advise people to unburden themselves to the police. They aren’t in the counseling business. They’re in the incarceration business.”

  “Then what? I can’t have this hanging over me, dude.”

  “You don’t really have any say in that,” Darren said. “You know, cost of doing business. You drive a sword through a human being, it kind of stays an issue. Homicide is persistent like that. You’re looking agitated. That’s okay. I’m not done. This is the part where I make a life-altering suggestion that you should really consider. Ready?”

  Michael grew a nervous smile.

  “Uh. Okay.”

  Darren leaned over and planted both palms on the table so that he and Michael were staring eye to eye. The casual charm vanished from Darren’s face, replaced with a cold, impersonal seriousness. Issabella found herself craning forward to hear whatever it was that was going to come out of his mouth.

  “You need supervision,” Darren said. “And you need time to become a man. I want you to enlist.”

  “What?”

  “You need to enlist,” Darren continued. “I think marines, because they’re the strictest and you seem tough enough to succeed there. But if you choose a different branch, that’s fine.”

  “That’s...” Michael started.

  “Passably sane,” Issabella finished.

  “You know,” Darren said, “you don’t have to sound so flabbergasted when you say that.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rebecca admitted.

  “Let me try,” Issabella said, speaking slowly, as if she were working the ideas out in her own mind as she said them. “See, Darren and I are sympathetic to what’s going on here. Daniel deserved what he got as far as I’m concerned. But, Michael, you’re still a young man who plotted a kidnapping that went really, really wrong. Even if it was to get him to the cops, it was a kidnapping scheme. Someone died. A creep. And I mean, a creep. But still. You can’t just go on with your life like it didn’t happen. You need people to straighten you out and give you...I don’t know...discipline. Focus. You need to quit the playacting and let some very tough men turn you into a man. I get it. I can go along with that. It gets you under other people’s control and gives you a chance to grow up really fast.”

  She arched a quizzical brow at Darren.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s pretty much my thinking. Impulse control. Purpose. Something to keep you focused and on the straight and narrow.”

  Michael leaned back in his chair, looking around the room in consternation. Issabella was certain he was about to explode with protestations over what she and Darren had just laid out for him. He looked at the card, at her, at Rebecca, as if some lifeline was going to be thrown to him if he waited long enough.

  “I guess that’s that,” Darren said, and pushed his chair in like he was preparing to leave.

  “The hell it is—” Michael started, balking.

  “No.”

  They all looked at the pretty, dark-haired girl who had remained mostly silent throughout the entire conversation. She stared at a point in the air somewhere in front of her, her delicate features set in firm resolve.

  “Baby,” Michael whispered, “we need to figure this out. This guy can’t go dictating our...our whole lives.”

  Rebecca shook her head, still not looking at any of the people in the room. She had reached some decision, and it was going to come out now.

  “He’ll do it,” she said. “We’ll do it.”

  “Baby—”

  “You’ll go in,” she said, and finally looked at him. Her expression was gentle, filled with an open enthusiasm for the young man she’d tied herself to. “You’ve talked about enlisting before. Lots of times. About being a real warrior, and making enough for us to be okay.”

  “Well, sure,” Michael pleaded. “But that was my idea. Not this guy’s. Rebecca—”

  “Who cares who thought of it?” she continued. “Marines is right. You’re strong and you’d be perfect. And when you get out of basic, I’ll move onto the base with you. I’ll get a job. Or go to school. It doesn’t matter. I’ll do that, and we’ll get married and never even talk about Michigan or Daniel ever again. We’ll make a good life, darling. Tell me you can see that, too.”

  Michael stared at her in stunned silence. But slowly, his features softened. He reached out and put his hand on her elbow.

  “They’re going to make me shave.” He chuckled.

  “Good. I hate that thing and it itches.”

  Darren was smiling at Rebecca. He chuckled and pointed a finger down the table at Issabella.

  “Ha!” he said. “The garbage cans. The hoodie. Recognizing her off the bad pornography. The gambit of the unloaded gun. The military solution. And it all gets capped off with a freaking marriage proposal, Izzy! I win, kid. The game, dear Izzy, is mine.”

  Somewhere in the middle of Darren’s self-congratulatory display, Michael had pulled Rebecca onto his lap. They were locked in a kiss. When they parted, Michael glanced around in apparent confusion.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “What does he win?”

  * * *

  Big Tuck had the limo in Drive and they had begun to creep out of the parking lot when there was a rap on the window beside Issabella. The limo came to a halt and she rolled the window down. Michael Shore was standing there with Rebecca at his side.

  “I almost forgot,” he said, and reached into the front pocket of his jeans. When his hand emerged, he was holding someth
ing cream-colored. He handed it to her, and Issabella saw it was an ivory hairpin. The base of the pin below the forks was carved in the shape of a half clamshell.

  She flipped it over. There was a delicate, cursive inscription on the back that read Ach meine schatzi. meine leibe.

  Issabella squinted up at the newly engaged kids.

  “I don’t understand,” she admitted.

  “That’s from the jewelry I found,” Michael explained. “I put it in my pocket when I saw it because I thought it would be perfect for Rebecca. She puts her hair up sometimes, and I like it that way, so I picked that one out. Maybe you guys can get it back to the Judge, you know?”

  Issabella looked at the inscription again.

  “Is your German better than mine?” she said.

  “I dunno. How good is yours?” Michael answered.

  “I had a couple years of Japanese. I never took German.”

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  Issabella looked at Darren, seated next to Theresa, who had fallen asleep sometime since they’d stranded her there while they pursued their case.

  Darren shook his head and said, “I know biblioteca is ‘library’ in Spanish. Does that help?”

  Issabella handed the hairpin back to Michael, who took it with a questioning frown.

  “You sure?” he said.

  “She’s a beautiful girl,” she said. “Give her as many pretty things as you can, Michael. It’ll make it easier for her to forgive you when you mess things up.”

  Darren tapped on the glass partition and the limo began to roll forward again. He flashed an affectionate wink her way and Issabella smiled. She pushed the button that rolled the window back up. The last time she saw Michael and Rebecca, the big muscle-bound kid was gently slipping the ivory pin into her thick, dark hair.

  * * *

  The sun was down, but Issabella wouldn’t have been able to see anything through the blindfold anyway.