Question of Trust. Laura Caldwell

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СКАЧАТЬ gotta get the fuck out of here before I hurt him.” There was no way he was going back to Stateville prison. He was hanging on, hoping to keep his natural violent flair pushed down inside. He was hanging on. Just barely.

      9

      “Hello?”

      “I heard you had a break-in.” The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

      “Who is this?” I asked.

      A laugh. “I guess I should be glad you’re over it. You’re clearly not traumatized by me any longer.”

      Recognition grew in my head as the man spoke—the slightly snarly way of talking, the sense that a cruel laugh was right behind his words ready to be shot in your direction.

      “Vaughn,” I said.

      Across the bedroom, I saw Theo’s eyebrows shoot to his forehead. “Whoa,” he said.

      He’d been pulling on a pair of jeans—we were heading out to meet his mother for Sunday brunch. After the break-in and then Saturday—one gray November day sliding into the next, barely a change in light—I’d jumped at the opportunity to get us out of the house, to maybe get back to that “us” that we’d apparently left sitting at the bar at Topo Gigio, along with our good humor and ease.

      “You remember me,” Vaughn said in a jokey tone.

      I said nothing. Detective Damon Vaughn had made my life a living hell twice in the past year—first when Sam disappeared, and second, when Vaughn suspected me of killing my friend Jane. The fact that I’d beaten up Vaughn on cross-examination in a trial a few months ago had helped. But I wasn’t close to getting over it.

      “So I heard you had a break-in,” he said again.

      “You heard?“

      “Yeah, I heard from someone around here.” His words sounded false.

      “‘Around here,’” I said. “What does that mean? You’re acting like you work at a small-town police station, where the guys all sit with their feet on the desks and talk about their ‘beat,’” I scoffed. “I think I know better than that.”

      “Oh, that’s right, ‘cuz you’re a criminal lawyer now,” he said with scorn.

      “That’s right,” I said, sharp on the heels of his words. “I am a criminal lawyer now. And next time I get you on the stand, I’m going to take you down. Again.” I stopped myself short of saying, How ya like me NOW?

      For a moment I let myself bask in the glory of that moment when I had Vaughn on the witness stand. I had executed what felt like one of the best crosses of my career.

      Vaughn interrupted my little reverie. “Jesus Christ, you’re a ballbuster! I take back that apology I gave you after court that day.”

      “Too bad,” I said quickly. Then in a nicer, calmer tone, “I already accepted it.”

      A pause. Then two or three.

      “So,” I said, pleasant tone still intact, “you were calling because …?”

      “Look, cops know what cases other cops worked. And so when you hear something about something—or someone—in one of those cases that someone else has—”

      “Then you tell your buddy, the other cop,” I said, answering for him. “Yeah, I get that.”

      “Good. I just wanted to remind you what I told you after court that day.” His voice was nearing pleasant now, too, but I didn’t fill in the blanks this time.

      “If you needed a favor or anything, I’m your guy,” Vaughn said simply.

      Something about his statement—the matter-of-factness, the authoritative assurance—made me feel okay suddenly. Safe. For a moment, the whirl of anxieties in my head stopped.

      All morning those anxieties had been like shrieking bats flying around under a bridge, yelling one thing after another in my head. Your house has been broken into. Again! But what’s worse is that you have a pretty strong feeling this break-in has to do with Theo. Because he’s the one who just moved in.

      But maybe it’s as simple as that? Maybe someone got in the condo building during the move and somehow hid.

      But that doesn’t make sense because there is nowhere to hide on the two flights of stairs.

       And hey, so what if it has to do with Theo?

      It was always at this point in the shrieking conversation (in voices that all sounded like mine) that a really angry version of Izzy McNeil entered the scene. “So what?” you ask? You’re in love with him. Do you get that?

      And quietly, I would answer internally. I get that.

      And then the voices would round around. Your house has been broken into. Again!

      But although his words had momentarily halted the cacophony in my mind, I didn’t entirely trust Vaughn. Not yet. Not after what he’d put me through, and not after what I’d learned about Chicago cops over the past few months—most of them are good, most have pure motives, but they don’t see evil the same way as everyone else. And when they believe something, they make things happen—practically appear out of nowhere—just to bolster their beliefs.

      The truth was, I wasn’t too sure what Vaughn really believed. To say he was hard to read was an understatement.

      “I’m not looking for a favor,” I said.

      “Hey, I feel bad about how everything went down. I told you that. And I want to do what I can to make that up to you.”

      I could almost hear Maggie yelling, Yes! Great! We can always use a cop on our side. Even if a police officer wasn’t involved with the particular case you were working, they could be excellent sources of information. And maybe it was time to truly forgive Vaughn. Clearly, my anger wasn’t hurting him very much, only me, making me cranky when I thought of it, making me see red.

      “Yeah, well …” I said. “You’re right. I had a break-in.” I told him that no belongings had been disturbed. Or the front-door panel. Just the keypad on my own door.

      He asked me about the front-door system, then added, “Who has the code for your own door?”

      “Just a few family members. My friends Maggie and Q. And two cleaning ladies. And …” I trailed off, realizing more people than I’d thought had that code. “But it wasn’t used. The panel was ripped off.”

      “You have an alarm?”

      “Yeah, but it wasn’t turned on that night. We were just running out for something to eat.”

      “Sounds like a warning,” Vaughn said.

      That made me feel cold again. “What do you mean?”

      “Someone was either looking for something and didn’t СКАЧАТЬ