The Hallows, page 2
As I pulled up to park, I saw a small dog on the sidewalk. I stopped the car and got out. The dog was white with matted fur, all skin and bones. I had always had a soft spot for dogs in a way I didn’t seem to for people. They loved you unconditionally, no strings attached. I had rarely met a person who didn’t have an agenda in exchange for their love.
I bent down and he gently put his head on my foot, exhausted. I rubbed his head and picked him up.
Woof and Stuff, aside from the horrendous name, was the top pet day care center in Miami. The type of place celebrities dropped off their pets when they went on their fifth honeymoon or had to shoot on location in some remote spot for a few months. The owner, George, knew me from way back. I had gotten him acquitted on a pot charge, when prosecutors were still filing those.
I gently placed the dog on the counter, rubbing behind his ears, as George came out from the back.
“Another dog?” he said.
“This little guy was just sitting on the sidewalk. No tags. Looks like he hasn’t eaten in a while.”
George began running his hands over the dog, checking for injuries. “What is it with you and dogs anyway? You spend more here than any other customer I have.”
“They’re innocent in a way we’re not. How long, do you think?”
“Well,” he said, checking the dog’s teeth, “he’s beat up pretty good. Probably been on the streets a long while, so we’ll need some time to get him healthy again, but he’s particularly cute, so I would guess we could get him adopted in about a month, maybe.”
I took out a stack of cash and put it on the counter. “Good family, Georgie.”
“I know.”
“I’m serious. If I find out you’re giving these little guys away to some abusive pricks, you are not going to believe the legal hellfire I will rain down on this place.”
“What’dya think, I got into this business because I hate dogs? Good families, I know. I even do background checks just for you. They’re going to good homes. Don’t worry. By the way, how come you don’t got any? Someone loves these guys as much as you, I’d figure you got ten of ’em at home.”
I shook my head. “I prefer to be alone.”
I rubbed the dog’s ear a little more, then let George take him into the back for a bath and shots while I left.
The firm was a mess of phone calls, faxes—because some government agencies wouldn’t update the tech they used no matter how much money taxpayers dumped on them—and people shouting into phones. I tried to sneak into my office, but Tim Gordon met me in the hall.
A small man with a bald head so shiny it could burn your retinas under strong light, he ran up and hugged me.
“Dude, come on,” I said.
“Sorry, I know you don’t like to be touched, but that Green case was huge. Entertainment Tonight called and wants to interview you.”
“Pass.”
“Hey, come on, you can’t buy publicity like this.”
“I’m tired, Tim. You take it.”
His mouth fell comically open. “You . . . really?”
“It’s all you, buddy. Have fun.”
I left before any other partners, of which I think we now had six, could stop and congratulate me. I shut the door to my office and took off my suit coat. Outside the windows, which looked down over the ocean across the street, the sunlight glimmered off the water. I hadn’t even seen the ocean until I was twenty-two, and the first time I saw it, I thought it was a dream.
My phone buzzed, and my secretary said over the intercom, “It’s Maggie, boss.”
“Patch her through.” I waited a beat and then said to the speakerphone, “Paris as fun as you remember?”
“I’m back in the States actually,” Maggie said. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a trial today? I had to read about it online.”
I’d actually mentioned it to her three times, but who’s counting?
“Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind.”
“Well, I think you deserve a treat for that. I picked up a little number in Paris that you’re going to like. Came with its own handcuffs.”
I watched a couple jogging along the water. “Yeah, sure, come over tonight.”
“Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic.”
“I’m enthusiastic. Just distracted. Guess I forgot that I can be the good guy and defend someone innocent sometimes. Last six months just kinda beat me up.” I took a breath. “Looking forward to it. Really. See you then.”
I hung up and sighed. Maggie was nice enough. The typical South Beach beauty with all the trappings that came with it. I was pretty sure she was cheating on me with her ex, but frankly, I didn’t care enough to mention it. Besides, I’d already had that conversation with Sarah recently, and two of them in two months didn’t sound fun.
My intercom buzzed. “Boss?”
“Yeah?”
“Entertainment Tonight again. Eddie says you owe him one, and he doesn’t want to talk to Mr. Gordon.”
“Ugh. Fine. Send it through.”
4
We sat at Ganish, the new hot restaurant—or what I’d been told was actually a brasserie, a fancy word for snobby restaurant. Maggie was the expert at hot spots. Her mother had been a celebrity chef in England, and where you ate, according to her, was as important as what you ate. So Maggie dragged me to all the fancy places for peanut-butter gazpacho or roasted quail or fresh escargot that could crawl off your plate and over the table. I’d usually just move the stuff around with my fork and then hit Del Taco on the way home.
We sat with two of Maggie’s friends, Dale and Cynthia something or other. Dale was telling some witty story I was reasonably certain never happened, and Maggie and Cynthia were laughing, and at one point Maggie lightly touched Dale’s hand and I realized that they were probably sleeping together as well. I sighed and leaned back, looked around. The restaurant could’ve been ripped out of the most opulent of king’s palaces. Growing up as a kid in River Falls, Utah, a town of three thousand people, I never even dreamed places like this existed. Much less that I would eat at them one day.
“Gotta use the bathroom, excuse me.” I rose and circled around to the bathroom. An attendant was there. I washed my hands and noticed that his tip jar was empty.
“Nothing, huh?” I said.
He shrugged. “Some nights are more generous than others.”
“You know, I used to wait tables when I first came out here, and I once worked this party of a hundred—some company on an outing. I mean, worked. I was dripping sweat. It took like the whole night, and I couldn’t work any other tables, so these guys were basically the money I was going to make for that shift. And they stiffed me. Not because I did a bad job, because I didn’t, but because they just didn’t care. They thought they were so important that I was invisible to them.”
He shook his head. “If that doesn’t describe this city, I don’t know what does.”
I dried my hands. “Before they left, I got the CEO’s keys from the valet and parked his car across town. Heard it took him like two days to find it.”
He laughed.
I took out a couple of hundred-dollar bills and put them into his tip jar and told him to have a good night. I stood outside the door a second and decided I wasn’t ready to go back to the table yet, so I circled around to the bar, but Maggie saw me and waved me over. I’d resigned myself to heading back when my phone rang. It was my after-hours office line.
“This is Tatum.”
“Sir, it’s Julie. We have a bit of a client emergency.”
“What’s up?”
“You better get down to Mr. Green’s house right away.”
“Green who?”
“Marcus Green. He’s been arrested again.”
5
Marcus Green lived on Fisher Island, which meant a ferry ride over for me. The island had the highest median income in the country. Marcus owned a line of luxury car and yacht dealerships and had bought up properties here in the eighties like it was going out of style. He managed, during my time defending him, to work in that he was worth three commas: i.e., a billion dollars. Three commas. Clever.
I parked on the street just as the sun was setting, painting the sky a deep orange. There were two police cruisers there, and Sarah’s Ford Mustang was on the opposite side of the street. When I walked up to the scene, an officer stopped me, but Sarah said, “Let him through.”
I ducked under some police tape and said, “What’s going on?”
“I’ll show you.”
She led me around the horseshoe driveway up to the front door, and we ducked again before we stepped inside. In the atrium was a body. I recognized it but couldn’t place it for a second.
“Mindi Bower’s sister,” Sarah said. “Bethany Bower. Maybe you saw her in the courtroom.”
Around her throat purple and black splotches formed the shape of fingers. Her eyes were cold and distant, glossed over. Two crime-scene techs were taking samples from underneath her fingernails. She had on sparkly pink polish, the kind a teenage girl would pick. It sent a shiver down my back. I’d seen that nail polish before, on a girl from a long time ago, from a past that didn’t seem real anymore. I remembered her in a hospital bed, her face bloodied and bruised.
I looked at the body in front of me and didn’t see a woman; she was just a child.
I’m so sorry, kid.
“Where’s Marcus?” I said.
“Your client is down at the station. I was the one that told your secretary to have you come down here. I wanted you to see this, Tatum. She’s seventeen. She came down here to vent. She wasn’t armed, nothing like that. A neighbor saw the whole thing. She was yelling at Green, and he punched her, knocked her to the ground. Then he dragged her inside, and the neighbor heard screaming. Looks like she’s been strangled to death. Sound familiar, Counselor?”
I stared at Bethany for another second, then turned and left.
6
I texted Maggie and told her that it was an emergency and I wouldn’t be coming back to the restaurant. Instead, I headed to the Miami-Dade sheriff’s station. Even the police station here looked like it was owned by millionaires and billionaires. Palm trees, manicured flower beds, and a building that was a mix of old Spanish and modern eclectic. In other words, soulless style, like many of the other buildings that tried to impress people with how much money had been spent on their construction.
I parked in police parking and hurried inside. The deputy behind the check-in desk knew me and had me sign a sheet on a clipboard before I was led back to the interview room.
Marcus Green sat at a gray table. A detective was there, a decent guy named Phillips.
Phillips had his jacket off and his arms folded, and he looked frustrated. I had taught Marcus The Art of Jury Trial as War, chapter 5: “Under no circumstances do you talk to the police. You don’t chat about the weather, you don’t mention you like their shoes, you don’t say anything but your name, which you’re legally required to do.” It looked like Marcus had followed my advice.
I stood there and stared at him. He had a smirk on his face.
“Can you get bail set, Tatum? I’d like to go home tonight if possible.”
I grinned as I approached him, and then I grabbed him by the throat. I lifted him out of the chair and pressed him against the wall, squeezing his throat. He reached up and tried to remove my hand, but I was stronger and angrier than he was.
“You son of a bitch, she was seventeen. Seventeen!”
“Lemme go!” he spat.
“You killed Mindi, too, didn’t you? Didn’t you!”
Phillips grabbed me then, wrapping his arms around mine and pulling me off. Marcus coughed, his hand around his throat as he glared at me.
“Doesn’t feel good, does it?” I said.
I pulled loose from Phillips and turned to leave. Marcus shouted, “Where you going? You’re my lawyer!”
“Not anymore.”
7
I made the decision about what to do next without really thinking about it. There was only one person I needed to tell. I sent the text before tossing the phone out the window into the Atlantic.
I packed casual clothes, workout clothes, and a single suit. I thought about what else to grab and couldn’t come up with anything. I had a line of expensive watches, but I didn’t want them anymore. A closet the size of an apartment held my shoes, of which I took only my favorite pair of sneakers and the dress shoes I was wearing. This was my entire life, and there wasn’t a thing in the house that I wanted to take with me. People said that what you valued most in life was the first thing you would save in a house fire . . . I had nothing I would bother to save.
The front door opened and Sarah walked in. She saw the large suitcase I was hauling, and she leaned against the wall and folded her arms. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“For how long?”
I put the suitcase in front of the door. “You can have the house.”
“What?” she said with a laugh.
“This house. You can have it. I’m taking the Tesla, but you can have the Ferrari. It’s yours. The title’s in the safe in the bedroom, and I’ve already signed it, and the house, over to you.”
“Tatum, Tim called me in a panic and said you texted him that you quit.”
“I did.” I looked around the house one more time, thinking I’d feel something. Some tug of regret. I felt nothing.
“Take care,” I said.
“Wait, wait,” Sarah said, coming up and touching my arm. “What are you doing, Tatum? This is ridiculous. Do you want to take a vacation? I’m happy to take some time and go with you. Tim said take as much time as you need and you’ll always be welcome back. I mean, when I called you down to the scene, I didn’t think this was what was going to happen. I just wanted to show you . . . I don’t know.”
I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Goodbye, Sarah.”
“Wait, when will you be back?”
“I won’t. Hope you find what you’re looking for in life. I mean that.”
I got into my Tesla, rolled down the windows, and drove away, leaving Sarah standing by the front door watching me.
8
I drove out of Miami and contemplated where to go next. Though I ran some places through in my head, my thoughts kept returning to that sparkly pink nail polish. And that led only one place: a place I hadn’t been in nineteen years. The memories weren’t exactly pleasant, but as I drove out of Florida, I realized I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I had no close relationships, no real friends. Only then did it hit me how much I had let success seclude me from everyone.
I stopped only to gas up and sleep in whatever hotel was nearest the freeway off-ramps. As I drove into Utah a couple of days later, my guts were in knots, and I had to roll down the windows and let the air hit my face. It was dry and hot, but there was no hint of smog to it. No metallic taste of exhaust, no scent of the poison that constantly pumped into the air in Miami.
River Falls was right over the Nevada-Utah border, about an hour from Las Vegas. It was one of those small towns that had been set up for some mining operation or around a large factory, and the residents had put down roots and stayed long after the industry they’d been hired by had moved on.
A white and yellow sign said, WELCOME TO RIVER FALLS! Usually towns bragged about something they were known for. Even Beaver, Utah, one of the least populated cities in the nation, had a welcome sign that read, HOME OF THE BEST WATER IN THE COUNTRY. River Falls didn’t boast anything.
To my utter shock, the town looked . . . essentially the same. A couple of new convenience stores and a coffee shop that wasn’t there before, but other than that, it hadn’t really changed. A freaking time capsule.
I saw a diner that had been there since I was a kid—Benson’s—and suddenly realized I was starving. I made a quick turn and parked. A lot of days, I would cut class and come here. Most of the cool kids had spent time here, and I’d try to ingratiate myself with them: I had been a bookworm with no friends except a girl named Gates, and it seemed like my freshman year was spent trying to make more friends, until I’d finally given up.
I got a few stares because of the Tesla, and someone, a stranger, said hello to me.
Inside, the place hadn’t changed a bit. Country music on the speakers, old wooden tables with nicks and chunks missing, waitresses in short shorts. Still no hostess. I seated myself by the window and looked out. Across the street was a series of homes, all dilapidated, with trucks and trailers outside. One of the houses had a huge yard and sheep roaming around.
“Tatum?”
I looked up to see the chubby, instantly recognizable face of Roscoe Mallory approaching from another table.
“Roscoe?”
I held out my hand and he gave me a hug. He smelled like leather.
“Easy, big fella,” I said.
He wore a massive grin and sat down without being asked. While I was growing up, he lived just a few houses down from me. Aside from maybe an extra sixty pounds, he looked the same as the last time I’d seen him. The hug was interesting since I think we’d talked maybe half a dozen times our entire lives and had never considered each other friends.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Just passing through, I guess. How you been? Last time I saw you, you were trying to get onto SUU’s football team.”
He nodded and looked away, out the window. “That didn’t work out so well. I got hurt my first year, real bad. Broken back. Had to learn to walk again.”
“Oh, wow, I’m sorry.”
The grin came back as he looked at me. “It worked out. I coach at RF High now. You remember Nikyee Geller?”
