🔵 By Tyler Bowman. Photo by lauragrafie.
Detective Donnovan walked Beverly back to her car, the whole time insisting that she allow an officer to drive her home. She refused. They had sat in the interrogation room in silence for some time while Bev pulled herself together. The tissues helped ,and so did a fresh up of coffee. Beverly still didn’t really want to leave, even now as she walked towards her car, though,s he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because while she was there it felt like she was contributing, fighting on Jamie’s behalf. She knew that was a silly thought, that’s why Bev found herself back in her Honda mindlessly making her way back home, much to the chagrin of the detective. There was an overcast pitching the world into a dull, lifeless grey that closely resembled her mood. Beverly’s stomach started to growl, but like everything else she was feeling she ignored it, too. Her mind was preoccupied, racing back through the interviews she had watched, breaking them down, trying to extract implications that may, or may not, have been there.
Patty lied in her interview. Had she lied about everything, though? The little girl said Max had been jealous, and not to mention he did have one of Jamie’s toy cars. And what about Mrs. Snyder, a huge part of Beverly wanted to thrash the old teacher for having been asleep. But she was right there, saw the incident itself happen. Could she not have stopped it? Ughh, Bev wished for five minutes alone with the woman. This line of thought wasn’t healthy, however, Beverly didn’t try to fight it either as he mind continued to race down the rabbit hole. She analyzed Max’s unkempt hair and messy appearance in her mind’s eye, working hard to piece together the boy’s face. While taking a left turn onto her street a woman and a god materialized right in front of her car. Worn out brakes screamed through the quiet neighborhood as Bev willed the vehicle to a stop. The woman, dressed head to toe in bright neon athleisure wear, stood wide eyes and rigid in the middle of the road, her mouth a tight frown. The accompanying little bark box jumped around frantically, fighting against the end of its leash and doing what it normally does best, bark relentlessly. Beverly watched as recognition dawned across the pedestrian’s eyes. The neon woman’s features softened before looking down and saying something to her pet, lightly tugging at the leash as they continued to make their way across the intersection.
Bev didn’t want the sympathy,but she was thankful that there hadn’t been a scene. Although it probably would have made for a nice emotional outlet, more than likely she would have needed up back at the police station. She imagined Donnovan’s reaction.
“I told you an officer should have drove you home. Why be so stubborn Mrs. Jenkins?” He would have said in his patient, but serious way. Laughing at the thought she pulled into her driveway, the car screeched to a stop. Something would have to be done about the brakes. Tomorrow, she swore.
Unbuckling, her face caught her eye in the rear view mirror and she paused to study it. “Thank God I didn’t bother with make-up”, she grumbled to herself. Beverly opened the door to get out, only to find someone standing beside her, causing her to yelp and jump back into her seat. The keys in her hand fell to the floorboard in a jingling heap. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath. It was just one of the neighbors.
“Oh my, I’m so sorry Beverly. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s okay Mrs. Talloway. I wasn’t expecting you to be standing there. I had just pulled in.” Bev failed to conceal the edge on her voice. Mrs. Talloway, like Beverly, was also widowed. Sometimes Beverly found herself wondering if her life would end up like her neighbors, old and alone. The woman was over twice her age and had the wrinkles to prove it. A hand knitted cobalt shawl rested on the lady’s frail shoulders that gave the distinct impression that she had at least twelve cats living with her at home, when in fact, she only had one. Jamie had loved the cat, and every time he’d come home from Mrs. Talloway babysitting him he would beg Beverly for them to get one. Unfortunately Bev was allergic, she could already feel her eyes getting itchy being this close to the nice old cat lady.
Beverly fished her hand down between her legs and extracted the keys. After getting out of the car and shutting the door she turned around, wanting desperately to end this conversation as quickly as possible and scurry on inside. Mrs. Talloway stood there with a warm smile and a papered chef dish covered in tin foil. Bev noticed that the sweet lady’s arms were shaking and reached out suddenly to take the dish.
“It’s my homemade lasagna.” One of Talloway’s fingers tapped on the foil. “Don’t worry about the dish, I’ll come back by in a few days and pick it up. You eat all of that you’ll feel much better. I promise.”
Bless this woman.
The corners of Beverly’s lips started to quiver and Mrs. Talloway reached around the dish to hug her.
“It’s okay dear,” she said soothingly into Bev’s ear. “Talk to God about it, it’s part of his plan. But if you need someone else to talk to, I’m right next door.”
Beverly’s tight throat wouldn’t allow her to speak so she nodded her head. Although she currently had a beef with God and planned on holding him every bit accountable, Mrs. Talloway didn’t need to know that. Bev watched the old woman shuffle back over to her own yard and grinned when she paused briefly to wave he other concerned or nosy neighbors back inside. With her shoulders starting to burn she remembered the dish she was holding and rushed to get inside. After struggling at the front door Bev shot to the back kitchen, all but dropping the lasagna to the counter.
Walking over to the fridge she pulled out a bottle of pinot noir that a friend had gifted her last Christmas. The delicious white wine would compliment her meal and emotions quite perfectly. Snagging the wine opened from a nearby drawer she tossed it and the bottle into her work satchel. Bev grabbed the dish and headed upstairs. She forgot a fork.
Jamie’s bedroom was the second door on the right, just past the linen closet. Beverly hadn’t been anywhere near the room since her son’s death, she wasn’t even sure if she’d been upstairs at all. While still holding the dish Bev managed to twist the knob with the tips of two fingers, then pushed the door open using her shoulder. The room was dark except for the faint glow from a chase Elliot NASCAR night light coming from the far side of Jamie’s bed. Beverly didn’t bother with more light, instead she plopped down on the rug in the middle of the floor and set the dish down next to her. Closing her eyes she sat there for a moment, inhaling the scent of her son’s room. Her emotions swelled to an overwhelming limit. Frantically she removed her satchel and dug out the bottle and its opener. Within seconds the bottle was uncorked, tilted back and its contents guzzling down her throat. It didn’t take long for the alcohol to do its job and the tension to recede. She pulled her laptop from her bag and set it on her lap. Once it powered on it bathed the room in a soft light that created eerie shadows in the corners and along the walls. Focusing on the screen she decided to check her emails first. The firm had informed her to take ample time to grieve, although she wasn’t quite sure how long that would be, she knew that there was no way she could afford to lose her job. There was no surprise when she saw the long list of unread emails waiting in her inbox. Even the spam folder showed that there was exceptionally more junk that usual. Scanning through the names and subject lines, she clicked on and read a few from people that were closest to her. The thought of calling anyone right now was unimaginable, but she could tolerate responding to some caring emails. An email from one of her bosses, Melissa Burns, caught her eye. The subject line read: I know the DA, Ashley Smith. It was Melissa’s fourth and latest email. Bev decided to open it.
Ashley told me that she met with you today and was very sympathetic. She’s a close friend of mine and is friendly with the firm. The woman is an absolute monster in the courtroom and you’ll be thankful that she#s on your side. She plans to see this all the way through, for your sake and Jamie’s. Look, I know it may seem that I press myself on you at times, but I just want to be your friend. Someone you can rely on during this difficult time. Ash said you were fragile today. You don’t have to do this on your own. Call me when you’re feeling a little better.
Beverly threw back the bottle again, laughing around its rim, almost causing some to spill. Well that answered some things, she thought. Ashley and Melissa, friends. Bev couldn’t stop laughing. It helped explain her attitude towards detective Donnovan and why she was being just a little too touchy. A pattern was beginning to emerge among the powerful women Beverly knew and it was that they were all quite fond of her.
And back went the bottle. Half the wine already gone. Trying hard not to laugh Beverly typed up a clipped, professional response, then clicked send and closed out her email. Unkempt nails tapped against the back of the laptop’s screen, her tongue playing at a corner of her chapped lips. The primordial ooze of an idea scratched at her mind, or maybe it was the alcohol. Clumsy fingers pecked along the keys as she went about entertaining this idea. First, a search engine lead her to a County website. From there she found herself at the site for the Department of Public Safety, formerly the Department of Corrections. The state had apparently changed its view on the function of prisons. Her job as a paralegal sometimes involved researching and location an individual. Those rudimentary skills served her now as she tracked down Max’s father.
Donauld Shepherd. At 5’7”, 210 pounds, the man was not physically imposing. Sporting a horseshoe hairline, pudgy features, and bad teeth the man wasn’t much of a look either. It was his eyes that struck Beverly, though, pale blue orbs whose life had been vacuumed out long ago. Deep creases etched across his face even though he was only forty-three.
According to the DPS website there was roughly twenty-three years still remaining on his sentence, and that was his minimum. She saw that his only infractions so far were a few failed drug tests that dotted his prison record. The last one was in May, just three months ago. Bev couldn’t take her eyes off the computer screen. She hated this man. If only he’d been a good father, then her son would still be alive. A sudden urge to punch his pixelated face coursed through her, but the alcohol hadn’t made her bold enough to break her own computer, not yet.
It didn’t take Beverly long to finishing going through what little information was on the state’s site so she moved on to scouring news articles and other sties to learn what she could about Don’s case. What she found didn’t not surprise her. He sold large amounts of meth and other drugs straight out of his home. Eventually an informant set him up with an undercover, presumably detective Donnovan, and the rest is history. One article described the bust in such detail that it mentioned the drug dealer’s little boy had refused to let go of his father’s leg as police tried to escort Mr. Shepherd from the residence. Beverly’s stomach clenched as she read the account in disgust. The same article went on to state that the dealer’s wife had been so intoxicated that she puked in the front yard while yelling curses at her husband before stumbling back inside to flirt with police.
Working at the firm she would sometimes come across similar stories, but always seemed to approach them in a detached manner. Burlington at face value was an inviting, homey little city, however, it was also a drug hub where these type of busts were common. Until now, Beverly never really gave much consideration to how a child’s life might be destroyed as a result, and the domino effect from there.
Who could have predicted that the innocent little boy clinging to his father’s leg would go on to commit murder just four years later? It wasn’t fair. Beverly surprised herself by wondering what had happened in Donauld’s life that lead him to selling drugs. A chain of events that over the course of years, decades, would lead to the death of her own little boy. It was too deep and emotional for her inebriated mind to ponder on for long.
Letting out a loud sigh she pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried to reorganize her thoughts. She tried to make sense of her research, some kind of explanation. Had the sins of the father manifested into the sins of the son? Was this the way of the world? Ultimately, it didn’t matter because Bev decided that she blamed everybody. Donauld, Max, Max’s mother, Mrs. Snyder, Principal Harrison, hell, even the other kids in Jamie’s class. Anyone who played a small role, real or imagined, who could have prevented such a tragic thing from happening. The shadows in the room played tricks. Their dark forms nudging closer in an effort to engulf the woman sitting on the floor with the light in her lap. In a final grand gesture Beverly tossed back and chugged what remained on the complimentary white wine.