Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep Part 5

For the first time, there is the slightest recognition of irony in the question. A small smile.

"If I'm not in jail I might."

"What else did Bobby tell you?"

"That's about all I know. But someone put something in her mouth. The police leaked that out."

"When was she found?"

"This morning after it got light. They looked for her all night."

"Why have the police arrested you in connection with Amy's death?"

"I don't know. They didn't tell me that."

"Now I need to ask you the hardest question you will be asked today. Please answer completely if you really want help."

"Okay."

"Were you at the football game with Amy?"

"No. Not with Amy. But I was at the game."

"Did you go under the bleachers with her?"

"No."

"Did you take her body under the bleachers?"

"What?"

"Did you kill her under the bleachers?"

"h.e.l.l no."

"Did you kill her somewhere else and take her body there?"

"h.e.l.l no."

"Do you know who killed Amy?"

"Probably Rudy Gomez. He's the queerest guy in our school. He loves zombies and vampire s.h.i.+t and he's always doing drawings of people getting whacked."

"Gomez? Spell it, please."

"I don't know. Usual way, I guess."

I file the name away for future reference.

"Was Rudy at the game Thursday night?"

"I don't know. Probably not. He won't even dress out for P.E."

"All right. Now let's switch gears. You can go ahead and ask me or your father questions. We're here to answer, too."

He wrinkles his forehead. "How come you never called me?" he says to Father Bjorn.

The priest slowly shakes his head. "I don't know. I am truly sorr-"

"Didn't you know I was asking to meet you?"

"No. When?"

"Jesus. When I was a little kid, man. I wanted a dad like everyone else."

"n.o.body told me."

"So, what, they had to tell you for you to call me?"

Father Bjorn shuffles his feet under the table. He inches down in his chair and the son realizes the man is trying to disappear, to trans.m.u.te into the steel chair.

"I have failed you in every way possible, Jana. But I'm here to change that. If you'll let me."

"I don't think so. I don't need that father-son s.h.i.+t anymore. Let's just say that train left the station a few years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear-"

"Please. Don't lay the sorry routine on me. If you were really sorry you wouldn't have broken a little kid's heart. So no bulls.h.i.+t, okay? Sorry, s.h.i.+t. You sucked as a dad. Own it."

"I do own it. I've prayed and asked G.o.d-"

"Whoa! Save the G.o.d s.h.i.+t. That's the last s.h.i.+t you want to lay on me. You might believe in those fairy tales but I don't want to hear it. When mom told me my old man was a priest I almost s.h.i.+t a brick. Save that for someone who cares!"

Father Bjorn nods. Then he holds out both hands to his son. "I want you to know I'm here for you. From now on. I will be your father and will fight to do it, if you'll just let me inside."

"f.u.c.k that, man. Mr. Gresher, do I have to take this s.h.i.+t for you to help me?"

"Gresham. No, Jana. I'm going to help you regardless. There's no requirement for anything with your father."

The boy nods and then shakes his head. "That, I can live with. But get this piece of s.h.i.+t out of here before we go ahead."

Father Bjorn heaves himself upright. He struggles to pull on his topcoat.

"Sit down, Father," I tell him. "I want you to look your son in the eye first. Tell him what's in your heart. And Jana, I need you to hear this."

Father Bjorn nods and fixes his eyes on his son's eyes. "Jana, I am your father and I love you. I have acted shamefully and I have hurt you. I am sorry for that and it will never happen again. I only pray that you'll allow me in your life now. I only pray that you can find it within yourself to forgive me."

"Now. Jana?"

"G.o.d forgives, dude. Ask him about that."

"I will. I'm sorry."

"Now get your candy a.s.s out of here before I throw up all over that s.h.i.+ny black suit. All right, Dad?"

Father Bjorn stands and hammers his fist on the steel door. It swiftly opens and he exits the room.

The jailer sticks her head inside. "Everything cool in here?"

"We're fine," I tell her. "Another ten, please."

"I'll check back. But we're gonna need the room in five minutes. By the way, your request to see Sheriff Meekins has been refused by staff. Your client is being evaluated and won't be available for attorney visits today. Please hurry along now."

"Fine. I'll hurry."

She leaves, the door shuts and the electronic bolts hammer home. We're safely locked away.

I explain to Jana about not speaking to his cell mates or to the police. I explain what will happen next, both in court and in jail. I answer several questions about clothes and books. Evidently he's an avid reader and wants someone to bring his book bag to him. I tell him that will be impossible and he slams the table with the palm of his hand.

Finally, he says to me, "Keep that piece of s.h.i.+t priest away from me, Mr. Gresham. Please don't bring him back here."

"I won't. As long as you're sure."

"What's not to be sure? He's way late to this party, man."

"All right."

We agree without words that our meeting is over. I will next see him in court at his initial appearance, according to the papers he has produced from the pocket of his orange jumpsuit.

I slap the door with my hand and it immediately opens.

"Come with me," the jailer says to Jana.

We step outside.

Father Bjorn is nowhere to be seen.

I cannot say that I blame him. His bubble has been pierced and I'm sure he feels like he has been exposed.

"Wait," Jana tells his jailer. He turns back to me. "Who's paying you?"

"That has yet to be arranged."

"Don't look to me. I'm a kid and I'm broke. My mom doesn't even have a job."

"I won't look to you. I imagine your father will be the responsible one."

"Him? That f.u.c.king priest? He doesn't have two nickels to rub together, dude. You'd better get it up front, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay, well, look, thanks for coming by. I'll see you."

"Yes, we'll talk just before court."

The kid turns and begins following his jailer and I am reminded of a very young colt following its mother across a pasture just because it's his mother and he hasn't yet started thinking for himself.

That's right. He's not even thinking yet.

So how in the world would he ever decide to murder someone?

A sudden chill rolls across the floor as the outside door opens into the staging area. I pull my overcoat across my shoulders and slide my arms into the sleeves. It's freezing outside; winter has come early.

What a terrible day to be seventeen and in jail. What a terrible day to be a sheriff, under arrest, and locked up.

Now my work begins.

8.

I don't like driving in Chicago traffic on Fridays. The rush hour angst is underway, I'm thinking as Father Bjorn and I pull away from Cook County Jail. Weekdays are h.e.l.lacious, a mix between a solar storm and an Indy 500. Chicago drivers will run you off the road with glee, given the opportunity. Or tailgate you at eighty-per if you linger in the fast lane. But Fridays are all that times ten. Everyone wants to get home before everyone else and normal business trips like mine should be avoided whenever possible. Today that isn't happening.

Dania asked me to run by the grocery on the way home, but I'll be d.a.m.ned if I can remember what for. Carrots? Pot roast? I'm guessing at her Sunday menu in hopes something jogs my memory.

"What are you thinking, Michael?" inquires Father Bjorn as we turn south. "Did he do it?"

I tap the steering wheel with my fingers.

"That's hard to say. So far we don't know why the investigation has narrowed down to Jana. We don't know why they picked him up. My gut says we need to talk to Uncle Tim. He surely must have talked to the police when they came for Jana. What do you say we drop by and ask a few questions?"

Father Bjorn dials up Jana's mother and gets the uncle's address. He lives only three miles away, so it's an easy decision.

The house is an ugly duplex-two doors on the front porch. Uncle Tim is the one on the right. The curtains are closed and the Tribune hasn't been taken inside. I ring the doorbell. The curtains move and billow and I can see a large yellow tabby cat has sprung onto the window sill to greet us. The cat looks at us with total disinterest. It arches its back and turns away.

I ring a second time. We hear footsteps and then the door suddenly swings open. A round, barrel-chested man wearing a T-s.h.i.+rt and black jeans stands and blinks at us. He makes no effort to open the storm door.

"I'm Jana's dad!" Father Bjorn shouts through the gla.s.s.

The man's face capitulates as he understands. He reaches and pushes at the handle.

"Come in." He backs away from the door.

"I'm Michael Gresham," I say, extending my hand. "I'm Jana's lawyer."