Ten minutes after the hearing was supposed to start, there was no one in the courtroom other than the principal players-the attorneys for both sides and the court bailiff. Somewhat ironic, Ben mused. Every time he tried a murder case, the courtroom was packed. People thought trials were exciting (even though, in the main, they weren’t), full of tricks and high drama and witness hysterics and Perry Mason-style manipulation-all leading up to that dramatic moment when the jury rendered the verdict. But no one ever came to see an appellate hearing. A bunch of lawyers talking? Who cared? But the truth was, what took place at these hearings was often more interesting-and more final-than anything that happened in a trial.
“Got your argument mapped out?” Christina asked. She was sitting beside him at counsel table, armed with three tall stacks of photocopied case law.
“I think so. I’m going to start with a few token citations to the precedents for granting habeas corpus relief.”
“All five of them, huh?”
“Right. But I won’t spend much time there, because I know the judge already knows all that. What I hope to make implicitly clear, as I discuss the result in each case, is that the federal courts have traditionally stepped in, on whatever grounds, when they believed there was serious doubt about the defendant’s guilt. And then I start laying down all the doubt.”
“Think it’ll work?”
“It might. If the judge is halfway reasonable, at the very least we should convince him to postpone the execution while we continue to investigate.”
“Are you going to use my second-man theory?”
He looked at her sternly. “Christina, we may be desperate, but we don’t have to act like it.”
From the other side of the courtroom, a heavyset man in a somewhat worn suit approached Ben. “Looks like we have some time on our hands.”
“Yeah. Any idea why?”
“Who knows? Federal judges do whatever they want.”
“I suppose.” Ben knew Jerry Weintraub from the days when he had interned at the DA’s office, before he moved to Tulsa. He was a big bear of a guy-always upbeat, impossible to dislike. He was representing the AG’s office in this hearing; the attorney general traditionally represented the state in criminal appeals.
“The problem is, these appointed-for-life federal judges all think they’re God. And it’s hard to keep God on a timetable.”
Ben half smiled. Jerry had always been one of his favorites, back in OKC, and he still was-even when he was on the other side. “I can’t believe you’re still with the AG’s office after all these years.”
“Hey-it’s job security. Don’t knock it.”
“Don’t you get tired of being the AG’s gofer?”
Weintraub appeared indignant. “Who’s a gofer? I’ve outlasted three attorneys general and four governors. I run the place. They take orders from me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You should never have left the DA’s office, Ben.”
“After the big blowup with Bullock? I had no choice. Not that it matters. I like choosing my own cases.”
“Well, if this is an example of what you choose, you were better off doing government work.”
A rustling from the back of the courtroom told them the judge was making his way out of chambers. “Well,” Weintraub said, “time to put on my self-righteous-law-and-order-zealot face.” He skittered back to his own table.
“All rise.” The judge’s clerk stepped out of chambers and called everyone to attention. “This court is now in session. The Honorable Richard A. Derek presiding.”
Ben’s jaw fell three inches lower. “Did he just say-”
Christina nodded solemnly.
“We were supposed to get Holmes. This is Holmes’s courtroom. The clerk told us it was going to be Holmes.”
“It seems the clerk was wrong.”
The two attorneys watched as Judge Derek, Ben’s former nemesis at Raven, Tucker & Tubb, slowly walked to the bench, a grave expression on his face. He was, as always, extremely handsome. There was more gray flecking his temples these days, but predictably it just seemed to augment his underwear-model good looks.
“Why him?” Ben muttered under his breath. “Why did it have to be him?”
“Stay calm,” Christina whispered.
“How can I stay calm? The man hates me. He goes out of his way to make my life miserable.” He cast his eyes upward. “Why couldn’t it be Ellison or Seay or Eagan -”
“Isn’t she a Republican?”
“Even so. Better a judge who wants to hang the defendant than one who wants to hang the defense attorney.”
Derek stopped on his way to the bench to harangue his clerk. Ben couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could tell the poor underling was getting a major chewing-out. Probably forgot to pick up Derek’s dry cleaning or something.
Ben sighed. The man hadn’t changed a bit in the years since they had both been at Raven. This was going to be a disaster.
Derek took his seat, placing his hand against the side of his head. He made it look like a scratch, but Ben knew better. He was checking the lie of his toupee. A more vain man never lived.
Derek gazed out into the courtroom. As soon as he laid eyes on Ben, his expression soured.
“Great,” Ben muttered. “Just great.”
His shoulders heaving, Derek read from the papers already on his desk. “This is Case Number CJ-675-03D, In Re the Habeas Corpus Petition of Raymond D. Goldman. Are counsel ready to proceed?”
Weintraub stood. “We are, your honor.”
Christina nudged Ben. “Go for it.”
Ben shook his head. “No way.”
“What do you mean, no way?” she hissed. “You can’t back out now. Think about Ray.”
“I am thinking about Ray,” he whispered back. “And guess what, Christina? You just became lead counsel.”
“Did I mention that I don’t want to be here?” Mike asked.
“No,” Baxter said wearily. “But I’m sure you will.”
Mike watched as the mourners-and there weren’t many-filed past the gravesite. Did Erin really have so few friends? he wondered. Or did the fact that her death was commonly believed to have been a suicide keep people away? Had she had so much trouble reuniting herself with the real world, after the tragedy she had endured?
A few of the ten or so people in attendance at Erin Faulkner’s funeral Mike recognized from the organ clinic-Dr. Palmetto, for one. But most he didn’t know. And as he watched, it seemed to him that most of them didn’t know one another, either.
In the movies, Mike thought, it was always raining at funerals. But not here, not today. The sun was shining and it was unseasonably warm. Some of the attendees were probably melting in their black clothes. Didn’t seem right, somehow. This was play weather. This was a day for the park. Not Bartlett Cemetery.
He and Baxter kept a good distance away so as not to be a distraction, but not so far that Mike couldn’t pick up scattered words and phrases. “We need not grieve for this woman,” he heard the minister try to assure those present. “Now she is home. Now she is at peace.”
“I think coming to Erin ’s funeral to conduct interviews is in incredibly bad taste,” Mike muttered.
“It wasn’t my idea. Sheila Knight requested that we meet her here. And I thought that as long as we’re doing one interview here…”
“This is the sort of idea that might appeal to a new cop, but anyone with any seasoning would know better.”
Baxter’s face clouded over. “I’m new to Tulsa, Morelli. I’m not new.”
Mike watched as the minister with the red scarf around his neck closed his small Bible. The interment rites would soon be over. “We should’ve met her at her home.”
“She specifically said she didn’t want us to come to her home.”
Really? That was interesting. “Then you should’ve made her come downtown.”
“And if she said no? Leave me be, Morelli. Go hit on one of the mourners or something.”
Mike shoved his fists deep into his coat pockets. “And furthermore, I hate funerals. I didn’t even go to my father’s funeral, and I adored him.”
Baxter shrugged. “We all have to die sometime.”
“Right. ‘Send not to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.’ “
“Is that more of your poetry?”
“It’s Donne.”
“Thank goodness.” The funeral was over, and the assemblage was beginning to break up. “I’m going to talk to Sheila. Maybe you could track down the boyfriend.”
Because you don’t want me horning in on your interview with Sheila? Messing up the girl talk? “No, I’ll do Sheila. You find the boyfriend. He’s probably the young guy in the cashmere coat.”
Baxter frowned. “Sure you don’t want me along? It might involve some… you know. Women’s issues. Girl stuff.”
What Baxter obviously wanted, Mike realized, was for him to tell her he needed her. That she might be useful. Which he wasn’t about to do. “I’m sure. It’ll save time.”
“Suit yourself.” She started toward the gathering, then stopped. “But try not to make any remarks about her panties, okay? That sort of thing can really mess up an interview.”
Derek’s face was so flushed and angry Christina began to wonder about his blood pressure. “Are you telling me you want this court to grant relief based upon your hearsay testimony regarding the statements of a woman who is not only not present-but dead?”
“That’s about the size of it, your honor.”
“Ms. McCall, the only reason I have not already thrown you in jail is that I know you are a recent graduate and that you’ve probably acquired your understanding of evidence law from your co-counsel.” Derek’s quick glance in Ben’s direction was enough to send chills down his spine. “That could account for a multitude of sins. Incompetence is contagious.”
“I have researched this, your honor,” Christina said firmly. “There is precedent for making hearsay exceptions. For instance, the rule regarding dying declarations.”
“Which this isn’t.”
“Granted, but it only missed by a few hours.”
“You’re not helping yourself, Ms. McCall.”
Maybe not, but she wasn’t going to let him bully her into stopping the attempt. He might terrorize Ben, but to her he was just a blowhard with an overinflated ego and a bad hairpiece. “There are also hearsay exceptions pertaining to any situation where the declarant is unavailable.”
“Those exceptions presume that the statement has been made in such a way or under such circumstances as to suggest truthfulness. Here, I have only the word of counsel for the defendant-the one who’s trying to escape a rapidly impending execution date. Does that suggest truthfulness to you?”
Christina looked the judge right in the eyes. “I take my professional reputation and my ethical responsibilities seriously, sir. If you’re suggesting that I’m making false statements to the court, with no basis whatsoever, I will not hesitate to file a judicial complaint.”
“Young lady-”
“Don’t you young-lady me. I don’t care if you’re a federal judge or the Prince of Wales. I will not allow you to cast aspersions on my character.”
Ben stared at her, his eyes wide as balloons. Did she want to spend the night in jail?
To his amazement, Derek backed down. “Counsel, let’s return to the case at hand, shall we? I am not going to allow this pseudo-testimony into evidence, and I am certainly not going to reverse a well-reasoned jury verdict on its basis. Do you have anything else?”
Christina’s voice dropped several notches. “We’ve made several allegations of error in our petition.”
“All of which have been ruled upon previously by other courts. Do you have anything that is remotely new?”
“Not really.”
“Then under those circumstances, Ms. McCall, I’m afraid I have no choice but to-”
“Wait a minute. I do have something else. Something the police missed entirely.”
Ben sat up straight. Christina…
“And what would that be?”
“The fact that Ray Goldman couldn’t be the killer who massacred the entire Faulkner family.” She paused. “Because there were two of them.”
“Two? Miss McCall, what do you take me for?” If Derek had been angry before, now he looked ready to gnash Christina’s law diploma to pieces with his bare teeth.
Baxter nailed the boyfriend-James Wesley-on her first guess. Not that there were that many candidates at the funeral from whom to choose.
She discreetly flashed her badge, introduced herself, and asked if they could talk a moment in private.
“I suppose.” His expression was phlegmatic and contained. Was he really so unmoved? Or was he putting a brave face on it? “This day can’t get any worse.”
They moved to the shelter of a large oak tree in the corner of the cemetery. “I know this must be hard for you. I understand you were Erin Faulkner’s boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend may be pushing it.” He was a handsome black man, well educated. Way too young for Baxter, but he had an obvious appeal. His curly black locks alone would be the envy of many a woman. “We went out maybe five or six times.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Sheila Knight referred to you as Erin ’s boyfriend.”
“Too bad she didn’t tell Erin.”
“Something happened between the two of you?”
“Not that I know about.” Wesley ran his fingers through his curls. “Everything went fine on our dates. They were a trifle slow or awkward in places, but for first dates, really, they were fine. I wanted to see her again.”
“And you asked her?”
“Repeatedly. But she turned me down.”
“Did she give an explanation?”
“Not really. Just said she couldn’t do it again. Something like that.”
Baxter whipped her pocket notebook out of her jeans and made a few notes. “Any idea why?”
“How would I know? Maybe I was a lousy kisser.” He paused. “But I don’t think that was it. I think…” His eyes wandered about the green expanse of the cemetery. “I think she was afraid of getting too close.”
Huh. And I thought that was only men. “Why do you say that?”
“Do you know what happened to her family?”
“Of course.”
“Well, she never got over it. Not in seven years. It was like after she lost everyone she had ever loved-she never wanted to love again. Wouldn’t allow herself to love again.”
A possibility, Baxter supposed. “Was she seeing anyone else?”
“Not that I know about. Scratch that. I’m certain. I think I was the only guy she went out with the whole seven years. As far as I could tell. And I saw her pretty regularly, when I worked at the organ clinic.”
“You did? But you’re not there now?”
“No. I’m self-employed now. I have a hobby that I managed to turn into a profitable business.”
“So that’s why you left the clinic?”
“Well… no.” Wesley made a coughing sound, deep in his throat. “There was a misunderstanding with Dr. Palmetto. I was asked to leave.”
“Care to tell me the nature of the misunderstanding?”
“Not unless I have to.”
Baxter decided to let it go. For the moment, anyway. “So you left?”
“Yes. And I’m making twice now what I did then, thank you. But I missed seeing Erin every day. That was when I first got up the gumption to ask her out. After I left. I just missed her. We had worked closely together for four years. And I think she missed me, too.”
“But not enough for another date?”
“No,” Wesley said quietly. “I guess not.”
“Where were you when she was killed?”
“At home, as far as I know.”
“Witnesses?”
“I’m afraid I live alone. Housekeeper wasn’t in.”
Baxter nodded and made a few more notes. “Any idea what might’ve happened to her?”
Wesley suddenly seemed supremely uncomfortable. “I’ve… assumed she killed herself.”
“Why would you assume that?”
“That’s what it sounded like. In the papers. Gun still in her hand and all.”
“Any other reasons?”
He pushed himself away from the tree. “She was a very unhappy young woman. Many of us at work tried to help. We talked to her, included her in after-work get-togethers. But there was always…” His face contracted, wrinkles outlining his confusion. “A barrier. Between her and the rest of the world. Something that prevented her from making contact.”
“Any idea what that might be?”
He shook his head. “There was the tragedy, obviously. But I think there was more. I can’t explain it, but-I think she had a secret. Something none of us knew. And it tormented her.”
“Any idea what that secret might’ve been?”
Wesley turned away, staring off at the gravediggers who were finishing their work, burying Erin once and for always. “I wish to God I did. Because if I’d known, I might’ve been able to help her. And she needed someone to help her. More than anyone I’ve ever known. But as it was, I was useless.” He turned away. “I was no help to her at all.”
“So let me get this straight, counsel.” Judge Derek leaned back in his black padded chair. “You’re saying your client should be released from prison-because he didn’t act alone?”
Christina pressed her fingertips against the podium. “He didn’t act at all, your honor. He wasn’t there. But my point is that the law enforcement version of what happened-upon which the conviction of Ray Goldman rested-is absolutely inaccurate. The crime has never really been investigated. Not thoroughly.”
“But of course you have no proof.”
“We are actively following up every-”
“With all due respect, counsel, this crime occurred over seven years ago. It’s a little late.”
“We have several new leads.”
Derek shook his head. “Judicial decisions, at some point in time, must be granted finality. Imagine what would happen if I allowed every conviction to be overturned-or every punishment to be delayed-because seven years later someone comes up with a new theory.”
Ben saw tiny beads of perspiration appearing on Christina’s forehead. She was up against the wall, literally fighting for Ray’s life-and she knew it. “Your honor, we could not possibly anticipate that a critical prosecution witness would recant her testimony, much less that she would die soon thereafter.”
“Yes, but the problem is that all of this comes from the defense attorney. I can’t make a ruling based on theories and investigations cooked up by lawyers.”
“Sir, the police department is also investigating.”
That caught his attention. “They are?”
“Yes. They have two homicide detectives working this case as we speak.”
Jerry Weintraub rose. “Excuse me, your honor, but the AG’s office has been in communication with the Tulsa PD. I believe those detectives are looking into the death of Erin Faulkner-not the slaughter of her family seven years ago.”
“And we don’t have any reason to believe the two are related, do we?” Judge Derek asked.
“It is certainly possible.”
Ben noted the tightening of the jaw that signaled all too clearly that Derek was losing his patience.
Weintraub jumped back into the fray. “Your honor, Erin Faulkner’s death appears to be a suicide, and although the police are required to investigate, nothing they’ve uncovered proves otherwise.”
Derek looked at Christina harshly. “Is this true, counsel?”
Christina swallowed. “Your honor, if it was a clear-cut case, there would be no investigation.”
“What’s more,” Weintraub added, “the death of Erin Faulkner was nothing like the hideous murders of the rest of her family seven years before. There was no torture, no mutilation, no sexual assault. No eye gouging. The weapon was a gun, not a knife.”
“MOs could change over seven years,” Christina said.
“The point,” Weintraub continued, “is that there is absolutely no reason to believe a connection exists between the crime for which Raymond Goldman was convicted and the recent unfortunate death of one of the witnesses who testified against him.”
“Your honor,” Christina pleaded, “if there is any possibility-”
Derek shook his head. “I’m sorry, counsel, but I’m afraid you just don’t have the goods.”
“But your honor-”
“I have no choice but to rule-”
“Your honor, please!” Christina stepped away from the podium. “We’re talking about a man’s life here!”
“I am aware of that, counsel. Nonetheless, we must show due respect to the rulings of the state courts.”
“Habeas corpus relief doesn’t exist to show respect to the state courts. Pretty much the exact opposite.”
“Counsel, you are not helping yourself. Or your client.”
“Furthermore, your honor, if you refuse to use the powers that have been granted to you, you show disrespect to the Constitution and the entire federal judiciary.”
Derek bobbed forward, as if bouncing up on his toes. “Counsel, you go too far.”
“I mean, what’s the point of having federal judges, totally independent and appointed for life, if they’re too cowardly to intervene to prevent injustice?”
“Counsel!” Derek rose to his feet, visibly trembling. “Maybe this is how your cocounsel has taught you to behave in the courtroom, but I can assure you that I will not tolerate it!” He pointed the gavel in her direction. “Consider yourself sanctioned. You may deposit a check for five hundred dollars with the clerk of the court on your way out of the building.”
Christina was unrepentant. “I’d pay five hundred thousand dollars if it would prevent the warden in McAlester from executing an innocent man.”
“Ms. McCall!” Derek’s voice boomed across the room. He swiveled his gavel around in Ben’s direction. “Why is it I only have these problems when that man is in the courtroom?”
“She’s just doing her job,” Ben said quietly.
Derek was seething, practically foaming at the mouth. “I’ve already fired you, Kincaid. Maybe I should finish the job and disbar you as well.”
Ben held his tongue. He knew the best thing he could do for Ray now was to keep as low a profile as possible.
“Your honor.” Christina’s voice was quieter, but no less insistent. “At the very least, give us more time. Let us-and the police-continue to investigate. That’s all we ask. Just stop Ray Goldman’s hourglass while it still has a few grains of sand left in it.”
“The man has been on death row, at the taxpayers’ expense, for seven years. I will not delay his execution date with no better cause than you have given me.” He slowly lowered himself back into his chair. “I will, however, continue this hearing to a later date.”
Christina’s lips parted. She and Ben exchanged a quick and amazed look.
“I should simply deny the petition and end this protracted case. But since the law enforcement community is still investigating a matter that might have some bearing on this case, however slight, against my better judgment I will continue this matter to next week. We will reconvene, and I will expect to be told what, if anything, you’ve learned. I will make my final ruling at the time. And I do mean final.”
Derek lifted his gavel and rapped it against his desk. “This hearing is adjourned. Now get the hell out of my courtroom. Both of you!”
Sheila Knight was stunning. Mike was not one much given to hyperbole, particularly when it came to women. His mother had been lovely, judging from the pictures he’d seen. His ex-wife, Julia, had been drop-dead gorgeous-when she wasn’t drowning her sorrows in potato chips. But the woman who stood before him now was absolutely stunning. Her dark hair was a mess, her face was streaked with red, her black dress was magnificently unflattering-and she was stunning, just the same.
“I loved Erin so much,” she said, her voice quavering. “I loved her like a sister. Like a mother almost.”
“You can’t be much older than she was,” Mike said gently.
“No, I’m not. But Erin was one of those people who need someone to take care of them. Even before the tragedy with her family. And I tried to be what she needed.”
“You knew her even before the deaths?”
Sheila nodded, wiping her nose. “We met in junior high school. Hit it off almost immediately. She was not an outgoing type and neither was I. We didn’t care who was hot and who was not. We didn’t go to football games and we couldn’t care less about the pep squad. We were a good pair.”
“So you were still her friend when…?”
“When it happened. Yes. God, I can’t tell you what that was like. Horrible. Horrible.”
“I’m sure.”
“I mean, I knew those people, every one of them. I’d played Monopoly with the whole family. I’d even sat for the baby.”
“You must’ve been a great comfort to Erin.”
“Not really.” She removed a Kleenex from her purse and dabbed her eyes. “I wanted to be. I stayed with her when she was in the hospital. I came to physical therapy with her, when she was learning to walk again, with the cane. Something had happened to her. Something…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. But something had changed.”
“You continued to be her friend, though?”
“I tried. We became more distant, after we got out of high school. We both went to OU, but somehow, we never saw each other. Until we both came back to Tulsa.”
“And you resumed your friendship?”
“Pretty much so. We’d put down a lot of miles together, and that meant something. We got along well.”
“But not always?”
Her eyes darted downward. “No one gets along all the time.”
True enough. But Mike couldn’t let it go with that. “Were there problems?”
“Nothing serious. I thought at times she might be… jealous of me.”
“Why?”
“Well, I had a much more developed social life. I had a boyfriend. I wasn’t seeing a shrink. And didn’t need to be. She, on the other hand, was all but a hermit. Till she started working at the organ clinic.”
Mike thought he detected a subtle change in her eyes. “What did you think of that job?”
“I thought it was spooky. I still do. Being around all those body parts. Trafficking in organs. Counseling distraught families and dying children. Not that their work isn’t important. I understand the value. But I wouldn’t want to do it.”
“But Erin did.”
“Right.”
“Dr. Palmetto seemed to think that the job was helping her get over the horror of what happened to her family.”
“Did he? Huh.” Again the subtle variation in her expression, her voice. “Well then.”
“You don’t agree?”
Sheila shrugged.
“You don’t much like Dr. Palmetto, do you?”
She thought a long time before answering. “It’s not that I don’t like him. Exactly. It’s that I don’t trust him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. There’s nothing concrete. It’s just a feeling, I guess.”
“Did Erin express any reservations about him?”
“Not to me. If anything, I wondered if she might not have a little crush on him. You know, the young girl falls for the handsome doctor. Soap-opera stuff. I thought that might be the real reason she was hanging around.”
“Was she getting any help? With her problems?”
“As in shrink? Yeah, a woman. Dr. Hayley Bennett. Don’t know how Erin met her. Never seemed to help. She was seeing another doctor-”
“Yes?”
“Kinda strange, actually. But I guess that’s what happens. When people can’t get the answers they want from conventional medicine, they turn to the weird stuff.”
Mike frowned. He didn’t like the sound of this at all. “I’d like that doctor’s name, too, please. If you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
“When was the last time you saw Erin?”
“The day before she died. She went out to McAlester for the Goldman execution. I went with her.”
“What was her reaction when the execution was halted?”
“Actually, she had already left. Before the call came in. She couldn’t stand it there. Something about it was really eating her up. She was silent all the way home. Even more distressed than she had been before we left.”
“Are you aware that Ray Goldman’s lawyers are claiming Erin recanted her testimony? Said she couldn’t ID Goldman as the killer after all?”
Sheila seemed startled. “No. I wasn’t. I mean-” She paused, obviously deep in thought. “That might explain something she said. In McAlester…” Her voice drifted off.
The sun was beating down on them. It was high noon, and dressed in heavy black cotton, Sheila must be about ready to melt. “So what do you think, Ms. Knight? You must have an opinion.”
“I-don’t know what you mean.”
“Do you think Erin lied on the witness stand? Do you think she killed herself?”
Sheila looked hesitant, almost embarrassed. “Well… it certainly looks like suicide. Doesn’t it?”
“Yes. But some people have doubts. She had tried to kill herself before, hadn’t she?”
Sheila paused, gripping her purse strap much more tightly than was necessary. “She did. With pills. I was the one who saved her, actually.”
“So she owed you her life.”
“Yeah. She mentioned that a lot. It brought us closer.”
“Any attempts since then?”
“No. Well, not that I know about. And that was long ago. Granted, I knew she was still having trouble. I knew she had a lot of issues. Guilt. Anxiety. Loneliness. But I didn’t think she was suicidal.” She raised the Kleenex to her eyes. “I didn’t think so.”
“But you can’t rule it out.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I can’t rule it out.”
“Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to kill Erin?”
Sheila looked at him incredulously. “God, no. I can’t-I mean-God! Hasn’t enough been done to her already?”
Mike couldn’t argue with that. “Just one more question, ma’am. If you don’t mind. Why did you ask to be interviewed here? At the cemetery.”
“I just-I knew-” She struggled to explain. “I knew it would be hard, coming here. Finally saying good-bye to Erin. After all this time. But it has to be good-bye, you know? I have to move on. I’ve devoted so much time to her. I loved her so much. But now I’ve got to get on with it. When I go home tonight, I don’t want to be rehashing the last seven years. I want to start fresh. I have-I have to forget.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“I can understand that,” Mike said quietly. “Thank you for talking to me.”
The gravediggers carried away the last of the chairs and the barrier cords, then raked the ground smooth. A moment later, Erin Faulkner was fully and formally interred, and there was no sign that the funeral party had ever been there.
“Sure,” Sheila said, her voice broken. “ Erin really was a wonderful girl. She had a beautiful spirit. But after she lost her family, in such a horrible way, everything changed. She was… I know this sounds trite, but-she was like a beautiful flower. Like a rose, you know? Lovely to look at, a joy to behold. But once someone breaks it-”
“It never grows back,” Mike completed.
“That’s right,” Sheila said, and all at once, her tears streamed. “It just grows weaker and weaker. Until finally, it dies.”