Readjustment (Restitution #2)

19

Adam Dawson

When we finished with Jessica, we found an early Christmas present waiting for us in our inbox.

All the data from Milo Davonte’s phone had been sent over from his carrier, and it didn’t take long to find something useful. The last time his GPS was on was Monday night, and the time and place it shut off only strengthened our case. The full blood panels were still being run, but CSU found a print complete enough to match Milo’s from the Honda Civic. That, combined with the information Jessica gave us, meant all that was left to do was lay it out and hope Davonte filled in the blanks.

Caleb refused to look at me as we crossed the lot and got in the Charger. He remained silent as he clicked his seatbelt, took a sip from a water bottle, and started the car. The early morning sun hurt my eyes, so I pulled the visor down and stared out the passenger window as we drove.

Frost still glistened on the grass in the park. Last-minute shoppers were braving the cold on Main Street. Their breath steamed as they walked in and out of the small business with bags in hand. We took the ramp to the freeway, and the scenery became only naked trees and dented guard rails. I chewed my thumbnail and thought about the case. How far did this all stretch? How long would it take, and how many agencies would need to get involved to bring it down? I secretly hoped that if I thought about it hard enough, Caleb’s senses might pick up on it and start a conversation.

But he didn’t.

The air changed from crisp and clean to sterile and imposing as we entered the hospital and stopped at the elevators. We ended up in a cart with a middle-aged woman clutching a blue teddy bear and balloons that said, “It’s a boy!” She exited on the 3 rd floor with a delighted smile on her face. She wished us a good day, and we rode up one more floor before exiting.

Davonte looked worse today. The bruising had darkened from red and blue to black and purple. His right eye was bandaged over, and his black hair was clean but shaggy. He was sitting upright with his left leg still heavily bandaged and elevated.

“Your lawyer’s on his way.” Caleb pulled his satchel off his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk yet.”

Davonte nodded once; his swollen lips pulled tight.

“Detectives.” A gentleman wearing so much cologne he’d be considered a fire hazard walked into the room. He was short, but his set jaw and raised shoulders resembled a junkyard dog. His sandy brown hair was like Caleb’s with short, controlled curls up top, and his silver suit had a sheen to it that lower-end designers used to make their stuff look more expensive (or so Josh says).

“I’m Nelson Hart, Mr. Davonte’s attorney.” He offered a hand, and his sly smile showed off artificially white teeth. “And before you badger a confession from my client, I’ll remind you we’re in a hospital, and I’ll have no problem getting that thrown out.”

From his bed, Davonte gave a satisfied smirk.

I shook his hand a little too hard, holding on as I said, “And I’ll remind you we don’t need a confession to make an arrest.”

Davonte’s face fell flat.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Hart said.

Caleb handed me a folded chair off the bathroom door and grabbed one for himself. “Let’s get down to the facts.”

After Caleb placed his chair beside the bed, I set mine beside his. Hart sat in the cushioned seat beside Milo and adjusted his French cuffs, purposefully showing off a silver Rolex.

Overcompensating. I smiled inwardly and leaned back in my chair.

Caleb dislodged his pen and twirled it. “We found your girlfriend’s car less than a mile from Keola Antu’s body.”

“So?” Hart said.

“They lifted your fingerprints from it,” Caleb said.

“Mr. Davonte said the car broke down,” Hart replied nonchalantly.

“We’ve had it inspected,” I said. “No signs of any mechanical failure. All tires intact.”

Davonte clutched the edges of the blanket tighter.

“We also have your cell phone data.” Caleb pulled out the marked evidence bag. “GPS puts you outside the office building on Cherry Hill Monday evening. You were here for ten minutes before your GPS was shut off. You must have realized your mistake before you took Keola to the field.”

“I was picking up a friend,” Davonte insisted.

“What does this have to do with my client?” Hart asked.

“We’re not done,” I said, “Keola’s friend confirmed he dropped him off at that business complex six minutes before Davonte turned off GPS.”

Caleb glanced down at his notes. “The building locks at seven p.m. So, unless your friend owns an office suite, and you can produce their testimony, you’re batting zero.”

The skin around Milo’s bruises got progressively paler and a sheen of sweat glistened his forehead.

“That’s not the best part,” I added. “You were skimming drug money belonging to the Riverside Prophets and went MIA after you were caught.”

“Who told you—”

“Don’t worry about that.” I lifted my hand to Hart before he uttered a word. “We’ll provide you with a copy of the interview.”

“The sheriff had you tracked down,” Caleb said, “Antu and three of his colleagues are already in custody. And they’re all talking.”

Milo shook his head slowly.

“It was probably a shock when the gang showed up and told you there’s a way to save your life.”

“I don’t know what—”

“A problem bigger than you,” I cut Milo off, “Pretty convenient. And your record shows you’re not above violent crime.”

Milo was about to speak, but Hart shot an arm out over his chest. “Hang on,” he twirled a finger around in the air, “you’ve got a lot of moving parts here. How do they relate to my client killing someone?”

“Your client, Mr. Hart,” Caleb laid a forearm on his knee and leaned onto it, “was in trouble with his gang for jeopardizing their relationship with another organization. Keola Antu knew too much about his father and threatened to expose the operation. Keola needed to be dealt with, so in exchange for his life, Mr. Davonte was given the job.”

Milo drew his good leg up and wrapped his arms around it as Caleb continued.

“He met Keola at a designated place where he’d been lured and knocked him out. It was either part of the plan to drag him somewhere and finish the job, or Milo realized his location was still on and made a detour.”

“So he was under duress,” Hart broke in.

“Come on,” I sneered. “You know duress isn’t admissible in murder cases.” Out the corner of my eye, Milo was mumbling a prayer. He scurried to the far end of the bed, like an animal in a cage.

“Were you being threatened, Mr. Davonte?” I asked.

“Don’t answer that,” Hart said.

“I’m not asking for a confession,” I clarified, “but if you help us clear up some missing links, it’d look good if you want to be offered a plea deal.”

“You don’t understand.” Milo pushed tears away with the heel of his hand, scraping his cheek with the hospital band. “They were gonna kill my family. I just had to do one job. They were tracking me. Still are. They’re harassing Jessica in the fucking parking lot.”

“Was that job killing Keola?”

“Don’t answer that!” Hart stared daggers at his client.

Milo took that advice, but he wasn’t done pleading for sympathy. “But it didn’t matter.” He waved a hand over his leg. “They still tried to kill me. Stabbed me. Shot me up with dope. I’m lucky I got away—they’re fucking crazy.”

“Tell us who your friends are working with.” I said.

“I think that’s enough.” Hart stood up and leaned closer to Milo. “They’re about to arrest you, and everything you say from here on out can be used against you. I can make it work for you.”

“Good luck with that.” Caleb slid his notes back into his bag, took his cuffs from his belt, and executed the arrest of Milo Davonte for Keola Antu’s murder.

In the elevator, Caleb sighed like he was bearing the weight of the world. He stared ahead with empty eyes until the door slid open. When a team of nurses in scrubs waited for us to get off, Caleb held the door for them, sporting the artificial grin I’d learned to hate.

“Everybody wants a plea deal,” he muttered as we walked down the connecting hall.

“I noticed.” I stayed behind, because walking beside him was too much right now. “Look at it this way: the more they’re willing to talk, the better chance we have of tearing that fucking house down.”

Another cloud of nothingness formed again as we crossed the main entrance. A janitor was mopping up a spill on the walkway, and the tangled scent of lemon, antiseptic and coffee made me cough as we passed.

Caleb must have felt it too. He sighed in relief as the glass door closed behind us and headed toward the parking lot. “We still need to figure out how these guys knew Keola had physical evidence.”

I masked the shock that he was talking to me by fidgeting with my button. “Probably someone he was trying to pass the info to, or the friends he was sleuthing with.”

“We’ll talk at the station.” He shifted the Chargers keys to his other hand and slowed down mid-stride. “About the case, I mean.”

Outside of work, you may as well be dead to me.

The weight of those words slowed me down, and if Caleb hadn’t stopped to pat his pockets, I’d have fallen behind.

“Crap.” He fished around some more. “I must have dropped my lucky pen.”

“The one G got you when you made detective?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Caleb checked the pockets one more time.

“I’ll go look for it.”

“No, I’ll go.”

“Drive up to the entrance. I got this.” I turned and stepped onto the crosswalk, thankful for the reprieve.

“Wait, we should…” Caleb’s voice faded under the roaring engine of an ancient Ford truck headed straight for me. Time slowed down, like being stuck in a Matrix where everythingbetween me and the truck’s grill moved at a snail’s pace.

“Adam!” In my peripheral, Caleb was moving towards me with his arms extended.

“Look out!” A hard shove knocked me out of the truck’s path. I turned and watched in horror as the truck crashed into Caleb’s flesh. Every moment was an eternity as he twisted through the air, hit the ground with a sickening thud and rolled a few times before landing on his back.

“Caleb!” I screamed, sprinting to his side and falling on my knees. Blood spilled from a gash on his cheek, and left his leg hung at an obscure angle. He let out a painful cry as he tried to lift his head.

“Stay still.” I stroked his hair as I waved my hands at a woman in scrubs rushing towards us. “Help!”

Caleb’s breath shallowed and his eyes began to close.

“Stay with me.” I snapped my fingers above his face. “You fucking stay with me!”

The nurse drew near and dropped down to one knee.

“Give me your coat,” she ordered. “Go get help at the ER entrance.”

I shrugged it off and she quickly covered him as I took off at a dead run.

The next few hours were a maelstrom of images and faces; some familiar, some not. Had I talked to all of them? I wasn’t sure. The whir of automatic doors, the antiseptic, the quiet chatter. The terror. The guilt. It all stirred up images of Perry, unconscious and broken in a hospital bed.

It was happening again. I would lose someone I loved again.

I broke free from the crowd, rushed to the bathroom, and dry-heaved over the sink. I soaked some paper towels and held them to the back of my neck. This isn’t Ann Arbor, I told myself. Caleb will be okay. He had to be. I just needed to breathe. The cold compresses didn’t calm me down any, but they kept me conscious. After the last twenty-four hours, that’s the best I could ask for.

I made it two steps outside the bathroom when Officer Barrett grabbed me by the elbow.

“Whoa.” He tilted his head, eyes soft with concern. “You don’t look so good.”

I didn’t have the energy to stay upright, and he guided me to a chair in the waiting room. Caleb’s parents came in and talked to officers that’d come to offer support. They sat at the opposite end of the waiting room, acknowledging me with a wave. More officers stopped in, their radios and static filling the atmosphere. After an eternity, a doctor came out and talked to Chief Branson.

After a whispered conversation, the chief thanked the doctor and came over to me, “Caleb is stable,” he said. “No internal bleeding, and a mild concussion. The worst injury was a broken hip that needs flexor surgery. They’re prepping him now.”

“Can I see him?” I asked.

Branson shook his head. “Doc said he’s in a lot of pain. Let’s wait until he’s in Recovery. He’ll be on the third floor.”

I nodded and followed him to the elevators.

An infomercial for compression socks played on a loop in the Surgical Department waiting room. The water fountain at the back of the room ramped up, then settled at regular intervals. In the vending machine beside it, a bag of Sun Chips was stuck between its dispenser and the glass. I drummed my fingers on the wooden arm of my chair and my thoughts got louder and louder by the second. Caleb’s painful cry. His body crumpled on the ground. Crashing into the Christmas tree. The ruined ornament from Ethan. His sobs from the other side of his bathroom door. The pain of betrayal when he’d seen me with Josh.

I hate you, Adam.

You’re toxic.

Caleb had every right to hate me, but when a truck had barreled towards me, he didn’t hesitate to save my life. I’d give anything for it to be me going into surgery. All he’d done since I came to Peyton was try to save me from myself. And now, he might lose his career because of a heroic act I didn’t deserve. My mind traveled further back through moments of last three months. Poking me in the ribs when he knew I was lost in my thoughts. His smile when I made his coffee for him. How he fiddled with his cuffs every few minutes when he’s focused on a report. Little, priceless moments I’d treasure forever. I covered my face and stifled the anguished moan that escaped me. I was afraid I’d actually break into pieces when an unexpected voice called my name.

“Adam?”

Guadalupe stood in front of me. Her long black hair was draped over one shoulder of her tan jacket that didn’t quite match her floral pattern slacks.

“Hey.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t see you come in. I should’ve called you.”

“It’s alright,” she sat down in the chair next to me, “Chief Branson filled me in.”

“Oh, uh,” I rubbed my jaw, unsure of what to say next. She’d given me an epic dressing-down last night, and I didn’t have the bandwidth for another right now.

“You look like you need some air.” She motioned towards the elevator. “Can I talk to you outside a moment?”

She noticed my hesitation and said, “I won’t scream at you again.”

“Okay.” In the elevator, Guadalupe was silent. She knows it’s my fault. All of it. My pulse raced. Is she going to tell the chief? Get me fired? Where will I go next? When we got to the main floor, I followed her out of the ER doors. The sky was a mix of orange and grey. It was only eleven-thirty, but it felt like I’d lived four days since I woke up.

Guadalupe reached into the pocket of her jacket, pulled out a pack of gum, and held it out to me. “Want a piece?”

“No thanks.” I put my hands in my pockets and watched an ambulance race towards the main road with its lights on.

She popped a piece into her mouth, then tapped my wrist as if to get my attention. “I’m not talking to you because I like you. I don’t. You haven’t given me any reason to.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say to that except, “Alright.”

She stepped in front of me, and her eyes were softer and lighter in the glow of midday than they were last night. With her smooth skin and silky, long hair, I had to remind myself this woman was in her fifties. Her hands perched on her hips, and though her head didn’t reach my shoulders, she felt so much taller than me.

“Caleb’s told me about you.”

“He has?”

She nodded. “About your brother. And how you feel stuck in your marriage, and I can relate. The problem I have is that you’re looking to Caleb to break those cycles for you. It might not be intentional, but it has to stop. Only you can save yourself. So please, for your sake, do it.” She paused just long enough to take a breath. “And if you really care about Caleb, which I think you do, since you called me last night, you will leave him alone until you do. If you can’t learn to be good for yourself, you’ll only go on hurting him.”

She was right. Caleb had been a beautiful distraction from the lies I was living. It was easy to tell myself I’d change when we were together, but it meant nothing if I didn’t follow through.

Behind the steel in her eyes were hints of compassion. It brushed aside the clouds in my mind—all the thoughts about the past month, and a calming sense of clarity came over me.

“I will.” I said softly.

“Good.” Guadalupe stepped back and headed towards the doorway. “I didn’t particularly like Caleb when I first met him. I can change my mind about not liking you, but not if you make me hate you.” She paused outside the door and gave me one more hardened glare. “Get your shit together.”

I stood in the cold for a while and let her words sink in. A woman was wheeling out her elderly mother, her nerves visible as she tried to get her in the car like she was afraid to break her. Another ambulance rushed by; sirens blaring as it turned on the main road. The whole world was moving on around me, and I had to evolve with it or die.

I had my plan in place before I turned away from the cold and crossed the lobby. The elevator stopped on the third floor, and I made my way back into the waiting room with determined steps.

“Hey Chief?” I approached Branson, who acknowledged me with a chin tilt. “Can we talk?”