Chapter 6 – Prescot

 

She was addictive and a bit hypnotic.

Unchartered waters.

Plain Jane.

Braces.

Blood.

Murder.

“Shit,” I muttered, dropping my pen. “The brother did it.” I grabbed my phone and called our firm’s private investigator. “Hey, Mick, I need some more information on the brother’s alibi.”

“It was solid.”

“Check again. I don’t think it was.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling.”

“Okay, boss.” He hung up.

Her sweet smile.

Her braces.

Her soft green eyes.

“Focus, Prescot,” I muttered to myself as if that would help.

I can’t make it stop.

It never stops.

My thoughts, my focus.

It’s all over the place.

The words bounce around.

My mind wanders. A lot. I get short bursts of information. Mostly.

Murder.

My client was being charged with murder.

But he was innocent.

Very innocent.

The brother set him up.

But why? It always comes down to why.

Why him?

Why her?

Why do people do the things they do?

“Mr. Bale.” I heard the newest assistant speak from the doorway. I lost track of their names after the first few.

Except her.

Ki Reagan Nicolson.

Never had a ticket.

She doesn’t own a car.

 

My seatbelt pressed me against the backseat as Mother screamed in my face. It was a hot August morning, we were supposed to go on a family vacation, camping. Mother said it would be fun, but nothing is fun when she screamed in my face.

She terrified me.

I couldn’t understand why Mother didn’t love me. Why she didn’t understand that my brain was broken. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to her, I couldn’t.

I couldn’t form the words. Which made her angrier.

“Boy,” she spat, “you better believe I will whip those words outta you.”

Tears burned my eyes as I thought of the scars the whip left last time. The blood. My sobs.

“Oh, so you can make noises. All this time, I thought you were deaf, dumb, or both.” She smacked me across my mouth and slammed the door shut. Blood trickled out the side of my lip, my throat tightening, pressing the sob further down. Mother’s right, I must be dumb . . .

 

“Mr. Bale.”

Mother’s face and the hot station wagon vanished from my mind, but the sting on my mouth remained.

“What!” I snapped, organizing the pictures on my desk.

“I’m sorry, but your wife called. She’s on her way.”

“Don’t let her back.” I barely heard her reply while I grabbed a blank piece of paper.

It was clean.

Too clean.

I grabbed some of the photos and flipped through them. Again.

What was I missing?

The blood splatter was consistent with the victim’s, but there were two other blood types at the scene. I shuffled the photos and put the clean piece of paper back on top.

She didn’t wear makeup.

Ki.

Ki didn’t wear makeup.

The victim did. Lots of it. It was all over her apartment.

Too much color.

Not enough color.

Or maybe just enough?

Ki was just enough.

Vicki was too much.

I looked over a few more pictures, the ones with the random blood smears that didn’t belong to the victim. Or my client.

It’s like they were put there on purpose, to throw us off.

I heard someone walk in and shut the door. Glancing up, I never thought it’d be her.

Ki.

She was crawling on the floor.

The hardwood floors.

“Ki.”

“Hey.” She was breathing heavily.

 “You in trouble?” I asked taking my glasses off so I could see her better. My receptionist stood, and I put my hand out to her to make her go away.

“Maybe?”

“The kind of trouble that required a lawyer?”

Please say no.

“Maybe?”

Fuck.

Private investigator.

Undercover.

I knew an undercover.

I had to call him.

“Your wife’s here,” she informed me.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “See, you are the best person for the job. You can predict things.”

“Sometimes.” She shook her head. “Not really.”

“Happenstance.” I kept eye contact. She liked that.

She’s liked a lot of things.

Simple things.

Easy things.

She stood up slowly, and I started to roll my sleeves down. If Vicki was on her way here, I was on my way out.

I had court.

An innocent client.

The extra blood was on purpose.

“Why do you hide them?”

Her eyes danced around my tattoos. “Professionalism, Miss Nicolson.”

“Makes sense.”

“It does.” I grabbed the tie.

I had to wear a tie.

I had to dress up, play the part.

“What doesn’t make sense is why you’re here.”

“I’m not serving you,” she replied.

Her bluntness made me chuckle. No one made me chuckle. “That’s good to hear.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Are you?”

“I might be.”

She can’t be in trouble.

She’s too small.

Young.

Inexperienced.

Braces.

Blood.

The shrill ringing of my phone pulled my thoughts together for an instant, breaking me out of my cycle.

“What?” I snapped answering the phone.

“She’s here.”

“No.” I hung up and started packing up the pictures, trying not to scare her away, but some fell to the floor.

She was nice.

She helped.

But the blood.

The victim.

Her jeans.

Why was she wearing jeans?

I grabbed the pictures, and she apologized.

Shit.

The brother did it.

Focus, Prescot.

“If you didn’t come here to serve me . . .” Focus, Prescot. Breathe in, breathe out. Calm your thoughts and hold it together. We don’t have time for this. “Can I be blunt?”

“You seem like a blunt person.”

“You were right. My wife’s here.”

She continued to watch me shove the papers into my briefcase.

She had to leave.

I had to leave.

Court.

I had court.

“Walk out with me. I’ll tell her I’m with a client and we’ll go sit in the conference room until she leaves.”

“That won’t work, Mr. Bale. Your wife saw me when I was here working; she won’t buy that I’m a client.”

Not Mr. Bale.

Prescot.

I looked at her for a minute.

Her face.

So simple.

I would never forget.

She needed my words.

“Ki, don’t take this the wrong way.” Be blunt. “My wife.” Hopefully not for much longer. “Vicki is the most stuck-up, pretentious bitch I have ever known. If you aren’t throwing money at her, or allowing her to demean you publicly, or fucking her, she doesn’t register you in her world; she won’t remember you. I’m willing to bet she won’t remember you, so just follow my lead.”

She glanced at her watch.

“Do you need to be somewhere?”

“Kind of.”

“It won’t take long.” I held the briefcase in my hand and walked around my desk, at the same time Vicki came through the door.

“What the hell is this?”

“I’ve told you many times, that you just can’t walk in here like you own the place.”

 “I’m your wife.”

She never belonged to me.

It was a mistake.

The entire five years was a mistake.

“This is my place of business, Vicki.”

She pointed at Ki. “You were in the elevator.”

“Was I?” she replied.

They were in the elevator together.

“You hit those buttons on purpose!” she yelled at her then looked at me. “Who is she?”

“A client,” I lied.

I was a good liar.

“Why’d you hit the buttons?”

I knew why.

“Um. It’s my first time here?” she lied.

She wasn’t a good liar.

“Vicki, leave my client out of this.” I walked passed her; Ki slid in front of me, but Vicki jabbed one of her talons on Ki’s shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. She stepped closer and eyed Ki.

“I don’t believe you!” she yelled. “Prescot, you mean to tell me that this isn’t the same incompetent secretary you had working here?” She turned her body toward Ki and chuckled. “Like I’d ever forget . . . Braces.”

“Vicki, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I masked my face and slid my hand to Ki’s back.

Her jeans.

She had to walk in front of me.

I was taking her to the conference room by Molly.

The lobby.

My client.

“There’s no way she could be your client and your secretary, Prescot,” she yelled as we walked down the hallway. We passed a few rooms but kept walking right behind the receptionist desk. Molly turned in her chair, eyes wide.

“Molly, call George please.”

“No, Prescot! No!”

Vicki hated George.

I didn’t.

I showed Ki the room, and she went inside.

I turned to her.

My wife.

My hell.

My living hell.

My one mistake.

So much regret.

We were too close, but I bent my head to her ear anyway.

“Sign the fucking papers, Vic, or it’s going to get ugly.”

“But I love you,” she replied, putting her arm around my waist. I tried to pull away, but she flung her body at me.

“You never loved me, Vic.”

“I did,” she lied. “You know I did.”

She was a great liar.

“I never loved you.”

The disappointment in her eyes almost led me to believe that I hurt her.

But I knew otherwise.

She only wanted my money. The status.

She got to me during the worst time of my life.

She kissed me on the cheek when George stepped off the elevator, and I went to the conference room to stand next to Ki.

Ki.

Ki was simple.

Easy to like.

“Have you ever made a decision that you regret?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you get over it?”

“I haven’t.”

I looked down at her, and she averted her eyes.

She was telling the truth.

Truth.

She was innocent.

My client was innocent.

Three blood types.

So much blood.

Shit.

I had court.

“I’m late for court.”

All my life, I was told I had to talk. I had to use words.

Speak! my mother would yell, repeatedly.

I drove her nuts.

She hated me.

I hated her.

I didn’t like to speak.

I didn’t like to give my words unless they meant something.

In court, or with clients, they meant something. Anything to do with my career meant something.

Ki.

She had a way of reaching in and pulling them from me. She wanted them, and I had a feeling she deserved them.