trials – especially ones with a hint of sex – there were only a few empty seats. Even those people talking with their neighbours periodically glanced at him, the accused. He wondered why they bothered. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, not even odd-looking. Without putting his hand to his head, he knew his wavy blond hair looked uncombed – it always did. And his glasses had slid down his nose again. Although he’d lost his incipient paunch in gaol, he still didn’t look like either a hero or a villain. He hated the stares, but the armed policeman by his side ensured he stayed on display like some exhibit in a freak show. Step right up folks! See the two-headed monster, the dog-faced boy, the strangler. He couldn’t bear to see the blood lust in their eyes so he turned back to face the judge’s bench.
Again his thoughts returned to his own testimony. He’d proven the reports of his lightning temper, but at least he hadn’t admitted having a fight with Tracy the night she died. Even under oath he’d denied it and the only person who could have contradicted him was a senile old man who wouldn’t swear the male voice belonged to Ed. Ed sighed. It wasn’t the words he’d said in court, but how he’d said them. His vehemence had made him sound belligerent and unconvincing and the more nervous he got, the more strident his tone became. He buried his head in his hands. What would happen to his son?
Ed’s head jerked up. He hadn’t heard the jury arrive, but there they were, twelve of his peers, solemnly staring at him. He tried to read the verdict on their faces but he couldn’t tell. No one smiled at him. The judge examined him over the frames of his gold-rimmed glasses, then addressed the jury.
‘Foreman, have you reached your verdict?’
The foreman, a stout middle-aged woman sporting a black mole beside her narrow mouth, rose and cleared her throat. She turned her flinty face towards the defendant and Ed saw tombstones in her eyes. He ran a finger under his collar and licked his parched lips as he waited the eternity until she spoke. ‘We have, Your Honour.’ Her voice grated like a rusty padlock in Ed’s ears.
‘And how do you find the accused?’
‘We find the accused not guilty, Your Honour.’
Ed heard the words but they didn’t register until Sue Weldon, his lawyer, squealed with delight. The haggard, hunted look which had inhabited his features for months melted with the dawning of his huge smile. Even before the judge retired, Ed lifted Sue off her feet and swung her around. She giggled as he finally put her down.
‘Where’s Jason?’ he asked. His searching eyes found his fifteen-year-old son struggling through the crowd. Dancing with excitement, Ed waved. ‘Jason, I’m free!’ Jason’s smile mirrored his own as they found and hugged each other.
‘Oh, Dad … it’s over. At last it’s over.’
Ed closed his eyes, absorbing and magnifying Jason’s delight. When they finally eased apart, they glowed.
‘Congratulations, Ed.’ Jason’s grandmother extended her hand but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She’d always been a little wary of her dead daughter’s husband.
Ed touched her fingers. ‘Thank you, Vera. Thanks for looking after Jason.’
The smile finally kindled in her eyes as she put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘I’m always happy to spend time with my Angela’s boy, even under difficult circumstances.’
Ed’s attention was captured by the jury foreman. ‘Congratulations, Mr Royce.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Fitch. Thank you.’ He kissed her cheek. That mole of hers was quite attractive after all, he thought. Wonderful woman. Very perceptive. He wallowed in happiness and relief. Even the sun chose to break through the clouds at this moment, its beams streaming through the window on to the celebrants.
The crowd thinned, leaving only a few people in the courtroom. Ed scanned the faces, ready to share his elation, but his grin froze in place as he caught the eye of Paul Desrochers. The man glared at him and shook his fist. Ed turned away – he didn’t want to deal with the representative of the dead woman’s young son.
Jason tapped his father’s shoulder. ‘Dad? What about that dinner you promised? Can we go celebrate?’
Ed laughed, tilting his face to the sunshine and letting his joy bubble out. ‘You bet. The biggest steaks this side of Alberta.’ He threaded his arms through those of his mother-in-law and his lawyer. ‘Coming, ladies?’
Ed could hear the regular breathing of his son in the other bed as he lay awake in his hotel room. His euphoria had worn off and, while he was still a happy man, he’d come back down to earth. Tomorrow, he and Jason would be returning to Atawan where many of the villagers were convinced he’d murdered Tracy – one of their own. Would they accept the verdict?
He threw off his tangled blankets and got up. By the dim light of the city filtering through the curtains he made his way to the bar fridge and poured two fingers of rye. He took a sip, savouring the burn on his tongue. Alcohol hadn’t been allowed in the gaol where he’d languished for ten long months awaiting trial. Again he cursed the judge who set the bail at two hundred thousand dollars. Even if he’d sold his garage business he couldn’t have raised that much. He took another sip, a bigger one this time, and sighed. At least his mother-in-law had taken Jason to her home in Toronto so the boy wasn’t around to hear the town try and convict his father before Tracy’s body was even in the ground. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Let them eat crow. He was returning a free man and they couldn’t do anything about it. They couldn’t hurt him now. Ed’s gaze found the shadowy outline of his son and his satisfied grin faded. He just hoped the people of Atawan would be kind to Jason whatever they thought of him.
Catherine Edison took off her glasses, swept her shoulder-length chestnut hair out of her grey eyes, and rubbed a soiled hand across her damp forehead. ‘Enough is enough,’ she panted, flopping on to the bare mattress and letting the cleaning rag drop to the floor. She’d always hated moving. Not that there had been many things to move this time – it was a furnished house she’d rented, but it had been vacant almost a year and the grime had built up. She turned her head sideways and blew at the dust on top of the night table. It eddied in the hot glare of the sunlight, making her sneeze. Who am I trying to impress, she asked herself? I’ve never been a clean freak – dirt’s healthy and builds up the immune system.
She heard a clatter on the stairs and then a dimpled fifteen-year-old face appeared in the doorway. ‘Caught you in the act,’ the girl declared. ‘You’re lying down on the job.’
Catherine glanced up at her daughter. ‘Take a break. The dirt’s not going anywhere.’
‘Move over then.’ Morgan collapsed beside her mother and they lay in companionable silence. The house stood on a quiet street at the edge of town and only the faintest hum of traffic reached their ears. They listened to the dust settle.
Catherine looked at her daughter and smiled. Morgan didn’t have as much of a tan as she usually had at the end of August but the light golden colour suited her. She’d lost the unhealthy pallor her mother still displayed. Catherine mussed Morgan’s curly hair. ‘Well, honey? Do you like the place?’
‘It’s not what I pictured …’ Morgan answered diplomatically.
‘It’s exactly as I described it,’ her mother protested. ‘It’s brick,
