The Honorable Whit Mosley curbed the impulse to put the small-claims hearings on a kitchen timer. Watching the Augustine brothers bicker was like rewinding a moment from his own rowdy family’s past, where the six brothers routinely waged war over who scarfed down the nacho chips and who erased the Super Bowl tape and who spread lard across a brother’s bedsheets.
The division between the Augustines – who seemed to be sharing IQ points – was a homemade barbecue grill. Each side had laid out the facts of their case in a style that would have won them admirers on the tabloid talk-show circuit.
‘Let me get this straight,’ Whit said. ‘Tony, you built the grill using your own labor, correct?’
‘Damn straight. Sir.’ Tony Augustine nodded. He was a year older than Whit and had been a minor bully in junior high, and now realized he might pay for past transgressions. ‘Sweat of my own brow. Judge.’
‘But you used Cliff’s materials, correct?’
‘That’s right. Your Honor,’ said Cliff Augustine. He had never pushed anyone out of the lunch line and suspected he had the moral high ground. ‘I spent all the money on the materials: the bricks, the racks, the wiring, all of it.’
‘And, Tony, because there would be no grill without your high level of craftsmanship’ – the sarcasm was not lost on Judge Mosley’s clerk, the constable, the Augustines, or the few spectators waiting to argue their own cases – ‘you now want it back.’
‘Well, yeah.’ Tony gulped. ‘I mean, we were gonna share it, but now our wives ain’t getting along. It’s a real sweet grill, makes the best ribs you’ve ever put in your mouth.’ A hint of bribery honeyed Tony’s voice. Whit believed a plate of the heavenly meats might anonymously arrive at his doorstep, if all went Tony’s way.
‘It’s ridiculous that two grown brothers can’t resolve this,’ Whit said. ‘You’re wasting this court’s time, boys. So call me Solomon. I’m ordering that the grill be divided equally. Right down the middle. You get the right half. Cliff, and you get the left half, Tony.’
‘That’ll destroy it!’ Tony exploded.
‘Are you nuts?’ Cliff demanded.
‘Watch it,’ Constable Lloyd Brundrett, who served as bailiff in Whit’s court, rumbled.
‘Sorry, Your Honor,’ Cliff said in sudden meekness. ‘I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.’
‘Or option B is you two resolve this peaceably right now,’ Whit said. Neither Augustine spoke.
‘Fine, that’s my judgment. The sheriff’s deputies will execute this order at their earliest…’
‘Wait!’ Cliff yelled. ‘Please. Please, Judge. Wait. All right, Tony built it. He can have the grill. I don’t want to see it ruined.’
Tony pumped his fist in the air in a redneck jig.
Whit rapped the gavel and pointed it at Tony. ‘Stop that celebrating. Right. This. Minute.’
The hand dropped; the hips ceased their victory sway.
‘Tony, if your brother is letting you have the grill, I strongly suggest you work out a plan to reimburse him for the cost of his materials, over time and either with cash or barter. Maybe you could feed him and his family some of that barbecue you bragged about. You need to be a good brother. Understood?’
Tony finally nodded, surprised and still pleased.
‘Fine. Case dismissed.’
His clerk handed him the file for the next case. Neighbors bickering over ownership of a lawn mower. In the next hour he adjudicated four more cases. Patsy Duchamp slipped in and sat in the back row of the courtroom. When he completed the last case and the courtroom emptied, Patsy approached the bench and slid him a folder.
The news clippings on Corey Hubble you wanted, Whit,’ she said.
Thanks. The margaritas are on me.’
‘Sure could use a good quote for the Hubble story.’
‘I’m sorry. Patsy, not yet. I should hear from the ME’s office real soon.’ He tucked the file under his arm and promised to call her as soon as there was news.
Whit ducked down the hall into his office, relieved to have the day’s docket done. Five cases in justice court resolved in barely an hour. The voters could not say justice wasn’t damned swift in Encina County. Maybe he ought to make that a mainstay of his campaign.
Whit opened his office door and found Sam Hubble sitting in front of his desk, head bowed, hands in lap.
The boy stood slowly. ‘Hi, Judge Mosley. You got a minute?’
‘Sure, Sam. How are you?’
‘Holding up. I’m kind of freaked about my dad.’
‘That’s understandable.’ Whit’s tongue felt thick and oily. He sat behind his desk, smoothing the black robe. Trying not to let the thought I’ve been screwing your mother play across his face. ‘I know this is a tough time for your whole family.’
Wow, what next can I pull out from the bag of cliched platitudes?
‘I wanted to talk to you about my father. Stuff… I couldn’t say with Gram and Mom around. If you want, we can call them after I’ve said what I got to say.’ His tone was resolute. He looked like Pete: broad-shouldered, tall, lanky, with a shock of brown hair. He’d inherited Faith’s eyes, hazel and direct, and a thin slice of a mouth that reminded Whit of Lucinda.
Then let’s talk.’
‘I’m sorry for what I did,’ Sam said, and Whit’s stomach dropped. ‘My dad killed himself. I know because… I found the body. First. Not that girl.’
Thin light slanted through the half-shut blinds, and in the bars of shadow Sam reminded Whit not of the other Hubbles, but of lost Corey, hunched, beaten down.
‘I didn’t want anyone to know,’ Sam said. ‘But I can’t do this to Gram, let her think… maybe Dad was murdered.’ He swallowed. ‘I went back to the boat Monday night. To see my father.’
‘Did he know you were coming?’
‘No. I just wanted to talk with him. It felt weird sometimes, knowing he had been gone most of my life and yet he was now just a few miles away.’
‘Did you get along with him?’
Sam shrugged. ‘He wasn’t as bad as I thought he would be. But he abandoned Mom and me. I wasn’t ever going to forgive him. Yeah, I could get along with him okay, but forgive, never. I think he knew that.’
Sam pulled a folded paper from his pocket and laid it on Whit’s desk. ‘I went to go see him about eight-thirty. The boat was dead quiet. So I went aboard and I found him.’ The boy’s voice quavered. ‘I freaked. I tried to wake him, but he was clearly dead. His skin… it was still warm.’ He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I, like, froze, I didn’t know what to do. Then I saw the note. It was on the nightstand table.’
‘So you weren’t at home with your mom, like you said in your statement?’
‘No. I snuck out; there’s a trellis by my window. It’s a quiet climb. Mom didn’t know I was gone. I’m sorry I lied on the statement. I didn’t know what to do.’ Sam’s voice broke. ‘Because of what my father wrote.’
Whit took a tissue from a box and carefully unfolded the note. It was written in typeface, from a computer printer: I came home thinking I could fix what was broke in me and I can’t. Mama, I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you and what I did to Corey. I killed him. I didn’t mean to, but I did. We argued over his drug use all those years ago, and I hit him and he fell and hit his neck funny against the stair banister. He was dead in less than a minute and I panicked. Before you came back to town I took his body out past Santa Margarita Island and weighed it down good and dumped it. I didn’t know what else to do. I have tried to deaden the pain of this for years with all the wrong things in life and I just can’t go on. This way is better. Sam and Faith, please forgive me. I love you both. Velvet – I don’t have the words. Be good. Mama – good luck in the election and I hope me ending my pain doesn’t mess up things for you. You haven’t had an influence on me in years so no one should blame you. I am just really unhappy about the person I am. Sam this has nothing to do with you at all. You are aces and I love you. I am so so sorry and please forgive me. Pete.
Whit set the letter down on his desk. A tremble of nausea touched his stomach.
‘You’re going to have to give the police a revised statement, Sam.’
‘I know. But I came to you first… My mom said you decided whether or not it was suicide. Will you go with me to talk to the police?’
‘Sure. But I’d like to know why you kept the note, why you didn’t say anything right away. There was a marina full of people there you could have told.’
‘I know. I just… I didn’t want everyone to know he’d done what he said to his brother. I didn’t – I was worried about Gram’s election, what this would mean. My grandmother… she’s gonna kill me for this. Not helping out right away. Telling a lie.’
‘What happened after you found the’ – Whit nearly said body and managed to edit midstream – ‘after you found the note?’
‘I stayed with him, for a few minutes.’ Sam lowered his eyes. ‘I know, it sounds weird, but I didn’t want him to be alone. It seemed wrong to leave him. I thought of calling the police, but I thought maybe, what with Gram’s election coming up, maybe I shouldn’t be in the news. So I just left, left the boat and left the marina.’ He wiped his dripping nose. ‘Pretty shitty, huh? Am I in big trouble?’
‘Let’s call the police and call your mother.’ Whit picked up the phone and dialed the station. Claudia wasn’t in, but he was transferred to Delford.
Delford blew out a long sigh. ‘Now, here I was telling y’all it was suicide, and Jesus if you and Claudia bickered with me the whole way.’
‘Sam is here, but his mother needs to be present if he’s going to give a statement.’
‘Of course. I’ll give Lucinda and Faith a call right now.’
‘Thanks. We’ll walk across the street in a minute,’ Whit said and hung up.
‘I’m sorry,’ Sam said.
Whit placed the suicide note into a manila folder. Outside the sky was a sweet blue smear and the Gulf wind whipped Whit’s robe around his legs. Sam shaded his eyes against the unclouded sky.
Two questions occurred to Whit. ‘Did you notice whether your dad’s laptop was on the boat?’
Sam shook his head. ‘I didn’t notice a computer around.’
‘And did your father ever discuss a new film project with you?’
Sam shook his head. ‘He didn’t talk about his work to me. Did you know he made movies for driver’s ed?’
‘Yeah,’ Whit said, ‘I knew.’
They crossed the street and went inside to the police station.
‘Quite the development,’ Whit said after Sam had gotten settled in the chief’s office. The Hubble women had not yet arrived but were on their way over. He and Delford had retired to the kitchen.
Delford filled a coffee cup with a shaking hand. ‘God. Relief. I’ll sleep better tonight.’
Whit folded his arms. ‘You’ll have that note tested for Pete’s fingerprints, right?’
‘Showboating is over, Whit.’
‘It’s typed, not handwritten. And his computer is still missing. Am I supposed to believe he typed a suicide note, then tossed his laptop into the marina?’
Delford started to argue, then shrugged. ‘Damn, you’re difficult. Fine. I’ll tell Gardner.’
‘Why not Claudia?’
‘The case is Gardner’s now,’ Delford said through tight lips. ‘Not that there’s much of a case now, partner.’
Delford was right. Whit left. He didn’t want to see Faith right now. He walked to his car, shrugging out of his robe. He tossed it in the backseat and drove a half block to the ice cream store he once managed. He was halfway through a chocolate-almond double scoop when his pager beeped. The Nueces County medical examiner’s office calling.