She crossed her arms tight around her chest. How many times had she heard this same spiel over the years? In her ex-husband’s mind, Helen should have spent their marriage revolving around his orbit. Being the good wife who had dinner prepared every night when he got home. Listening to him whine about his workday and stroking his ego if he still wasn’t feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof.
Subordinating all her own hopes and dreams to his own.
Helen Lewis wasn’t wired that way, and Butch should’ve known that going in. He hadn’t met her at a church picnic. They had met during her first year and his third of law school in Knoxville. She had never wavered in her desire to one day be a prosecutor. Butch had always thought he could change her. Soften her, as he liked to call it, but it was he who’d ended up changing in the end.
“We tried to have kids,” Helen finally said. “Remember? For three years, we tried. It wasn’t in the cards, and you didn’t want to adopt.”
“You know that’s not the whole story,” he said.
“Is that why you came down here?” she asked, edging closer to him and catching another gust of mouthwash and George Dickel. “To rehash old grudges?”
“No,” he rasped.
“Why then?”
He leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “Dismiss the charges against Zannick.” He paused. “Please . . . do it for me.”
“No,” she said. “That entitled prick is guilty of raping Amanda Burks, and my job under the laws of the State of—”
“To hell with your job,” Butch snapped, lashing out with an open palm at one of the jury chairs. “Everything is always about your job, General.” When he spoke her title, spittle flew from his mouth, and his face flushed almost as red as his eyes. “The victim may have been only fifteen years old, but her mother is the easiest lay in Giles County, and based on what I’ve heard from the high school, little Mandy is following in Momma’s footsteps. If that girl is a victim, then I’m a teetotaling priest.”
Helen felt heat behind her eyes. “Whether Mandy Burks was sexually promiscuous or not has no relevance to the case, and I won’t allow Lou to put her character on trial or play any victim-blaming games.”
Butch sighed and then he smiled, but there was only sadness in his eyes. He walked toward the gate with his patented uneven stride. When he reached it, he spoke without turning around. “You’re up for reelection in November, right?”
Helen felt her stomach tighten. She didn’t answer the question.
“Someone finally has the balls to run against the General,” Butch said, his voice rising to the rafters of the courtroom. He turned to face her. “Sack Glover was in my law school class. Did you know that?”
Helen did, but she held her tongue. She sensed that the point of this little charade was about to be made.
“Yeah, old Sack was never much of a student. And mediocre is probably the best description of him as a lawyer. You know that better than me.” He paused. “But one thing I’ll say about old Sack. He’s a persistent bastard. Ever since he declared his intent to run against you, he’s been burning up my cell phone trying to get me to disclose any dirt I might have on you. Were you aware of that?”
Helen wasn’t, but the information didn’t surprise her. She didn’t respond.
“I have some dirt,” he said, and Helen felt a cold tingle run up her arms. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Butch—”
“Remember what you did your third year of law school?” he interrupted, rubbing his chin in mock thought. “I think it was around December or so of 1977, wasn’t it? If that ever went public . . .” He trailed off and whistled. “It’d be the atomic bomb to your campaign and career.”
Helen glared across the courtroom at him. Gooseflesh had broken out on her arms and the back of her neck, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She was dumbfounded, but shock was beginning to give way to white-hot anger. “You wouldn’t dare,” Helen finally said, speaking through clenched teeth. “You promised. You swore that you would never speak of that to anybody. We both did.” She gazed down at the hardwood floor and bit her lip, trying to stem the tears she felt forming in the corners of her eyes.
I won’t cry, she told herself. I will not let this son of a bitch make me cry.
She was still peering at the floor a few seconds later when her ex-husband’s black loafers came into view. He had walked back to her and now was only a foot away. When Butch spoke again, his voice was soft but firm.
“I know what I said, Helen, but desperate times call for desperate measures. This is a conservative county. How do you think the community will feel about what you did? With Sack’s family and business connections, the only thing keeping you ahead in the polls is the common folk. You’ve always owned the grass roots of this county, and for good reason. You’re a hard-boiled prosecutor and a former cop. And your record is pristine.” He licked his lips. “But how do you think your supporters at the First Baptist Church will feel about what you did in December of ’77? Think they’ll still take up a collection for you and come out to the polls in droves? How about the men at the Elks Lodge that you’ve had curled around your finger for years? What about the deputies in the sheriff’s office that all worship you?”
She finally raised her eyes. “And if I dismiss the charges against Zannick?”
He ran a finger over his closed mouth and flung an imaginary key over his shoulder. “My lips are sealed.”
“You’re blackmailing me. I ought to arrest you.”
“You won’t,” Butch whispered. “If you haven’t dismissed by the time opening statements begin tomorrow, I’m going to tell Sack everything. You hear me? And I’ve also drafted a press release for the Pulaski Citizen and all the local radio and TV stations, which I’ll distribute the second you begin your opening.” He paused. “Is prosecuting Zannick worth losing your whole career?”
He took several steps backward, squinting at her the entire time. Then he pivoted and headed for the gate. When he reached it, her voice stopped him.
“Frederick Alan Renfroe!” During their marriage, when Butch had thoroughly pissed her off, Helen would snap off his full name as if it were the final straw. The last warning whistle, so to speak.
He turned his head. “I’m sorry, Helen. I really am, but I have no choice.”
“You’re bluffing,” she said, her voice a low growl. “You don’t have the balls to blackmail me.”
“I wish this was a bluff.” He paused. “You have until opening statements begin.”
“I’m going to kill you!” she screamed. “I swear to God, Butch, as Jesus Christ is my witness, I will kill you dead.”
He smiled, and his eyes shot to a spot behind Helen before meeting her eye. “I love you too.”
Once Butch had fled through the double doors, Helen clenched her fists and let out a scream. She wheeled toward the chair she had been sitting in toward the back of the jury, and that was when she saw the figure standing at the door to the judge’s chambers.
Gloria Sanchez’s face had gone pale, and her back was against the door.