Page 14 of Into These Eyes
These days, she’s at the gym every chance she gets, training for Session Two at the Police Academy. She hasn’t even started Session One yet, which involves sixteen weeks of study via an online course. It’s the most committed I’ve seen her about anything. Not that I particularly like the idea of her being a cop. As a criminal lawyer, I see the horrors the police are hit with daily. I’d prefer she wasn’t exposed to that sort of trauma. But she’s an adult now, so there’s nothing I can do to stop her. Despite my misgivings, I’m incredibly proud of her.
Letting out a long sigh, I switch from messages to my personal emails.
And my heart stops.
Waiting for me in bold lettering, is an email from the State Parole Authority.
I don’t want to open it, don’t want to deal with it in any way. I already know what it’ll say. There’s only one reason they’re contacting me.
Heart hammering against my ribs, I press my finger to the email and keep it held to the screen, as if removing it will set off a landmine. But, like stepping on a landmine, I’m already screwed. Mouth dry, I remove my finger. The email opens and my eyes fly over the familiar words. Sure enough, just like last year, Gavin Lake is applying for parole.
His sentence for murdering my mother came to twenty years. With an eighteen-year non-parole period. Problem is, as I learnt last year, prisons are full to overflowing, so a lot of convicted criminals are able to apply for parole earlier than their initial mandatory sentence.
My mood plummets as the waitress places a black coffee to the side of my laptop. Hands shaking, that familiar rush of rage bubbles to the surface. Why do I have to go through this again?
Last year, I opposed the killer’s application, and it worked. He’d failed and remained locked away. My mother isn’t walking around free, so why should he?
And now he’s trying again? Will this be my life for the next few years? For the last decade and a half, I’ve had no reason to think about him, so I didn’t. Well, maybe sometimes his face flashes into my mind, along with the last words he ever said to me. But I banish such thoughts almost the instant I recognise them.
“Hey,” a deep, gentle voice says from beside me.
I look up to find Peter Pritchard, an Internal Affairs officer, close friend and mentor, peering down at me.
“Mind if I sit?” he asks, his usually friendly face creased with worry. He doesn’t wait for a reply before he slips onto the chair opposite.
Giving him a forced smile, I take a sip of my coffee in an effort to compose myself. I met Pete on my very first case as a lawyer for the prosecution. He’d been a detective back then and his help with nailing the accused had been invaluable. Since then, we always take time to stay in touch.
The wrinkles in his forehead deepen as he gazes at me with those friendly, curious eyes. At around sixty-five or so, he’s probably well overdue for retirement, but seems in no hurry to get there. He also hasn’t been taking care of his health since his wife died a few years ago, evidenced by his belly rubbing against the edge of the table.
“I know for a fact, that look on your face has nothing to do with your current case. Word is, you’re annihilating the defence.”
I shrug as I move my laptop to the seat beside me to give the waitress room to set down my salad and cupcake.
“How’s your father doing?” Pete asks when I glance his way.
“He’s fine.” I don’t tell him that I’ve noticed Dad going to bed a lot earlier than usual lately. He’s not eating much either, which probably explains why he’s so tired. I’ve also noticed the whites of his eyes are a strange, faint mustard colour. Of course, I’ve questioned him about it, but he says he’s been to the doctor and everything’s fine. I’m not quite sure I believe him, but all I can do is keep an eye on him.
“Well? What’s up?” Pete asks.
I let out a sigh. “He’s up for parole. Again.” I don’t need to elaborate. Pete knows who I’m talking about.
He rubs his chin and leans forward. “It’s been a year already?”
I nod as I pick up a fork and move cherry tomatoes around amongst the lettuce and cucumber. “Feels like yesterday,” I mumble.
He nods with sympathy. “You going to oppose it again?”
“What I want is to forget about him.” I let the fork clang against the bowl. “It’s funny … when you think it’s all gone away, it’s really just lurking around the edges, waiting to stab you in the heart again.”
Pete nods, plucks a cherry tomato from my bowl and pops it in his mouth.
“Hey!”
He shrugs. “We both know you hate raw tomatoes.” After he finishes chewing, he says, “Maybe the only way to put Gavin Lake behind you is to confront him head on.”
“Don’t go getting all old and wise on me.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Unfortunately, and fortunately, both of those things are true.”
