Chapter 19

“Sly, you were happily married, right?”

Konrad sat on the basement steps as he discussed his latest Roz dilemma with his good friend. He’d always felt sorry for the way Sly lost his wife and child, then became a vampire all in one horrible moment.

“We were extremely happy.” Sly gazed at the floor and his expression grew nostalgic and sad.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t bring up painful memories, but I need your help.”

“No, it’s fine. I like remembering those days. They were the happiest of my life.” He leaned against a support column. “And will probably continue as such during the rest of my loooong life.”

Konrad gave his friend a sad smile. “I hope you won’t have to go through the next hundred years or more without a loving partner. That’s just cruel.”

Sly sighed. “Tell me about it. But it would be unfair to expect any woman to live up to the memory of my wife. So, anyway, you had a problem?”

“Yeah. A big one.” He raked his fingers over his scalp, pushing the hair out of his eyes. “I asked Roz to marry me.”

Sly’s expression brightened, then turned to one of concern. “I’d offer congratulations, but maybe I should wait until you tell me what the problem is.”

“I don’t know what I did wrong. Well, I sort of do, but I thought she’d be happy. Instead, she kicked me in the nuts!”

Sly laughed. “Ah, you got a feisty one. That’s the best kind. You’ll never be bored.”

Konrad shrugged. “I suppose so. But I wish I could figure her out a little better.”

“She’s a woman. There are some things you’ll never figure out, but tell me what happened and maybe I’ll see something you missed.”

Konrad took a deep breath. “Okay, we were basking in the afterglow of some of the best sex we’ve ever had in our lives.”

“Sounds like a promising start.”

“Yeah, I thought so. Hey, I mentioned the thing about how we have telepathy with each other, right?”

“Um, wrong. You two are telepathic?”

“Only with each other.”

“I’ve heard of that happening with vampires, but I didn’t know if it was true.”

“Really? Vampires experience that too?”

“Only with one person. Their beloved. It’s like a soulmate, and supposedly there’s one for each of us.”

“I guess it’s the same for werewolves. When I discovered Roz was my mate, I just naturally assumed she’d be my wife someday.”

“Uh-oh.”

“What? You figured out the problem already?”

“Maybe. If the words “I just assumed” translate into taking it for granted, yeah, that could lead to a kick in the nuts.”

Konrad hung his head. “Fuck.”

Sly smirked. “Nailed it, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid so. She said something about dreaming of a proposal since she was a little girl—that she didn’t need a ring or candlelight. I tried to do the right thing. I got down on one knee and everything…”

“But it was too late. The damage was done.”

“You think so? Is it hopeless? I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t, but you’ll have to do some world class groveling.”

Konrad groaned. “Shit. I’ve never groveled in my life.”

Sly smirked. “If she means that much to you, then you’d damn well better prove it to her. In the five years I was married, I discovered one secret to keeping a woman happy.”

“I hope you’re not going to say a grovel a day keeps the lawyer away or anything like that.”

Sly chuckled. “Hell no, nothing like that. The only thing you have to do is make her feel desired. Make her know you want her.”

“But she already knows that.”

Sly shook his head. “That’s not enough. You can’t expect her to retain that feeling constantly. Women are plagued with self-doubt. I don’t know why—they just are. You have to show her or tell her, or better yet, both and reinforce it.”

“Every damn day? What if I forget?”

“It’s not something you schedule, dumbass. Good God, you really have no idea, do you?”

Konrad blew out a deep breath. “I guess not.”

“Look.” Sly sat on the step next to him. “Send her flowers. Slip a mushy card under her door. Do whatever you have to do to make her realize you love her, want her, and that you’re sorry.”

“Is that what you mean by groveling?”

“Exactly!”

“Oh. That’s not too bad. I can do that. I can’t afford to send expensive flowers, but I can buy a card.”

“Great. You can always pick flowers. The more effort you go to, the more it shows you care.”

“Where do you pick flowers in the city?”

Sly shrugged. “Some bush in front on an unfenced yard, I guess. If you borrow one rose, they’ll never miss it. And for some reason, a single rose seems to mean as much to women as a dozen. That’s one of those things we’ll never figure out.”

Konrad stood. “Okay. Thanks, buddy. I think I know where I’ll take my midnight run tonight.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“There’s a public rose garden on the Fenway.”

Roz awoke the following morning, pulled the covers over her head and groaned. Never had a man driven her to drink before. Last night she thought she had a point. Now, she just felt stupid.

But, talk about being taken for granted! I wasn’t even worth the effort of a genuine, heartfelt proposal? Last night’s tears and the lump in her throat resurfaced.

Then her logical side took over again. How could he know she wanted a romantic proposal? It wasn’t as if he could read her mind… Well, okay, he could—but only if she was thinking loud and clear. As soon as he said the word, marriage, her mind jumbled.

Now she couldn’t quite remember why. Had it really been only because he’d taken her answer for granted and forgot to ask the question? She wasn’t usually that petty. The men she’d known before were unromantic and even prone to insensitivity. They made Konrad look like a poet.

She removed the covers from her pounding head and inhaled a deep breath. “Time to face the music, dingbat.” Roz sat on the edge of her bed, straightened her nightshirt, and waited for her head to stop spinning. Finally, she braved the ten foot walk to the bathroom medicine cabinet.

“Oh, gross.” Why had she looked in the mirror before grabbing the aspirin? Her cute new bob was plastered to her head. She looked toward the shower and figured the warm steam might make her feel better.

“Okay, shower first, then coffee.”

She turned on the water and while she waited for it to get nice and hot, she plodded to the kitchen to get the coffeemaker started. While transferring the heaping coffee grounds from the can to the pot, her hand shook. Coffee overflowed the little measuring cup and spilled onto the counter.

“Oh, for the love of…” Roz flopped into the folding chair by her little kitchen table and held her still aching head in her hands.

Why? Why did I do this to myself?

It wasn’t as if Roz didn’t want to get married. She’d been hoping to find a lover to settle down with just like her best friend had. She could picture Merry and her man cuddling in front of the fireplace in their penthouse. She knew her friend had found a once in a lifetime love and now it seemed as if it was her turn.

“Okay. So, it’s not marriage itself. What is it? Konrad?” Whenever she thought of him, a smile stole across her face. She didn’t even notice she was smiling at first. As soon as she recognized the fact, a warm, squishy feeling invaded her stomach—and it wasn’t from drinking too much wine.

The man wasn’t the problem. The beast was. Roz returned to the bathroom and removed her night shirt. Before she stepped into the shower, she examined the bruise on her shoulder. She was marked, alright. Dark imprints in the shape of a jaw full of teeth, with two round canines, showed on both her front and back. Some just above her collarbone and the others on her upper back near her neck.

She sighed. She loved Konrad. Loved him with all her heart. Loved him enough to let him claim her. But he scared her too. What if they had a serious argument sometime? Would she still be perfectly safe with him?

“Yes, you would,”his voice answered in her head.

“Oh, crap!” He must be right outside her door. She jumped into the shower and stuck her head under the spray. Sorry. I’m in the shower. Can we talk later?

“I think we should. Meanwhile I have something for you. I’ll leave it outside your door. Come upstairs when you’re ready.”

She sighed. Part of her had worried that he’d be angry after she went off on him. And even though he was the animal, she seemed to be the one easily irritated. What was that about?

Maybe that’s why the werewolves in the Newton pack seemed less than fond of humans. Maybe she was the unpredictable and dangerous one. She snorted at that, but something about the notion rang true.

Any one of the werewolves could subdue her in a second, but maybe they didn’t want to. It would call attention to them. She saw what happened with Konrad when she was being threatened—even slightly. He had to jump in and defend her. She could imagine that would get tiring.

After she turned off the water and towel dried her hair, she put on her fluffy robe and took another look in the mirror. Better. Her eyes seemed a little more awake. Glazed, but awake.

She burped. A dinner of popcorn and wine didn’t cut it, but she was out of Rocky Road. She hoped her rationale that popcorn was low in calories had saved her from committing diet suicide. Somehow, she knew that paired with an entire bottle of Chablis, her dinner might not have been as low calorie as she’d hoped.

Too late now. She walked barefoot to her bedroom and looked in her closet for something to wear. Nothing appealed. Her brain was too fuzzy for decisions, so she just tossed on a pair of sweatpants and a matching hoodie. At least they were pink and she could tell herself she looked feminine.

Oh yeah. Konrad left something at the door. As soon as she’d donned a pair of socks, she trotted into her living room and opened her door to the hall. A rose with a note lay on her threshold.

She picked up the gorgeous American Beauty rose and smelled it. Its scent was sweet and seductive. Roz opened the note and read, “I’m sorry. Please forgive my insensitivity. I love you to the moon and back, and always will.”

Nathan opened his door and wheeled his bicycle into the hall. He glanced at the rose and note in her hand and said, “What did he do?”

“What makes you think…”

“Because he left gifts outside your door, and because last night when I let him out, he looked dejected as hell.”

“Oh.”

Nathan scrutinized her from head to toe. “Another truck run you over?”

With one hand on her hip she said, “Yeah. I just washed off the blood so the paramedics wouldn’t have to.”

He laughed and started to open the front door.

“Oh, let me get that for you.” Roz strode to the heavy front door and held it open.

“Thanks,” he said as he wheeled his bike down the steps.

She let go of the door and muttered, “Don’t let it hit you in the ass.”

He turned and laughed as if he’d heard her. Hmmm…maybe he had. She kept forgetting that everyone in this building had freakishly acute senses—especially her wolf-man.

A knock sounded on Konrad’s door. When he opened it, Roz stood there with her hands behind her back, looking contrite.

“Thank you for the rose. It’s beautiful.”

“Not nearly as beautiful as you.”

She turned her head to the side and snorted.

“I mean it. I’m so sorry, Roz. I had no idea how that came across, until…Well, until later.”

She still stood on his threshold, making no move to come in.

“Look, I get it. I’m the one who constantly tells you that you deserve to be loved. And you are. I adore you, Roz.”

She looked up into his eyes, expectantly.

“I know I can’t always rely on our mind-connection. I need to learn to understand my mate. But please understand there’s a learning curve here, and I’m trying.”

She nodded, then stepped forward into his waiting arms. He held her reverently.

“I—I’m sorry I kicked you.”

“Apology accepted. Now let’s get out of the hallway.” He stepped back. She strolled to his couch and made herself comfortable.

Konrad sat next to her and put an arm around her. “So, the trial’s only a few days away. Is there anything I should be doing?”

She looked up at him with questioning eyes.

“What? Is that a dumb question?”

“No. I just thought we’d talk about what happened yesterday first.”

“Oh. Right now?” Crap. I’m barely out of the doghouse. I didn’t think she’d want me to propose so soon.

She tipped her head. “Why not now?”

“I want to do this right, and I still haven’t had the chance to—”

She put her finger to his lips and said “Forget that. I told you I don’t need a candlelit dinner or fancy engagement ring. None of that is necessary.”

“But I want to do something special—because you’re special.”

She leaned back and smiled. Her whole face softened, and her eyes danced whenever she smiled just for him.

He stroked her hair. “I love you more than anything. You know that, right?”

She glanced at her lap. “Yes, I know.”

“Okay, good. Keep remembering that. One of these days I’ll show you how much you mean to me. That’s a promise.”

“Why not now?”

“Because you’d always wonder if I only did it because you wanted me to. No, I thought of something that will take a little planning. If you can be patient…It might be better to wait until after the trial anyway.” You might prefer not to be engaged to a jailbird for who knows how many years.

She nodded. “Okay. So, what did you want to do? Talk about the trial?”

“We probably should. What kinds of questions should I expect?”

She dragged her feet up onto the couch and hugged her knees, looking more like a little girl than his attorney. “You might never have to testify.”

“Seriously? How could they possibly put me in jail without giving me a chance to defend myself?”

“That’s not what I meant. Sometimes the evidence can be disputed and the lawyers can create enough reasonable doubt on their own without the defendant ever having to get on the witness stand.”

“How can you do that?”

“Well, we found the two guards who had been at the museum that night, and they’ll be asked to point out the gunmen who tied them up—if either of the thieves are in the courtroom.”

“So, you’re expecting them to cooperate? To say they don’t see the guys?”

“They’ll be under oath.”

“But didn’t you say before that the public wants someone to hang? Won’t they be tempted to point to me just because I’m the defendant?”

“No. I’m sure they’d prefer to convict the guys who really did it. They won’t want an innocent man going to jail while letting the real thieves off the hook.”

“Okay, but what if they get confused? It’s been a long time and sometimes people tend to see what they want to see.”

“According to their police report descriptions, you’re about as far from the men they saw as you can be. Both were under six feet tall and you’re what? Six-six?”

He chuckled. “No. Only six-four.”

“Ha. Only six-four. Okay, well I doubt anyone would see you as six feet or less.”

“Probably not. So, you think that’s all you have to do to create reasonable doubt? Isn’t that putting a lot of power into the hands of two human beings?” He didn’t want to have to point out how fallible humans were. Most werewolves thought themselves superior, but Konrad didn’t think he was one of them. Maybe deep down, he was.

She fluffed her drying hair. “No. I hope to disprove their DNA evidence too.”

“How can you do that?”

“I don’t want to say just now. It’s better if you don’t know every detail.”

“Are you sure? Maybe I could help come up with other angles.”

“No, I’ve got this. To be honest, I’m feeling pretty confident. I don’t want to get cocky, so the team of lawyers will be there, if I need them.”

His mood lifted considerably. “That sounds great. I’m relieved I won’t be going to jail, and all this will be behind us soon.”

“I never said that. If the prosecution can make a good case, it may drag on. There are no guarantees.”

“Shit. I had hoped…Well, never mind.”

She straightened and put her feet back on the floor. “What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just the timing. I had hoped we’d have a nice easy summer.”

She squinted as if she didn’t quite believe him but let it go, thank God.

He’d had a sailboat reserved, but he could cancel it and reschedule after everything was over. It seemed like a romantic idea, and even if it went the way of all of their dates, wolves were great swimmers.

The jury filed in and took their seats along one side of the courtroom. Konrad looked them over. A jury of his peers? Wouldn’t that have to be twelve werewolves? The only other werewolf in the courtroom that he knew of was his brother, Nick.

Be that as it may, a dozen human beings of mixed ages and races sat there staring back. His hands began to sweat.

“All rise,” said the Bailiff.

A rumble signified about fifty people getting to their feet.

“This court is in session, the honorable Judge Vader, presiding.”

A balding man wearing a long, black robe breezed into the courtroom and up a few steps to his seat on high. As soon as the judge sat comfortably in his leather chair behind his massive desk, he said, “Be seated.”

While everyone was getting resettled, the judge scanned some papers in front of him. Konrad was beginning to think the good judge had fallen asleep when he finally looked up and addressed the jury.

“Members of the jury, what you have before you is a great responsibility—to the court, to the Commonwealth and to yourselves. Our judicial system asks you to listen to all the facts presented during this trial, then take everything into consideration, and make a decision regarding the guilt or innocence of the defendant.

“You are not to take this matter lightly. The outcome will affect more than this one man. You are to deliberate until you are absolutely sure of your decision, no matter how long it takes.”

As he droned on, Konrad stared at his lap and obsessed about the jury taking forever to deliberate. He wondered what it took to declare a hung jury.

Roz must have heard him. “Relax, lover. He has to say those things to every jury. It’s not unique to this one.”

Konrad tried to slow his breathing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t a fast decision a good sign?

“Not necessarily. A long deliberation may just mean they’re taking a second or third look at the evidence and trying to get it right. Don’t worry.”

Konrad noticed his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. Easy for you to say.

“No, it’s really not. This is the most difficult case I’ve ever had. And lift up your head. You look guilty as sin.”

Thanks for waiting until now to tell me.Konrad snapped his head up, his eyes level.

“In the case of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts verses Konrad Wolfensen the charges are burglary of the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum, grand larceny, fraud…”

Konrad shut down his mind in order to calm himself. As soon as he stopped shaking, he tried to listen again. Just in time too. The judge had asked him a question. What was it? Oh yeah…

“Yes, I understand the nature of the charges, your honor. May I speak? I’m quite intelligent. I was a dean—”

“Did I ask you about your intelligence or profession?”

“No, your honor.”

“Fine. Perhaps you should let your lawyers speak for you from now on.”

Roz leaned toward him and whispered, “Don’t say another word. We’re supposed to do the talking for you.”

How the hell would I know that? I’venever been on trial before.

The attorney next to Roz leaned toward her and whispered, angrily, “I thought you spent hours with this guy. What the Hell were you doing?”

She sat silent and stoic, eyes forward, as if the man hadn’t spoken at all.

“I’m sorry. I should have prepared you better.”

The judge nodded to the prosecution and said, “Proceed with your opening argument.”

The other long table seated almost as many lawyers as his did. One of them stood, buttoned his jacket and walked around the table toward the jury.

“Men and women of the jury. This unsolved case has gone on too long. I intend to prove that Konrad Wolfensen was one of the thieves who broke into the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum on March 18th 1990 in order to steal 12 pieces of art valued at three-hundred million dollars.”

A murmur from behind him let Konrad know the spectators were blown away by the value of the loot the thieves had taken—whoever they were. And probably many of the jury were struggling to pay their bills and suspected he was living high off the hog.

Who the hell does this guy think he is?

“He’s the district attorney. Don’t let him get to you. He’s just doing his job, but I’ll be doing mine too.”

His hands began to shake and sweat again.

“Now, what do we know?” the prosecutor continued. “We know that on a cold spring night between the hours of 1:24 a.m. to 2:45 a.m., thieves who had disguised themselves as Boston police officers gained entry to the museum. They did this by advising one of the guards on duty that they were there to investigate a reported disturbance.

“And we know that the defendant has a brother of the same height, weight and build who happens to be a Boston police officer.”

What difference does that make?

“I suppose they’re going to claim you had access to a uniform and could have easily been one of the robbers.”

But the eye-witnesses descriptions…

“Don’t worry. We’ll cross examine them.”

The prosecuting attorney continued. “Upon entering the facility, they overpowered both guards, handcuffed them and took them to separate isolated parts of the basement. There they were duct taped to separate structures in order to immobilize them. They never had the chance to push the panic button hidden behind the guard’s desk, so no actual police were notified during the robbery. No video surveillance film is available, because they stole that too.”

The murmurs behind him sounded like a mixture of amusement and anger, probably depending on how each person valued priceless art. Konrad’s mind drifted to the day he heard the news.

He was watching WHDH, one of the local TV stations, and a special report broke the news. His emotions ran the gamut of disbelief, heartbreak, and outrage. If he’d only known who did it, he’d have gone after them and practiced a little vigilante werewolf justice on their asses.

Anyone who appreciated the creative arts in this courtroom would probably want him to hang on Boston Common. He shuddered. Dragging himself back to reality, he noticed the lawyer seemed pleased with how he’d horrified the listeners.

“Over the years, all logical leads were followed up, with no positive investigative results. Numerous interviews were conducted. Many were even accompanied by polygraph examinations. And all forensic evidence recovered at that time was sent to the FBI for analysis and eventually, storage. However, new evidence recently surfaced.”

Are they calling Reginald’s cockamamie story evidence? And if it’s something else, how do they explain learning about it. An anonymous tip?

“If so, I’ll have to prod the appropriate witnesses until someone gives up the ghost—so to speak.”

Not Morgaine, I hope.

“I doubt the jury will be impressed by a psychic. I think the museum curator is our best bet.”

Konrad almost chuckled but settled for a quick smile.

The attorney finally seemed satisfied that he’d done sufficient damage to the credibility of the defense and sat down.

Roz stood and approached the jury.

She took a few moments to gather her thoughts but soon began with her own compelling argument.

“The judge reminded you of the seriousness of your job as jurors, and I’m certain you’ll do your duty to the very best of your ability. But I’d like to quote a statistic that may shock you. More than 230 wrongfully convicted and imprisoned men and women have been exonerated and released from U.S. prisons after conclusively proving their innocence.

“The prosecution mentioned having DNA evidence that would conclusively prove my client guilty. I maintain it’s that same evidence that will prove his innocence.”

When had the DA said that? Konrad realized it must have been when he was daydreaming—imagining his conviction.

“Furthermore, I intend to prove their anonymous tip was faulty and the evidence was planted long after the incident. DNA can be used to convict a guilty man—or used to frame an innocent one.

“The district attorney failed to mention the guards’ descriptions of the robbers. These men stood face to face and toe to toe with the perpetrators before they were taken to the basement and bound with duct tape.

This is what they said on March 18, 1990. “One suspect was a white male, late twenties to mid-thirties, between five foot seven and five foot ten. Medium build, dark eyes and short, cropped black hair.

“The other suspect was a white male, early to mid-thirties, six feet to six one, broad shouldered but lanky from the waist down, with dark eyes and black hair a little longer in back, rounded off just over the collar.”

Good girl. Those descriptions couldn’t possibly be me.

“We’re not out of the woods yet.” Roz answered him “The DA will point out that they were wearing fake mustaches and could have been wearing wigs and dark contacts. He could say you were younger than twenty and must have grown over the years. I’m just hoping he doesn’t and no one on the jury will think of it.”

Fuck. I’m so screwed.