His Last Wife

Kerry could feel Val drifting away and looked through the crowd too, as Lebowski was doing a fine job with answering each question aimed at her.

Kerry noticed some of the protestors who’d been there when Ras, Jamison’s old roommate, was killed, seemingly after the grassroots leader signed up to help Jamison with the community project and was jailed and released just like her. There were also some of Jamison’s fraternity brothers there. Some still held alliances with Jamison when he died. Others had stabbed him in the back when the governor flashed checks and promises of promotions before their eyes. Behind one was a black man with a boy toddler perched on his shoulders. The baby was wearing one of the old Free Ras T-shirts people had been wearing when Ras was locked up in the jail right behind them. Kerry had pushed Jamison to do everything in his power to get Ras out of jail. She broke one of her rules after the divorce and got into Jamison’s business, telling him Ras was only being persecuted because he was trying to do something right in the community. After all, he had been the one who’d rolled up his sleeves and come up with the muscle behind Jamison’s big plans. These were his ideas. His connections. His theories. Jamison was the one with the metaphorical megaphone who’d gotten all of the attention and glory and accolades, but Ras was the catalyst. And because of that, he was a target. Kerry remembered this—and what Auset said happened to targets—when the man with the boy on his shoulders caught Kerry’s stare and pumped a black fist into the air.

Something in Kerry quickened. It was like a butterfly in her stomach, only more fierce and tugging at her gut for a response of some kind.

Kerry blinked and looked back at Lebowski, to find that he was quiet and listening to something his assistant was whispering into his ear. In fact, as she looked and listened, she realized that everyone was quiet and looking down at their cell phones. Something had happened—was happening.

“What’s going on?” Kerry heard Val ask.

“I don’t know.” Kerry looked back at Lebowski, whose once-confident stare had turned distant and obscure.

He looked out at the crowd. The crowd looked at him. There was an air of solemnity all around.

Kerry could see Lebowski’s Adam’s apple roll down his throat as he struggled to swallow. This was bad news. Very bad news.

She looked at Val and shrugged.

“I’ve just received the news and a confirmation, I suppose like most of you at this point,” Lebowski started softly, “that unfortunately and sadly, the DA was just found dead in a hotel room by the airport of an apparent suicide. While reports are still forthcoming, I do have confirmation that a suicide letter was found with the body and his wife has confirmed that the pistol found in the room belonged to him.”

Chatter erupted everywhere.

Val felt like everyone had turned and looked at her. Suddenly the sun above became mercilessly hot.

Some news teams united and raced to their trucks for the fastest lead to the hotel.

“What?” Kerry looked at Lebowski as he spoke.

He said, “My client has also just learned of the news and we are not prepared to comment at this time. Right now, we can only hope that God is with District Attorney Charles ‘Chuck’ Brown’s family in their time of need. That is all.”

Lebowski began pushing through the crowd toward the SUV again.

“He’s dead? He died?” Kerry looked at the assistant frantically; honestly not knowing what she should be doing or saying.

Noticing again that Val was quiet, she turned to her and saw that her face was blank and her cheeks were flushed like she’d just seen a dead body. She looked like Tyrian always did just before he vomited.

“You okay?” Kerry asked Val as Lebowski got into the SUV.

“I’m fine. Just feeling a little light-headed.”

The driver held the door open and Kerry let Val get into the SUV first.

While most of the news crews had already left to check in on-location about the DA’s suicide, a few loyal, ambitious, and militant crews had stayed.

“Wait, Mrs. Jackson, can you let us know how you feel about all these conspiracy theories that maybe your ex-husband is alive and in Cuba?” someone asked just as Kerry was about to get into the car behind Val. “Do you think there’s any connection to the DA’s suicide?”

Kerry stopped in her steps and searched the crowd for the voice.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Lebowski said. “Best you don’t.” When Kerry didn’t move, he added, “Just get into the car.”

“No. I want to,” Kerry said and then that quickening in her body cleared her throat and vocal chords and pushed out sounds that gathered in the air as words she had no idea she intended on speaking.

“I believe it,” Val heard Kerry saying outside the car, so she inched over and poked her head out to look at her.

“Shit!” Lebowski grumpled beside Val in the SUV as he scurried to get out. “What is she doing?”

Kerry went on speaking so loudly that the now smallish crowd could hear her as clearly as if she was speaking through a bullhorn. “I believe Jamison is alive and wherever he is, he went there because he was trying to escape.”

“Escape what?” someone shouted.