December 1996 (3:00am)

Their eyes met when she got out of the house, a big policeman carrying her in his arms. He wanted to talk to her but he couldn’t move his legs. They stared at eachother until she disappeared inside the policeman’s car.

That was the last he saw of her.

Everything went fast after that. Jacob, his father’s best friend and partner, arrived with his wife and took him home with them.

It was that same night that he was told his mom and dad were gone.

They went somewhere nice, they said.

They tried to tell him it was not his fault, that the robber—the bad man who killed his mom and dad—would be caught.

He asked them about the girl. They said she’s with the police.

He tried to sleep that night but dawn was already breaking.

Another day.

But it’s not like any other day. He’s all alone now.

March 27, 2011 (12:00pm)

“It’s time to find out more about the Peter Thomas case,” Lawson announced.

Tanaka looked up from the papers she's reading and asked, “What did you find?”

“I found Ken Cooper’s fucking connection,” he strode to the white board, snatched a marker and wrote: bodyguard.

Tanaka frowned. “Bodyguard to whom?”

“Are you a moron or something? Who else on that case needs a bloody bodyguard?”

Realization washed over her face, “Stuart.”

“Correct.”

“So why are these men dead? What did they do?”

“That’s why I said we need to find out more about the case. Every person in that courtroom will have to be dug—including the defendant’s side. Start off with his lawyer. Ask someone to look into every jury. I’ll go visit Peter Thomas.”

“Wait, what?”

“Whatever happened back then, it’s because of him,” he explained. “I’ll go talk to him now. Look up his lawyer—we might want to talk to him.”

“Which one?”

“What do you mean which one?”

“Jackson Howard and his wife were killed in their home before the final trial began. It was a robbery case. Leonard Carlson replaced him to defend Peter Thomas.”

“Wait, are you sure it was just a robbery case?”

“That’s what the records say. Actually, that same night, another house was broken into and the same thing happened. The owners woke up and got killed. Their jewelries were gone along with some valuable items.”

“Did the second robbery have any connection to the case?” he asked hopefully.

“No. Didn’t see any connection to the case. The Lightmans were just another victim like the Howards.”

He nodded. “I think you should dig into it too.”

“You can’t be serious. The case was closed a long time ago. It was a solid robbery case.”

“I don’t care. Dig into it,” he said and he took off.

(12:30pm)

“How are you doing?” she asked her old friend.

“I’m holding up,” he said.

“Peter, I’m serious. You don’t look good,” she fixed him with her green eyes.

He smiled at her. “You remind me of your mother, you know that?” he smiled at the memory. “She used to give me that look every time I was at your home talking about the case with your dad. Well, that was before they finally put me here.”

She glared at him, “Don’t change the subject. How’s your blood sugar?”

“It’s good,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. Now, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“Nothing,” she lied.

“Kyla,” he said, his eyes knowing.

“Peter, stop calling me that. I’m not Kyla anymore.”

“Not when I was the one who carried you on your back when you were just this small,” he lifted his hands in level with the table.

“Just don’t call me Kyla,” she insisted, smiling warmly at him. “And I do remember those days. You were my dad’s best friend. You were my only friend. You still are.”

“Ah, yes, you were one introvert back then. You know, I never told this to anyone, but despite what happened to me, working for the Stuarts was one of the best thing that came into my life. Your dad helped me straighten my life out.”

“But you’re still back in prison.”

He shrugged. “That’s life, my girl. Actually, prison feels like home now. This is where I first met your father, you know that? I was young and naïve and he was young and smart. We sat right at this same table,” he pointed with a finger, “and he talked to me. He told me, ‘Peter, you have so much potential. I’ll help you, but you have to promise me you’ll try to make it up to me by living your life.’ Those were his exact words. I promised him, alright. And he got me out. Man, he was a good lawyer. Then he helped me find a job—pulled some connections—and I became a manservant for the Stuarts, and later on, the butler.”

She had heard this story a hundred times that she could memorize every word in her sleep.

“But you don’t deserve what you got,” she said with conviction.

He just sat there, his old eyes wrinkled and gentle, free of anger and hate. She wished she could be as forgiving as him. “Kyla,” he paused when she deflected from the name, “Kyla,” he repeated strongly, “I want to ask you something.”

She knew what he’s going to ask.

“I’ve been reading the papers, you know. And we get to watch the news here every night.”

She just sat there and waited for his question.

“I know about the killings of the green-eyed killer. And I know you promised a very long time ago you’ll do anything to have justice—”

“Peter,” she interrupted, “you know that promise stands still.”

They gazed at eachother for a very long time. She knew he knew.

He sighed. “I can’t stop you from doing what I think you’re doing, but child, think first. I don’t want you in trouble. Most of all, I don’t want you inside a hell hole like this.”

“I’m careful,” she told him. She started to get up, “I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“Phoebe,” he called her. She froze. It was the first time he called her by her faux name. She looked at him gratefully. “Whatever happens, I have your back.”

“I know,” she said. “Goodbye, Peter.”

On her way out, she bumped into a bald-headed man who smelled of cigarettes.

“Sorry,” she murmured, her head bowed down. She’s always careful not to meet anyone’s eyes whenever she visited Peter.

“Sorry,” the man said before he took off again into the direction of the room she just exited.

(1:00pm)

Lawson looked back at the black-haired woman. He would have said sorry in a better way, but he’s in a hurry to talk to Thomas.

“Mr. Thomas, good afternoon,” he said, extending his hand.

“Good afternoon,” the old man said.

“You’re early. I thought you’d still be on your way here,” he said, sitting across the man.

“I had a visitor,” came the short reply.

“I guess you already know why I’m here?”

“Actually, no.”

“Well, I’m here to talk to you about your case in 1996…”