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A nervous chuckle escaped me. “Now that’s something we don’t often say in Washington.”
She laughed and asked about the recent heat wave in Seattle that’d made the national news.
“It’s been miserable, but we’re surviving.” I smiled, appreciating the fact that she was trying to calm my nerves with small talk just like Amber had done. Honestly, however, I just wanted to start so we could finish.
Ella must’ve felt my sense of urgency because she folded back a yellow legal pad and uncapped her pen. “Well, as I’m sure Amber explained, I have some questions for you, but basically, this is your chance to talk.”
I crossed and uncrossed my legs. “Yes, thank you. And thank you for agreeing to meet with me in person. I know I could’ve spoken with you over the phone, but I thought this was better.”
“I understand. So, why don’t you start by telling me how you’re feeling about Mr. Landis’s possible release.”
Mr. Landis. Anger pressed so hard against the edges of my heart that my chest physically ached. Keeping my hands below the table, I clenched and unclenched my fists. Relax, Ruthie, just relax.
“I’m very much against Eddie’s release,” I began. “In my opinion, he should never get out. He’s never taken responsibility for what he did, so I think he should stay locked up forever.”
Ella jotted down a few notes but didn’t say anything. Desperate to persuade her, I continued. “Eddie Landis brutally killed my sister. He attacked me, sparing me only because the sound of his daughter crying in her crib knocked some sense into him.”
My throat tightened, remembering that night. During the trial, the DA explained that Eddie came home early from his hunting trip to discover his wife’s note to her lover. In a jealous rage, he shot her. Spinning out of control, he attacked me. The sound of Brandy crying out from her room startled him. Realizing the consequences of his actions, he fled.
“Eddie destroyed his daughter’s life when he killed Cheryl,” I continued. “Brandy mourned her mother for years. I think she was nearly six before she finally understood that Cheryl wasn’t coming back.”
“And what about her father?” Ella glanced at the file. “The last time she visited him was in 1994? After she turned ten? The visitations stopped after that, is that right?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“And it was Mr. Landis who voluntarily surrendered these parental visits?”
I forced my jaw to relax. “Yes.”
At first, I hadn’t known, nor had I cared, how Salvador convinced Eddie to stop demanding that Brandy visit him. I was just grateful Brandy could have a normal life without the burden of repeated trips to a Texas prison.
Later, when I learned the truth... When I learned what Salvador had done, his betrayal was one more thing that led to our divorce. I simply couldn’t stay with a man I couldn’t trust. His earlier affair had been one thing, but the way he put Brandy’s life in danger... That was too much.
Ella rifled through her notes again. “I’m curious. Did Brandy ever ask about her father after the last visit?”
“No. Never.”
“Did she ever visit him as an adult?”
“No. Eddie wanted her to come see him when she turned eighteen, but she refused. She actually wrote him a letter, requesting that he end all contact with her, and she changed her last name to Hermosa.”
“I see.” Ella made a note, although I had no idea what she could possibly write. Daughter of murderer refuses to engage with the man who killed her mother? This wasn’t exactly earth-shattering news, was it?
“And how is Brandy now?” Ella asked.
“She’s fine. Actually, she’s thriving. She’s happily married with two little boys, and she works as a reading specialist. My fear is that Eddie’s release would jeopardize her happiness.”
“How so? You said she doesn’t have any contact with him.”
“No, but if he was released, who knows what he might do. He might try to see her or—” I squeezed my hands together. “You have no idea what he’s capable of. You have no idea how evil he is. How—” I clenched my jaw. I didn’t want my anger to dampen my message, and yet, I had to make her understand. I had to get her on my side.
Without a word, Amber handed me a tissue. I stared at it, confused. I wasn’t crying. No, I was too angry to cry. Did Amber think I was about to break down in tears?
“It’s for your hand,” she explained.
I looked down and saw that I’d rubbed a spot on the back of my hand so hard it was bleeding. Ashamed, I pressed the tissue to the wound and tried to compose myself.
“Would you like to stop for a minute?” Amber asked.
