Joe Victim: A Thriller

“What kind of rumor?” Kent asks.

“I heard he used to beat his wife,” Raphael says, rubbing his hands to keep them warm. He heard it from another person in the group who heard it from a cousin or a neighbor or some such thing. “Is it true?”

“He’s never been charged,” Schroder says, rubbing his hands too.

“That isn’t the same as you telling me it wasn’t true. So why are you here asking about him? Has he beaten somebody else up?”

“He was murdered this afternoon,” Kent says, burying her hands into her pockets.

“Oh,” Raphael says, and he takes a small step back. “Oh,” he repeats, and isn’t sure what else to add. He can’t say Good, he probably deserved it, because he doesn’t know for a fact that the guy was a wife beater, and even if he was, does that merit the death penalty? The appropriate sentiment comes to him in the end. “Shit.”

“Walker was due to testify at Middleton’s trial,” Schroder says. “Just like you are. And other family members of victims. You probably had a dozen people in your group tonight who are all testifying.”

Walker slowly nods. The rain every ten seconds or so washes over them as the wind pushes it sideways. He thinks about what it’s going to be like testifying. He’s thought about it a lot. He’s thought about how far he could make it from the witness box to Joe before somebody stopped him. He thought about how difficult it would be to smuggle a weapon into the building. About carving a knife out of wood or bone. He thought about how many men it would take to stop him. All those thoughts were only a fantasy—the best he knew he could do was form this group, help others, and starting next week they would protest.

“What are you saying?” Raphael asks. “You think some of us are targets too?”

“We can’t rule it out,” Kent says.

“Who would want to target us?”

“We don’t know,” Schroder says, but Raphael doesn’t believe him. Something in his voice makes Raphael think Schroder may have an idea.

“So what can I do?” Raphael asks.

“We were actually hoping to get here before the meeting was over,” Schroder says, “so we could talk to you all as a group.”

“Well, I know who some of them are,” Raphael says. “I can make a list. And we’re all meeting again on Monday.”

“Another session?” Kent asks.

“Actually, no,” Raphael says. “We’re meeting outside the courthouse. We’re going to protest against those who are going to protest against the death-penalty referendum. There’ll be around thirty of us from the group going, and all of us will probably bring somebody, and no doubt there’ll already be others going anyway. Could be hundreds,” he says, but really he’s hoping for thousands and doesn’t see any reason why it won’t be. Like he thought earlier, it’s a bad-news kind of country. All that bad news has left a bad taste in a lot of people’s mouths—plenty of anger to go around, plenty of people willing to show up.

“And you’re leading it?” Kent asks.

“No,” Raphael says. “Just taking part. There is no leader.”

“But you’re helping organize it,” Kent says.

“I’m just doing my part as a concerned citizen.”

“You do know a protest like that has every possibility of getting out of hand,” Kent says, her voice hardening. “For both sides.”

Raphael frowns. “We need to be heard,” he says. “And we have every right to peacefully protest. We have every legal right. Joe Middleton is exactly the reason we need this law brought in,” he adds, keeping his voice level, but inside he’s yelling at her. “I intend to offer my complete support. We’re all planning on it.”

“And if somebody gets hurt?” she asks. “Then what?”

“We’re all victims,” Raphael says. “We’ve already been hurt. All we’re doing is peacefully protesting against the anti–capital punishment movement, and against the current system. I’m sure there will be enough police on the scene to keep everybody in check,” he says, but truth be told he isn’t so sure. Not having enough police hasn’t done well for the city over the last few years—and perhaps Monday’s protest won’t be any different. But it’s not his job to keep the city safe. It’s Kent’s job. And people like Kent. And people like Schroder too.

“Was Tristan Walker part of the movement?” Kent asks. “Was he going to be there?”

Raphael hadn’t heard anybody use movement to describe what he’s doing. It doesn’t quite fit right in some way. “We are a group of people trying to change the country,” he says, “and if that makes us a movement, then so be it.”

“And Walker?” Kent repeats.

“I don’t know. I hadn’t told him about it, but maybe he was coming. I’d have hoped he would be.”