Drafting–Millie speaks to the Cook County District Attorney

At 3:45 PM Molly was lying in her bed reading one of her new novels when she heard Millie’s cellphone vibrating on the end-table beside the couch. Her mother didn’t move. She’d been asleep on the couch since the two of them ended their conversation about Tracey.

“Mom, Mom.” Molly semi-yelled. Thankfully, she didn’t have to get up.

Her mother roused and saw that it was the DA calling. She quickly grabbed the phone and said, “hello.” First thing yesterday morning she’d called Mr. Hook’s office but had to leave a message since he was on holiday until Monday. Millie had explained that it was an emergency and begged the call-taker to notify him as soon as possible.

“Ms. Anderson, this is District Attorney George Hooks. I’m sorry but I just got your message. How may I help you?” The DA knew that Millie and Defendant Colton lived together but that he had never talked to her, nor had one of his investigators. But, that wasn’t because they hadn’t tried. Millie had hidden behind Colton’s attorney, per Colton’s demand. However, the DA had learned during last Monday’s hearing that Millie could provide an alibi for both Colton and Sandy.

“Thanks for returning my call. I need to report a rape, the rape of my twelve-year-old daughter by Colton Atwood.” The first thing DA Hook’s thought was, ‘well that could dampen one’s motivation to provide an alibi.’

“Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry. That reaffirms that bastard is pure evil.” The DA paused a second or two and continued when Millie didn’t respond. “I know this is difficult but can you give me some details, like, when this happened, where it happened, and, sorry for having to be so insensitive, how do you know this is true?”

At first, the DA’s last question triggered Millie’s anger, but then she realized he wasn’t her best friend here; he had a job to do. “We’re pretty certain, Molly and I, that she’s pregnant. Right now all we have, other than my daughter’s word, which I fully believe, is the positive result from an over-the-counter pregnancy test. We have an appointment with an OB/GYN on Monday.”

“I see.” The DA thought about his Monday schedule. “What time is Molly’s appointment?”

“Ten AM.”

“Okay, after that I need the two of you to come to my office. We’ll meet, along with Todd Lacey, my chief investigator, and, again forgive me for my insensitivity, if justified, we’ll swear out a warrant for Mr. Atwood’s arrest.”
Millie really didn’t want to tell the DA where she and Molly were, and that they couldn’t come to his office on Monday. But, she had little choice, especially as to the latter. “We can’t come, I’m sorry. We’re no longer in Chicago. Last Friday, we ran away. We weren’t safe.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but we’ll still need to meet. We can use Zoom. Will that be a problem?”

“No, that’ll work.” Millie was relieved. She admitted she’d return to Chicago if absolutely necessary. She’d do anything for Molly, and to punish Colton.

“Ms. Anderson, I need to tell you that Mr. Atwood and his co-defendant, Sanford Brown, are AWOL. They failed to appear in court last Monday.”

Millie wasn’t aware Colton had any scheduled court dates. “What was that about? The court appearance?”

“I earlier filed a motion to revoke their bonds. Apparently, they realized Judge Rhodes might put them in jail so they didn’t show.”

A wave of nausea erupted in Millie’s stomach. She knew how cunning and relentless Colton could be. “So, he’s free to do as he pleases?”

“Until we find and arrest him.” Millie heard a child in the background pleading for her father to play with her. “Before I go, I need to give you an update. I have a report that the defendants are driving a dark gray Mercedes van. It’s a Sprinter model.”

Millie quickly jumped in. “How do you know this?”

“I’m sorry but I cannot divulge my source right now but he tells me the defendants were seen at Colton’s house on Princeton Avenue.”

“It’s my home. Colton lived with me and Molly.”

“I see. Anyway, they were seen there last Tuesday. After they departed my source searched the garbage can and found cold items, apparently from your refrigerator.”

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Author: Richard L. Fricks

Writer. Observer. Builder. I write from a life shaped by attention, simplicity, and living without a script—through reflective essays, long-form inquiry, and fiction rooted in ordinary lives. I live in rural Alabama, where writing, walking, and building small, intentional spaces are part of the same practice.

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