77
Jason
Tuesday, July 23
“A needle,” Joel says. “With fluid still inside?”
“Some, not a lot,” I say, perching my cell phone on my shoulder. I’m at my town house now with Alexa. The needle is inside a sandwich bag, resting on my bed. “Maybe a quarter of the vial?”
“Well, that would be a signature, all right. Maybe it’s some kind of incapacitating agent. Or, well, it could be anything. He could’ve injected it when they’re half dead, or all dead, or he could have used it to subdue them in the first place.”
“It could be something meaningful,” I say.
“It’s a milky, cloudy liquid?”
“Yep. Y’know, I’m wondering if I should just take it to the cops. What if there are fingerprints on it?”
“Is that what you think?” he asks. “That this guy went to all this trouble to set you up, but he was dumb enough to put his greasy fingers all over it?”
He’s right. I take this to the cops and I’m in no different position than I was before. I still can’t identify the killer any more than a fake name he gave me. There’s still some unknown evidence out there that “James” has planted at the crime scenes. I’d be in just as helpless a position as before. Correction-worse: Now I happen to be in possession of one of the killer’s weapons, complete with DNA on the needle tip, no doubt, of the skin and blood of Alicia Corey and Lauren Gibbs.
“How are we doing on that other topic? That thing we discussed yesterday?”
Alexa, he means. His suspicions about Alexa.
Alexa’s in the master bathroom right now, the water running, but still I answer in a whisper. “She helped me find this, Joel. I was chasing my tail looking for stuff. It was her idea to check the pictures on the wall.”
“That a fact? It was her idea, was it?” He sounds almost cheerful. He seems to think this proves something.
“You’re delusional,” I say.
I hang up with Joel and get on my knees by the nightstand next to my bed. There is a small drawer and I pull it out completely, removing it from its hinges. I tape the sandwich bag containing the needle to the underside of the drawer and carefully replace it.
“That’s not much of a hiding place,” Alexa says when she emerges from the bathroom.
“Well, hopefully, it won’t need to stay hidden long,” I say. “We’re going to catch this guy. I can taste it now.”
78
Shauna
Wednesday, July 24
Two o’clock. Bradley and I look at each other with blank expressions. Rory Arangold puts an arm around my shoulder and whispers, “Either way, you were amazing.”
The trial has ended. Closing arguments were completed a half hour ago, followed by instructions from the judge to the jury. The seven women and five men who will decide our fate have retired for deliberations. There is no chance they’ll come back today. They’ll get started today, will elect a foreperson and get organized, maybe will make some introductory comments. Tomorrow, Thursday, will be all day. And they won’t want to carry this case over into next week. Friday, I’m almost positive. Friday, we’ll get the verdict.
The adrenaline begins to drain from my limbs, from my neck and shoulders, my body turning to rubber. Jason, I think to myself. I need to talk to Jason. But I have to see this thing through. The jury shouldn’t take more than two days. Wait for the verdict, be there for the client until then, stay on my game just another day or two, hold my freakin’ breath, and then Jason.
Rory mentions dinner, Bradley says something about a stiff drink, but I tell them I have an appointment and I’ll try to meet with them later. I have a feeling that I won’t. I’ll make up an excuse, a headache or something, and by then they’ll be so drunk they won’t care. A rain check, I’ll say. We’ll celebrate after the jury gives us the good news.
That should be my focus right now, the verdict, this case. I’ve kept my focus thus far. I’ve stayed on program. I haven’t missed a single beat. We’ve done everything we wanted to do, from start to finish, for better or for worse. It’s a good feeling, in itself, knowing that you have no regrets about your performance.
But I’m not in a place right now to feel good. I just want to get out of here, make my appointment, and go home.
The Arangolds aren’t finished with me, hugging me and shaking my hand and filling me with praise. They are good people, and they deserve to keep their business. They deserve to win this case. I tell them all of that, knowing that they won’t be hearing these words from me later tonight over wine or something stiffer.
Jason, I think to myself. I need to talk to Jason.
Two more days. It can wait two more days.
79
Jason
Friday, July 26
My office is a wasteland. Everything that Alexa helped me put back together I have taken apart again. I’m taking no chances. I’m going back over this entire office to make sure that the hypodermic needle I found behind my framed prosecutor’s certificate is the only thing that my friend “James” planted. I’ve tossed my car, as well, though there’s never been a sign of anyone breaking into it. No chances. Taking no chances.
I’m drifting hard, trying to keep my spirits high, focusing on the fact that I’ve checked at least one move that “James” has made, but realizing that there is a bad side to my discovery, too-it proves that my tiny glimmer of hope that “James” was making this whole thing up about a frame-up was wasted prayers, that, in fact, he is doing that very thing. And that means that even if I discover who he is, and I turn him in to the police, I’m going to have some explaining to do of my own. Not an insurmountable climb, I hope, but the truth is, I don’t know what lies ahead for me. I don’t know what “James” has planted at the crime scenes.
Which means that I could be sprinting toward my own execution squad.
My eyes pop open, and I realize I’ve drifted off-not an uncommon occurrence these days, during lulls of stress-when I hear the celebratory voice of my associate, Bradley John.
“Not guilty on all counts!” he shouts. “Not guilty on all counts!”
Marie’s voice now, whooping it up, too. I pop a pill from my Altoids tin and push myself out of my chair, glancing at the clock. It’s just after ten o’clock. The jury must have announced first thing this morning.
“A complete and total defense verdict,” Bradley is saying to Marie. “Four counts, all in our favor. And here she is,” he says, taking Shauna’s hand as she appears in the hallway. “Hey!” he says when he sees me. “Defense verdict, all the way around!”
I give my congratulations, a high five to Bradley and a quick friends hug with Shauna. Defense verdicts in a plaintiff-happy forum like our civil courts is cause for mass celebration. There will be a long, liquid lunch that will turn into a long night. I’m hardly in the mood for this, but they deserve it. Shauna did it. She took on the city and knocked their teeth in.
“I need to talk to you,” Shauna whispers to me, but she allows for the merriment to continue for a while. There’s no alternative. This is a major, major win for our law firm, one of the biggest.
It’s early enough that lunch is premature, so everyone agrees to hold off on the heavy celebration for an hour or so, Shauna actually mentioning that her stomach is bothering her and she may want to postpone the festivities. That would be fine with me.
I walk back to my office, Shauna following me. Instinctively, I take a seat behind my desk, a bit more formal than the couch we’d usually share, without giving it any thought. Maybe that’s saying something right there. Shauna, for her part, chooses not to sit at all. She is wearing a solid frown. Someone who just won a heater case, who just saw two years’ worth of grueling work lead to a spectacular result, is frowning at me.