Anne lets out a chuckle as she pulls out her notepad and begins making a list.
“Plus, the threatening note and photograph. Someone took that photo. Someone wrote that note, and we need to figure out who,” I say.
Matthew nods.
“Any witnesses you want me to contact?” Anne writes down more notes.
“Yes. Let’s pull Sheriff Stevens, Scott Summers, Deputy Hudson, and let’s find a relative of her husband, someone that has bad blood with her. We’re also going to need to pull her phone records. I want to find out who that third set of DNA belongs to.” I pause and quickly go over everything in my head, thinking about all possibilities. “Also, I’d like to talk to a few of her co-workers. Maybe there’s someone there that knew more about her past or her indiscretions, someone that can give us more insight on Kelly. Right now, no one seems to really know who she is.” I take another sip of my coffee.
“Got it, boss,” Anne says.
“I can take care of the phone records. I know people in high places who are willing to go to low places… for me.” Matthew winks.
I give him a small smile. “Thanks, Matthew. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. I have to jet off to a meeting—just send me the phone numbers.” He stands and pulls me in for a tight hug. “I’d do anything for you, Sarah.” He kisses both of my cheeks, says goodbye, and heads out of the café.
I glance down at my watch and look at Anne. “We should probably head over.”
26
Adam Morgan
I’m waiting outside the courtroom handcuffed and dressed in the clothes Sarah delivered. A guard is standing beside me, ensuring I don’t run—as if I’d have anywhere to run to. I’m pleading not guilty because I know I didn’t do this. But I also know that in some cases not committing the crime isn’t enough to be innocent. And I think I might be one of those cases. The evidence is stacked against me. I know that. Sarah knows that. Everyone knows that. I’ll need a miracle to get out of this.
My mother comes walking through the courthouse doors, dressed in all white as if she believes she’s my guardian angel. She pulls her Chanel glasses from her face and slides them into her bag. She stops right in front of me, surveying my attire. “You look perfect, darling,” she says, planting a kiss on each of my cheeks.
I shake my head.
My mother looks up and down at the guard standing beside me. “Are those necessary?” She points at the handcuffs around my wrists.
“He’s entering a plea for double homicide today… so, yes.”
“How could anyone think such a handsome and charming man could be guilty of anything?” She pushes the hair off my forehead gently.
The guard rolls his eyes. “No touching please, ma’am.”
Mom gives him a dirty look, then glances around the lobby. “Where’s Sarah and her little assistant?”
“They just went to grab coffee.”
“Giving into their own vices over my son’s well-being? Doesn’t seem like a very strong defense team.”
“Mom, stop.”
“I’m just saying.” She flips her hand at me dismissively.
Sarah and Anne enter the courthouse, each carrying a cup of coffee and a tote bag. A coffee would be great right about now, but if I’m wishing for things—a glass of scotch would be much better. They’re chatting as they approach me. I wonder where Matthew ran off to. He’s always showing up randomly and then disappearing. Sarah is wearing one of her standard power skirt suits in the color heather gray. Anne is dressed in a similar style, but her outfit probably costs a tenth of what Sarah’s does. Sarah’s whole demeanor changes when she sees my mother.
“There you are, Sarah,” Mom says. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to defending my son.”
Sarah stops quickly about a foot away. Anne gives an awkward nod and stands beside her. “The arraignment hasn’t started yet, Eleanor.”
Sarah practically turns her body away from my mom, making it very clear she has no desire to speak to her. “Here’s how this is going to go. You’ll enter your plea, and I’m going to try to get you out on bail. The judge will either grant or deny bail, and then he’ll set a trial date. Do you understand?”
“Yes. What are my chances of getting bail?”
“I’d say you should have a good chance. You have no criminal history and you’ve been cooperative thus far. But on the flip side, District Attorney Josh Peters may fight it, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he did.”
“Why?”
“Yes, why would anyone want to see my son behind bars?” Eleanor asks. Sarah ignores her and only focuses on me.
“This is a very violent crime, and he is seeking the death penalty, and because of that you might be deemed a flight risk.” She takes a sip of her coffee, then looks back at me. Her face softens. She holds the cup up, offering it to me. I glance down at my handcuffed hands and shrug. She brings the cup to my lips and pours it into my mouth. It’s lukewarm, but it’s better than anything I’ve had in the jail. Sarah gives me a small smile as I pull away. Maybe she does still love me.
“Thank you.”
She nods.
The information she just told me finally sinks in. “Wait, I’d have to spend the duration of the trial in jail if bail is denied?” I ask to confirm even though I know the answer to the question. I just want to talk to Sarah as husband and wife, not as lawyer and client.
“That’s correct.” I notice she has a bit of sweat on her forehead and her face is turning pale.
“That’s ridiculous. You better take care of this, Sarah.” Mom taps her heel on the floor.
“Are you okay?” I ask. She gags, hands her coffee to Anne, and runs to a nearby garbage can in the lobby and throws up. Anne rushes to her side and rubs her back, asking her if she needs anything or if she should reschedule. Sarah shakes her head and scurries off to the bathroom.
“She’ll be right back,” Anne says walking over to me.
“Is she okay? What’s wrong with her?” I’m concerned not only for my wife but if she’ll be able to handle this hearing.
“I don’t think she can handle this case. We should shop around,” Mom whispers into my ear.
“Stop, Mom.”
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Anne says.
“Maybe you should go help her,” Mom says to Anne, shooing her away. “Sarah’s clearly not strong enough on her own.”
27
Sarah Morgan
I walk out of the bathroom stall and splash some water on my face. I take my makeup bag from my tote, re-powder my face, swish around some mouthwash, and reapply my lip gloss. I feel fine now, but I don’t know what came over me—the stress of this case, poor nutrition, inadequate sleep, or fucking Eleanor. I have to pull it together. I pat down my hair and smooth away any flyaways.
Pulling out my phone, I text Anne—I’m fine. Must have had something that didn’t agree with me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.