A not guilty verdict is going to be a hard one to pull off, but perhaps we can get a mistrial through a hung jury. It may or may not be tried again after that, but we don’t have a lot of time before the trial starts and at this point, that’s our best bet.
The door is flung open and startles me. Anne scurries in carrying two smoothies, a bag of food from a local café, and a box of chocolates. She places everything on the desk in a hurry.
“What? What is it?” I ask.
“Bob’s looking for you.” Her eyes widen.
“And?”
“He’s pissed.”
Bob appears in my doorway wearing a nice tailored suit and a scowl. “What the hell is going on here?” He takes a couple of large steps into my office, so he’s directly in front of my desk. Anne quickly shifts aside.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Bob?” I smile.
“What’s with the reporters out front? And what’s this I hear you’re representing your husband in a murder trial?” His face crumples.
“Yes, yes I am. My husband has been wrongly accused, and I’m doing some pro bono work on the case.” I shift some papers around while paying nearly no mind to Bob.
“You can’t do fucking pro bono on your own husband’s case!”
“Yes, I can, and I am. I’ve already talked to Kent about it.”
Anne lets out an awkward cough as if she had been holding it in to not make a sound. I glance at her and then look Bob directly in the eyes.
“Oh, have you? I’ll also be talking to Kent about this and explaining to him how god-awful this publicity is for the firm.” He points at me as he speaks.
“Do it, and I’ll bury you, Bob,” I warn.
He lets out a chuckle. “Ha. I’d love to see you try.” He looks around my office. “Man, I’m going to look so good in here when they can your ass.”
“You don’t even look good in your own office.” I return my attention to my case, shifting around papers. I know his threats are empty, but I don’t need him ruffling up Kent’s feathers again. I’m already on thin ice.
“Watch yourself, Sarah.” He takes a few steps back and then turns to leave. I let him have the last word because it’s all he’s got. He can be mad over the publicity, but he can’t be mad about me taking the case. I had to. It was the only way.
“Are you okay?” Anne takes a seat in front of me.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about him. He’s just overly protective of this place.” I spot the box of chocolates with an attached card on the desk. “What’s this?”
“It arrived as I was coming in.”
I open the envelope and pull out the card. It reads, “This in no way compares to studying for the LSAT, but I know how you handle stress. Chocolate! XOXO, Matthew.” I let out a small smile as I recall Matthew and I going on chocolate runs in the middle of our study sessions. I open the box, choose a piece, and pop it into my mouth.
“Want one?”
“Sure.” Anne takes one for herself and takes a bite. “Who’s it from?”
“Matthew.” I take another one.
“I swear he has a thing for you.” She raises an eyebrow.
“He’s gay.”
“Yeah, but he’d be straight for you,” Anne says with a mouthful of chocolate.
“That’s not how that works.”
“He’s at least bisexual.” She curves the corner of her lip.
“Doubtful.” I roll my eyes.
“Okay… oh yeah—I got the background check back on that Jesse Hook guy,” she says as she quickly leaves my office and returns with a file folder. I take it from her and flip through it.
“Highlights?”
“Thirty-two, lives alone in Gainesville, dropped out of high school, no real job history. He seems to do freelance writing and painting on the side according to his Facebook page. No family in the area, not sure how he came to live around here. Never been married and no kids. Overall, he’s kind of a creepy recluse.”
“Registered phone number?”
“Yep. It’s on the first page, and it matches one text and a dozen missed calls in Kelly’s phone history. He texted her, ‘I’m sorry’ on the night of the murder and all the calls were sporadic a couple of days before.”
“He could be our guy,” I ponder.
“It’s at least worth looking into.”
“I’m going to head back into town. Will you call Sheriff Stevens and have him meet me at Seth’s Coffee in about two hours?”
“Sure thing.” She immediately gets up to make that call.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Eleanor. Great.
I’m going out of town and will be back tomorrow. Nothing to concern yourself with.
I roll my eyes. If it was nothing for me to concern myself with then why did she text me in the first place? Ugh. She’s impossible. I slide my phone in my pocket, close the box of chocolates, and put it in my tote bag. Before leaving, I take a few sips of the smoothie and a bite of my sandwich. I’m getting a bit tired of making this drive back and forth between D.C. and Prince William County, but I don’t have the time to slow down.
I need to find out who this third guy is. He might be the answer to this whole case, and he might know more than anyone else does about Kelly and her past. Until I can tie up this loose end, I will always be left wondering what it is that I don’t know.
34
Adam Morgan
I heard from Rebecca, the journalist I’d asked to do some digging for me, sooner than I thought… actually, I wasn’t sure I’d hear from her at all. She called me late last night, telling me she’d be over Monday afternoon. She works fast. She had said on the phone that she got everything I asked for. I don’t know how she did it, and I don’t care as long as it’s right, and it clears me of this crime. I got up and showered, shaved, and dressed myself. It was quite the accomplishment as I’ve been nothing short of a slob these past couple of days. I even tidied up the place. I couldn’t stand sleeping on the couch another night. My back is aching, but I guess the couch is better than the twin-sized bunk at the jail.
Since our mattress was thrown out during the crime scene clean-up, I ordered a new one online. I won’t get much use out of it if I’m convicted, but in the meantime, I sprung for the most expensive one with the highest thread count sheets and the plushest pillows and mattress pad. If these are my last couple of weeks in my own bed, they’re going to be luxurious. I haven’t heard from Sarah since our encounter on Friday night. I had hoped she’d stop by again, but after the news picked up the story, I assumed she was lying low.
I’m sitting on the couch dressed in old jeans and a flannel top, flipping through my well-thumbed copy of The Corrections, wondering why my career hadn’t taken the same path as Mr. Franzen’s. But I only need to read one page of his writing to remember why.
The phone rings and I lean over to pick it up. I don’t even get a chance to say hello. “Adam! It’s Daniel. Great news! I already have multiple offers on the tell-all.”