After what seems like a very, very long time enduring verbal abuse, albeit deserved, I am informed that my attorney has arrived, and I am transferred to an interrogation room and handcuffed to the table.
Not long after, Sarah and Sheriff Stevens enter.
The first words out of Sarah’s mouth are, “Is that really necessary?” as she points to my hands cuffed to the table.
“Don’t even fucking start with me,” Sheriff Stevens says. His anger is visible all over him.
“Fine,” Sarah huffs.
“Look, the only reason you are here is to avoid any issues in court as far as the handling and rights of your client. He is going to be transferred to a maximum-security holding facility until the trial and additional charges will be brought against him for escaping.”
“I understand. My client’s behavior was inexcusable in this instance. While we maintain his innocence on the charges related to the murder of Kelly Summers, there is no denying his behavior over the last forty-eight hours.”
They are both speaking as if I am not even in the room. But given the situation, that is probably for the best.
“Fine, duly noted,” says the sheriff. “I will leave you with your client now. You have ten minutes, and then we are transferring him to Sussex State Prison. You can schedule all future visits with them.” Sheriff Stevens leaves, but not before giving me a look that says, You’re going down, asshole.
Sarah turns back to me once the door is closed. “What the fuck could you have possibly been thinking?”
“Sarah, I can explain—”
She holds up a finger to stop me. She begins to rub her temples with her eyes closed, her head bowed. I can only imagine what is going through her mind.
“Do you have any idea how much you just fucked everything up? Thanks to you, even if by some miracle I get you off on the murder charges, you are still going to serve jail time for escaping police custody and evading the authorities. We are talking years in prison. Do you even get that?”
“Sarah, you don’t understand—”
“No, Adam! You don’t fucking understand! Let’s just look at the facts for once. Fact: you escaped from jail. Fact: you are on trial for murder. Fact: you went to the house of that reporter, who you don’t even know.”
“I do know her. She’s helping me,” I argue.
Sarah sets her bag down and draws a folder from it. She slides it across the table. “No, you don’t know her.”
I look down at the folder, but with my hands cuffed to the table, my attempt to open it is laughable. Seeing me struggle, Sarah leans over and does it for me. There’s a picture of Rebecca clipped to the left side and on the right side, there’s some sort of a report.
“What’s this?”
“That’s Rebecca Sanford. Only she’s not a reporter, she’s a private investigator—and she was hired by Scott Summers.”
“What? That’s ridiculous! Why would he do that?” I try to throw my hands up, forgetting I’m handcuffed.
Sarah slams her fist on the table. “Listen to me, Adam. She was never actually helping you. Scott didn’t trust the narrative any more than you did. What don’t you get about that?”
“I don’t know. I just thought she was on my side.” I hang my head.
“The only person on your side is me.” She folds her arms in front of her chest and taps her heel on the floor.
“I know.”
“Your antics have given the prosecution so much ammo. You’ve made yourself look like an imbecile, like a wild animal that would do anything—even kill—to get his way.” Sarah shakes her head.
“What can I do to make this right?” My eyes fill with tears. How could I have been so stupid?
“You can go to prison. You can keep to your fucking self, and you can stay there until your trial is over.” She picks up her bag and throws it over her shoulder.
I don’t say anything. I just nod. She walks to the door and before she exits, she turns back to me. “Adam.”
I look at Sarah hoping her words will be kind. Hoping she’ll forgive me and understand where I was coming from and what I was doing even as dumb as it was.
“I guess someone else might advise you to start praying in this situation because you’re going to need a miracle to get out of this. But you know I don’t believe in God, so you’re on your own for the time being.” She leaves, letting the door close behind her.
59
Sarah Morgan
I can’t do this shit anymore. The chips just keep stacking up against me. I close the car door and enter the dimly lit office building. It’s late, but Anne said Matthew had a courier deliver a package earlier: the DNA results are waiting for me on my desk.
I can hear the buzzing of a vacuum cleaner. The only ones here this late are the cleaners. It’s past 9pm. The trial begins on Monday. I ride the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. Motion sensor lights flicker on as I walk.
Before I make it to my office, my phone rings. I scramble to find it in my purse and without looking, I answer it quickly just to silence it.
“What’s this that a mother can’t visit her own son in prison?” Eleanor seethes.
I regret not looking at the caller ID before taking this call. “His visiting privileges were revoked due to his escape.”
“That’s nonsense. When do I get to see him?”
“You can see him on trial days, but you won’t be able to speak with him.”
“You’ve mishandled this whole thing, Sarah. I don’t know how you got to where you are! You screw up all the time. I have half the nerve to report you to the bar, and they’ll—” I hang up. I go to her contact information page and tap block this caller. I let out a sigh of relief, dropping the phone back into my purse.
On my desk is a large sealed yellow manila envelope. What’s inside it may make or break me. I hesitate before dropping my bag on the floor, kicking off my heels and walking to my desk. I pick up the envelope and twirl it in my hand for a moment. It all comes down to this.
Pulling the metal clasp open and peeling back the flap, I slide out a small stack of paper. I quickly scan and flip the page, scan and flip the page, scan and flip the page and then my breath catches. A small gasp escapes. My mouth curves to a grin.
“I knew it. It’s a fucking match.”
60
Adam Morgan
A guard escorts me into the courtroom. I’m wearing a nice suit and I’m clean shaven, but the pair of handcuffs sullies my appearance. All of this is to try and make a good impression on the jury—to look innocent. I am innocent, but I need them to think that too.
Sarah stands at the table. She’s smiling. I haven’t seen her smile in a long time. I hope she has something up her sleeve, something that’ll save me. If she does, she hasn’t made me privy to it. I can’t really blame her. I’ve broken her trust countless times.
Scott went missing over the weekend and hasn’t been located by authorities. Perhaps that’s the angle she’s using. I shouldn’t have trusted Scott or Rebecca. I haven’t heard from her since the night I was arrested.