CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Praeparatio
I hadn’t slept in practically a week. I’d spent hours and hours working on my closing argument before requesting Dante’s release on bail.
At this stage of the investigation, given the evidence the prosecution had presented so far, I’d opted for a technical defense—questioning the strength of the evidence, the protocols that had been followed, and of course, police conduct since this whole thing began.
From the start, the officers had treated Dante’s arrest like a trophy, acting far more aggressively than you’d expect in a case like this. It was as if they were getting paid extra to be abusive—like the night I met Dante.
“Lee, this came for you.” Célié walked into my office with Braxton’s letter in her hand. “I’m going to finish up at home. You staying?”
I’d been so buried in work that I hadn’t noticed night had fallen. Joseph had left hours ago, and all I’d eaten was a vegan sandwich and way too much coffee.
“I’m almost done. I’ll head out soon.”
“You should rest. You’ve stayed late every day this week.”
“I promise I’ll rest,” I said, smiling at my partner and faithful sidekick. “And when this is all over, we’re hitting the spa.”
“A really expensive one. With champagne and everything.” She smiled.
Célié set the letter on my desk and said goodbye.
Our office was small, so it was almost never this quiet—except for the last few days. I’d put on my playlist and dive into documents to draft, testimonies to review, and opportunities buried in this pile of political maneuvering.
The Marino versus Quentin case wasn’t just about two young men who got into a fight that left one of them dead. The Quentins and the Marinos had been publicly feuding over government research projects, but until the incident on December fourteenth, the dispute had been relatively tame.
After the incident, the Quentins went on TV to discuss it and made serious accusations against the Marinos, who in turn suggested that the Quentins had set Dante up and that Darwin had actually had problems with a drug dealer.
Betty, the journalist, had given me some tips on where to look, and I’d hired a private investigator to gather information that would be useful in our future battles with Prosecutor Quinn. He was also searching for the escort, but we were still in the dark.
My phone rang, and my eyes darted to the letter on the desk before I checked the caller ID for Braxton’s number—but it wasn’t him. It was an unknown number.
“Helena Torres?” A woman’s voice came through with a slight accent. “Pietra Coleman. Maressa told me you were looking for me.”
My heart skipped for a moment before I recovered. This knee-jerk reaction to Dante’s women needed to stop.
“Ah, hello, Miss Coleman.” I took a breath. “Would you be available to come to my office in Heritage tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? I don’t think so. I have a flight to Japan in the early hours.” The background noise sounded like a bar or something.
I glanced at the clock—past eight.
“Where are you now?” I asked.
“I’m at Molly’s, with some friends.”
Molly’s was about forty minutes from here, on the road between Heritage and Alta Ridge. At this hour, I could probably make it in thirty.
“Can I meet you there?”
“All right.”
I threw my things in my bag along with Dante’s letter and headed to Molly’s. When I got there, it was chaos—packed, with the music blasting. I didn’t know exactly what she’d be wearing, but I’d seen some photos of her online. Photos that didn’t do the girl justice.
Pietra was tall and slender, with slightly Asian features and very light blonde hair. She wore a tight satin dress with a leather jacket thrown over it.
“Miss Coleman.” I touched her arm, and she turned to me.
“Helena.” She gave me a warm smile. “Maressa’s told me a lot about you.”
“It’s still crazy to think they arrested Dante.” She took a sip of her drink. Pietra was stunning—almost disconcertingly so.
“We’re working to get him released.”
“Maressa said you wanted to know more about our relationship, but I’m not sure how much help I can be.”
I took a sip of my drink too.
“It would help to get the perspective of someone close to him. Understanding Dante’s personality helps me figure out which angles to pursue.”
Pietra glanced around, looking slightly uncomfortable.
“I really want to help… but I think the side of Dante I saw most over the past few months isn’t exactly great for your case.”
The music was loud, and I had to strain to hear her.
“Dante’s a nice guy. And we had good times together.” She studied me, as if gauging how candid she could be. “He’d been acting strange the last few nights we spent together. We used to have fun, have great sex. But lately he’d been distant, temperamental, unstable.”
“Aggressive?” I asked.
“Not with me.” She touched my hand. “Look, I’m not insinuating anything. We always had loud fights that led to hard, intense, amazing sex. It was kind of our thing.”
I swallowed hard at how much detail she was sharing.
“But lately he'd been breaking things and punching walls.” She let go of my fingers and took a sip of her drink. “I felt something was wrong, that this wasn't him, but I didn't want to stick around and find out I was wrong.”
I froze. Dante was definitely a complicated story, and everyone seemed to have their own version of the Dante experience.
“When was the last time you two spoke?”
“When the police came to our apartment and I had to go with them to the station. I left and called him—that's when he told me he was staying at a hotel. When I offered to come see him, he said I shouldn't get involved.”
“That was the night he was arrested?”
“The night before.”
“Did you tell anyone he was there? Did anyone else know?”
“I didn't… not directly. But Maressa knew he was there.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She called asking what I'd told the police, and I said I hadn't said anything. She wanted to know if I'd given them his location.”
“All right.”
“Helena.” She took my hands in hers again. “Dante is… complicated, but he wouldn't do this. And if he did, he must have had a good reason.”
I stared at her in silence because deep down, I didn't know the answer myself. He'd never really told me what happened that night, but the cards definitely weren't all on the table yet.
On the way home, I called the investigator and told him what to look for.
The conversation with Pietra had been enlightening in some ways, but it seemed to have raised more questions than answers.
My only certainty was that Quinn would use the information to convince people that Dante's good-guy facade hid dark secrets, or at least gray truths.
As soon as I got home, I dropped my things on the table and went to take a shower. The night was a bit milder, so I was able to wear lighter clothes. I went back to the kitchen and gave my phone one last check to see what people were saying about the case online.
I made some chamomile tea and sat with my feet up on the table. As I was getting comfortable, my foot bumped my bag, knocking it to the floor.
“Shit,” I muttered, crouching down to pick up my wallet and the lipstick that had fallen out. As I put them back, I remembered the envelope that had arrived from Braxton earlier.
I set the letter on the table and stared at it in silence. There were only two days left until the hearing. Maybe I shouldn't keep digging into Dante's head and just focus on my technical defense. At least for the next few days, or as long as I could resist opening this letter.
I grabbed the envelope and my tea and headed upstairs to the bedroom.
I tucked the envelope under the rose, finished the last of my tea, and set the cup on the nightstand.
I let myself fall onto the bed, feeling my body sink into the covers.
We didn't have many luxuries in this house, but the mattress was definitely one of them, and right now it was all that mattered.
It was my greatest ally for escaping the thoughts swirling around Dante and this case.