18. Anderson
18
ANDERSON
A s soon as Otto’s car door shuts, he snarls, “What the fuck was that?”
I huff and stare out the passenger window. The problem is, I don’t have an answer. Not a good one, anyway. The truth is, I panicked. In the past year, I’ve dealt with everything from my father freezing my assets to getting shot and almost dying, but this was a different kind of stress. The guy who shot me was at the end of his rope. He was armed and out of his mind, and so I was shot.
What happened with those cops in the interrogation room was planned and intentional. It was a completely different feeling from facing a man with a gun but no less potentially world-ending. They wanted to tear me apart mentally until I confessed or said the wrong thing. Those assholes were out to get me like it was personal.
“I’m gonna need an answer, Anderson.”
I shrug. “I don’t have one.”
Otto’s black driving gloves gleam in the cloudy afternoon light as he grips the steering wheel in anger. But then his shoulders slide back, resigned. “Fine. What would you tell a client who did that in there?”
I grumble, “That running off like that makes you look guilty.”
“Glad I don’t have to be the one to tell you.” He sighs, staring out the windshield. “But in fairness to you, I should have known more about what they were coming with. My guys inside can’t get close to this investigation, or they woulda told me.”
“You need better guys inside.”
He shrugs. “Neither here nor there at the moment.”
“I’m not … I don’t do criminal law, but I don’t think that went well.”
“It isn’t good. They have something, or they wouldn’t be so confident. I’ve dealt with Banks before. His partner’s a piece of work, but Banks is usually decent. I’ve never seen him so adamant, which means?—
“They have something.”
Otto nods. “Not enough, though. That’s what today was about. They wanted to trip you up and get you to say the wrong thing while they recorded it. That, plus whatever they have, would be enough, or at least, that’s what they’re thinking.”
Outside, my jaw firms and my gaze hardens on the police officers going in and out of the building. Inside, it feels like being swallowed by cold mud. It’s funny—before I killed someone, I would have thought being a lawyer in this situation would be an asset, but as it turns out, it’s not. My education only makes me think I should be able to worm my way out of this, and when I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, I end up more frustrated than before.
“I want to see their evidence, Otto. I need to know what I’m up against.”
“The only legit way to do that is if this goes to trial. That’s what discovery is for. But I don’t get the feeling that’s what you mean.”
I try to collect my thoughts. Recently, every illegal thing I’ve done has gone sideways, so I’m not sure about any of this. “Think about it—if they were blowing smoke about everything they said they had, then all they really have is a body. That body was in the water for a long time, so how much evidence can they really glean from it? I’d venture to say none. I think they got some witnesses, put two and two together, and that’s all they have. Otherwise, they’d have me locked up, right?”
“Bet your life on it?”
A twinge of panic tells me no. “I want to see their evidence. Somehow. And I’m not talking to them again, Otto. That was bullshit in there. If they want to talk, they can arrest me. If they want anything else, they can get warrants. We are done being nice about this.”
Otto takes a deep breath and sits back. “You know that’s what they want, right?”
“How’s that?”
“If they can’t get you to confess, their next step is to piss you off and make you do something stupid, so they have probable cause. Banks tried to softball you in there, but Wachowski was going for cause. He knows their next steps are warrants and knocking down your door. If you change your mind about talking, tell them you’ll only speak to Wachowski?—"
“The fuck for?”
He smirks. “Because that hothead is going to get a bad wake-up call one day, and I’d love it if you were the one to do it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Banks has pulled Wachowski’s sac outta the fire too many times. He has a rep for playing just outside the law to get confessions, evidence, whatever. I have no proof, but I know he’s planted evidence. My sources inside don’t like the guy. They don’t trust him, and for police, trust is everything. They want him gone almost as much as you do.”
“So, why the hell would I want to talk to him instead of Banks?”
“Because Wachowski is the one most likely to fuck the case up. He’s volatile. He doesn’t think through things. You can use that to your advantage if the time comes. As much as they’d like to piss you off into doing something stupid, it would be just as easy for you to do the same to him.”
I nod, thinking about how to use that. “If the time comes, I’ll consider it.”
“Aside from all of that, what aren’t you telling me about June?”
“What do you mean by that?”
His lips lock tight in a straight line as his brow arches. “I’m not an idiot, Anderson. You’re a good guy. Protective. You’d do anything for the woman you love, right?”
“Of course.”
“Including cover for her when she murders someone.”
I laugh sharply. “Wait—you think that’s what happened? Are you shitting me?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen it.”
“She … she didn’t do it.” I force a breath out, trying to erase the memories of that awful night. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps except time. But now, with the cops breathing down our necks, it keeps coming back up like bad sushi. “He had her by the neck. He was choking her out. Whether he wanted to kill her before he raped her, I don’t know. Not sure he cared if she was alive for that or not. She had these bruises on her throat for days after … every time I saw them, I saw the light slip from her eyes the way it did that night. When I tackled him, I thought she was dead. That I was too late.”
His lip curls in disgust. “The world’s better off without the creep.”
“Yeah.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that June was involved in his death, even if peripherally. She will remain a person of interest, as will you, after the show you put on in there. Problem is, had you called me that night when it all went down, I coulda gotten you out, looking like a hero. Now … ” He sighs, shaking his head.
“Now, what?”
“The BPD is out for blood. They won’t be happy until they have it.”
“Why are they acting like Neil was one of their own? He was a hedge fund manager?—"
“At Bryce-Connolly, yeah, I know. Problem is, Connolly is a big donor to a lot of city, county, and state charities, including police associations. I wouldn’t put it past him to pressure them on this, kid. He’s protective of his public image. He likes his name in the headlines for positive press only, but now his name is tied to a murder victim. That means someone’s nuts are in the fire, and they won’t stop until this is solved.”
My head falls into my hands. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
“You hit the lotto with this one. Only it’s the lotto in reverse.”
I want to scream. Or punch. Or just go to town on something breakable. This is too much. It’s all fucking too much. “What do we do now?”
He blows out a deep breath. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“I don’t like any of this. How will your idea be any different?”
“There were three people involved in this incident. Neil, you, and June. One of you is dead. The other isn’t my client. If it comes down to it, you know I’ll pin this on her.”
“The fuck you will!”
“Calm down. All I have to do is get in front of a jury, make them think it could have been her, and there’s your reasonable doubt. It’s not enough to make the police go after her, but it’s enough to get you off. Isn’t that the goal?”
“Not at her expense! If you so much as point a finger her way, the police will reopen the investigation and go after her. You can’t do that!”
He picks at his driving gloves. “I think you’ll find I can do whatever I need to in order to secure the well-being of my client, and when it’s my client’s life or June’s, I’m picking my client every time.”
“Stop fucking with your gloves and look at me. I want your full attention because I do not believe I’ve made myself clear.” I wait until he gives an annoyed grunt and stops with his damn gloves. “If it were to ever be a choice between mine or June’s freedom, she is the priority. Always. Fuck my father, fuck anyone who says differently. I love her too damn much to see her behind bars ever. So no more talk about pinning this shit on her. If worse comes to worse, I’ll take my punishment. But she stays the fuck out of this.”
Otto looks tired. “You’re making a mistake.”
“It’s my mistake to make.” And it wasn’t a mistake, but I wasn’t going to argue with him.
He mumbles something under his breath, then puts the car in drive. “You think you’re noble for choosing her over yourself. You’re wrong. You made the right call that night—obviously. But this? How many square feet is your fancy apartment?”
That was an abrupt change of topic. “Around fifteen hundred square feet. Why?”
“Massachusetts prison cells run about thirty-five square feet. So the next time you’re in your bathroom, imagine what half of that would be like for the rest of your life, then tell me if you’re willing to throw yourself on your sword for her.”
I glare at him. “Yes. I am.”
“Damn kids.”