58. June
58
JUNE
S taring at my face in the bathroom mirror, I try to focus on the little things. The redness in my eyes. The puffiness. I look like a completely different person in grief. Makes it easier to pretend this is happening to someone else.
For a minute.
But then I feel it. The grief, pulling me down like undertow. Thankfully, Cole keeps bringing me water, or I might dehydrate from crying. He knocks on the bathroom door. “Hey. Sorry to bother you, but I brought some lunch.”
I open the door. “Thanks.”
He winces at the sight of me. “Brought more tissues, too. Is it tea bags that help with … ” He gestures at my face. “… all that?”
I’m feeling only mildly insulted at the moment. “Thanks for the food and the tissues, but I need to be alone right now. I hope you understand.”
“Of course. Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it?—"
“I know. I’m not … good right now.”
“Understood. I know we don’t know each other, but maybe calling a friend would help.” When he gets to the door, he pauses. “There’s a big, honking chocolate bar on the tray with your sandwich. I might not know you well, but I know women.” Then, he leaves.
I head straight for the chocolate, and halfway through, it doesn’t taste like anything. Nothing has since yesterday.
Cole’s suggestion floats around my head. Call a friend. There’s only one person who might remotely understand, and I still can’t tell her everything without risking her becoming a witness. But I could stand to hear Callie’s voice right about now.
Before I chicken out, I dial her up. “Hey, I?—"
“Where the hell have you been?” she shouts without animosity.
“Been busy.”
“Let me get somewhere I can talk.”
“I’m sorry to bug you.” I hear animal sounds in the background. “Are you on safari?”
She snorts a laugh. “We’re at the zoo. Me and Daniel and his kids.”
“Oh, hell. Callie, I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t you dare hang up on me! I have been dying to talk to you, and I will take it when I can get it. Okay, I’m off by the ECO center, which means no one is around because no one cares about saving the planet. How depressing is that? Talk to me, girl.”
“I’m guessing you haven’t seen the news or social media today?”
She huffs. “You know I hate all of that.”
Shit . I forgot . “Anderson was arrested at our wedding reception.”
“What?” she squeaks. “You got married? Wait, arrested?”
And then the sobs start all over again. I can’t help it. Hearing her incredulity is like hearing my own voiced out loud. I give her the rundown while omitting a few facts. “… since I went out with Neil right before he died, and his body was found all beat up, they think Anderson did it. I don’t know what actual evidence they have.”
“Well, I mean, first of all, crap. Seriously, that is messed up. But secondly, they have to have probable cause to bring charges, which means they think they have something.”
“I know. I’m a lawyer, too, remember?”
She sighs. “I know, sweetie, but you don’t sound like yourself. Seriously, I’m surprised you haven’t been locked away in the nut house for all of this. What’s the plan?”
I laugh. “Plan? What plan?”
“You’re you. You always have a plan.”
“Not this time, Callie.”
She pauses. “Well, fuck.”
It makes me laugh to hear her curse. She’s no church mouse, but she’s more uptight than I am about those things. At least something can still make me laugh. “Precisely.”
“Okay, well, the first thing to do is talk to his lawyer. Not Pym—it sounds like that guy just wants to pin all of this on you. The other lawyer, the one you said, was like an aunt to him. Talk to her.”
Slowly, I nod. “That makes sense.”
“And trust her. If she’s as good as he says she is, do what she says to do.”
“Probably—"
“June. He trusts her. You should, too. Right?”
I sigh, unsure of what to say. How do I trust someone I don’t know? “I’ll try. Callie, I feel like I’m on the edge of something bad. Like one wrong step will ruin our lives forever.”
She doesn’t speak for a moment. “That’s because it could.”
Hearing that reality check is enough to send me spiraling again, and my eyes sting at the corners. “I’m not sure if that’s what I needed to hear.”
“Honey, I’m not going to lie to you. This is too big and important for fluffy best-friend nonsense. You deserve the cold, hard truth. Even if it’s ugly.”
I gulp down some of Cole’s water to wash away the knot in my throat. The trouble is, it doesn’t work. “Okay, tell me something good. I deserve some sugar with my medicine.”
“Anderson obviously loves you.”
“No shit. Something else.”
“Daniel popped the question.”
I want to react like a best friend should, but I can hardly muster the energy for it. “Congratulations!”
She covers the phone for a flash, but I hear a muffled, “Be there in a minute.” When she comes back, her tone falls apologetic. “June, I am so sorry, but?—"
“You need to go. It’s fine. Thank you for taking some time for me today.”
“Anytime. I mean it.”
“Thanks again, Callie.”
I make the call to Dana’s office, and to my surprise, she’s ready to see me now. Given how inconvenient that must be for her, I rush right over. Dana looks perfectly coifed, but upset. “I wish you two had told me everything when we met up before. I would be more prepared by now. You cannot keep hiding things from me, if you want my help.”
“Hindsight, I guess. What do you think of his chances?”
Her brow lifts. “It’s a murder trial, June. There’s really only two ways this goes, and one of them isn’t good.”
“I’m aware, Dana. What I mean is, do you think he’ll get off?”
“You’re a tax attorney, right?”
I nod.
“In criminal law, Anderson looks like every guy a jury hates but usually caves to. White, tall, handsome, rich. He’s well-known in the community, or rather, his family is. In most situations, all those factors confer privilege.”
I gulp. “Most?”
She taps her shining fingernail on her desk before she speaks. “In criminal trials, those things often work in someone’s favor, but in the past few years, juries have not been taking kindly to someone like him. You need to brace yourself for a negative outcome … ” She coaches me on what to wear and how to act. Then, Dana scrolls on her laptop. “If all goes well tomorrow, you may be taking him home for the time being. Bail will be high. The Wests being the Wests, everyone knows they could jump to a non-extradition country in no time.” She levels a look at me. “Do not run out on bail and make me look like a fool.”
“There’s no way in hell we’d do that.”
“Good.” She returns to her computer screen. “Our prosecutor is Tanner Walsh, and he’s an asshole. Don’t expect anything good of that man. He’s up for re-election, so he’ll be out for blood. But for now, let’s focus on the bail hearing.”
I don’t want to. But no one asked me what I want.
The next day in the courtroom, the courtroom itself is making me nervous. All wooden interior, big windows on one side, and packed full. Everyone wants to see a West on trial.
When Anderson is brought in, he’s in a suit. He sits next to me for a few minutes, and neither of us knows what to say, so we stay quiet. He looks as somber and tired as I feel, and I’m worried about what’s happened to him in jail. But if I ask, I’ll break down right here and now.
The judge looks like every severe authority I’ve ever seen in my life. A white, balding, ancient man. A true grump. Lucky us.
The clerk announces the case number I’ll have imprinted on my soul for eternity, then says, “The Commonwealth versus Anderson West. Murder in the first degree. Assault?—"
“Waive reading, Judge Ackerman,” Dana says as she stands up. Anderson joins her in front of the table, and Tanner, the prosecutor, follows their lead, standing in front of his.
The judge nods, and the clerk sits. “So noted, Ms. Horowitz. Mr. West, how do you plead?”
“Not guilty, your honor.”
“I’ve seen the news. The charges are shocking.”
“The most shocking part is how egregious they are,” she counters. “But I shouldn’t be surprised by that, given Tanner’s looking to run his campaign on my client’s back.”
He acts surprised. “You just wait a minute here, Dana, I am interested in justice for Neil Johnson. As someone who took an oath to uphold the law, I won’t stop until Neil Johnson can rest in peace.”
“Did you practice that line in front of the mirror this morning?”
“Your client murdered an innocent?—"
“Hold it right there, Mr. Walsh,” Judge Ackerman jumps in. “This isn’t trial. Watch your absolutes.”
Tanner gives a deep, respectful nod as though the admonishment worked. But I see it in his eyes. He’s just waiting to get another soundbite out.
“Your honor,” Dana begins. “If you don’t limit the news presence in this trial, this case will be nothing but Tanner’s campaign speeches. I’m sure you don’t want to give him that kind of free press at the expense of my client’s future.”
“I am the judge here, Ms. Horowitz. I make the rules in my courtroom. But like you, I do not favor cameras in a courtroom, so there will be none for the trial.”
“Thank you, your honor.”
Tanner says, “But the people have the right to know?—"
“Enough, Mr. Walsh.” The judge looks down his nose through his glasses at a stack of papers in front of him. “Now, on to bail. Mr. Walsh, what say you?”
“What happened to Mr. Johnson should be taken into account. The man was beaten to death, his body dumped like garbage. The act of an animal, not a man. The murderer who did such a thing should not receive bail.”
Judge Ackerman arches a brow in annoyance. “Yes, and if we had a convicted murderer here, I might agree with you. We do not.”
“That’s right, your honor,” Dana says swiftly, seeing an opportunity. “Mr. West is an upstanding member of the Boston community with deep ties throughout. He has no priors and is not a flight risk?—"
Tanner laughs at that. “Your honor, we are talking about a man with a strong motive to commit a heinous crime and enough money to run away.”
“Fair points, both of you.” He flips a paper over, moving on to the next one. “Bail is set at one million dollars.” He knocks his gavel, and that’s that.