59. Anderson
59
ANDERSON
W hen we walk into our apartment, it’s blessedly silent. We’re both quiet. But when June leans on me at the doorway, I can tell she’s feeling the way I do. Worn out. Humiliated. Horrified. I hold her tight to me, memorizing the feeling just in case I don’t get to feel it much in the future. “I love you. Would you hate me if I said I wanted a shower?”
She quirks a confused look at me. “Why would I hate you for that?”
“It feels like I should be spending time with you instead. Just in case.”
“Go shower. I’ll order some delivery.”
“Anything but sandwiches, please.”
“You got it.”
Feels like I’ll never get jail off of me, no matter how hard I scrub. I didn’t sleep much there. Couldn’t. The others in holding acted like animals at night, hooting and picking fights and shouting at each other. The only peace I had was when someone asked me what I was in for. Turns out, they don’t like to fuck around with murderers.
The shower must have lasted longer than I thought, because the food is already here when I get out. June’s in her loungewear, portioning out rice. “I thought chicken and broccoli was about as far from sandwiches as we could get.”
“Smells wonderful, thank you.”
“Should we talk about everything?”
“Sure. What do you want to know?”
“How was it in jail?”
“Worse than you think, but not as bad as your imagination can get. I wasn’t assaulted or anything like that, but being trapped with people who clearly have mental disorders and like to be noisy all night long is a lot. It’s repugnant that people who need psychiatric care are locked in jail instead of a treatment facility. Not good for them or for anyone else.”
She sighs. “Well, that’s better than I expected. The prosecutor is confident about the case enough that he’s using it to campaign. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t think it was a slam dunk. They don’t have video, or we’d know about that by now, right?”
“Right. Which leaves physical evidence or witnesses.”
She blows out a breath, trying to steady herself. “I cannot imagine they have much in the way of physical evidence, considering his body was in the harbor for months.”
I grit my jaw, now wanting to say the words. “And that leaves witnesses.”
“I know Moss has been unfailingly loyal to you, but … do you think it’s him?”
“No way. He knows the stakes. Even if it were him, he knows Dad would have him taken out for squealing. He’s not that na?ve.”
“Then maybe one of my neighbors saw something and came forward.”
That’s the thing I’ve feared the most. “I think that’s most likely. Depending on what part they caught the fight at, they’ll either think he was a monster or I was. Assuming they are the prosecution’s witness, it’s the latter.”
She takes a bite, staring at the screen. It’s almost like she’s purposefully not looking at me. “Except, if that’s the case, Moss would be up on charges, too.”
“How’s that?”
“If a neighbor saw the end of the fight, they saw Moss helping us clean up, which means he’d be implicated. And to my knowledge, Moss hasn’t been arrested.”
A cold feeling settles over me. I hadn’t considered that. “Fuck.”
She sets her chopsticks down and takes a deep breath. “There’s another witness in all of this, and I don’t even want to bring it up, but we have to cover all of our bases?—"
“Just say it.”
“Your father.”
I blink at her. “Huh?”
“Your father knows everything. Do you think there’s a chance that he?—"
“No.”
Her brow bunches as she huffs. “Your father is?—"
“No.”
“Anderson!” She faces me, frustrated. “We have to consider every possibility, and I feel like I’ve been facing all of them alone. I am tired of feeling alone in this.”
I don’t want to do this. Things between me and Dad have been … well, not good exactly, but improving. The idea that he could be the witness … it’s too cruel, even for him. “Even if he were spineless enough to do that, why would he throw us that reception?”
“To keep us from suspecting him until it was too late. He knows you have Moss in your pocket, and he would be smart to worry about you ordering Moss to kill him for ratting on you. If he kept us from suspecting him until it was too late, then he could jet off to someplace afterward and stay safe from Moss.”
Well, shit. That ’ s a good plan . But still, “I don’t think he’d do anything like that to me.”
“He’s the reason you were shot, Anderson! Can you honestly tell me a little prison time is beneath him?”
The trouble is, I can’t. As much as I don’t think he’d do that to me, she’s not wrong about him. He has put me in life-and-death scenarios more than once, and if it weren’t for Moss, I’d have been dead. But still, this hurts. My voice goes hoarse when I scratch out, “Can you blame a guy for not wanting to think the worst of his own father?”
Her face softens, and she pulls me to her for a hug. “I’m sorry, baby. I don’t like this either. Forget what I said, okay?”
The trouble is, I can’t.
When we go to court, her words ring in my head. Could Dad be their star witness? I shake it off when I see him, Mom, and Cole in the courtroom. Can’t be him.
I keep telling myself that. Thankfully, there are no cameras in the courtroom today, so it’s less of a production than the bail hearing. We have enough stress without adding to it.
Not being a trial lawyer myself, I don’t know if it’s normal for Neil’s employer to be called to the stand, but it feels inappropriate. Late fifties, too tan, teeth too bleached, and his navy suit is stuffy. He’s sworn in, and Tanner tells him, “Please state your name for the court.”
“Simon Connolly.” When he says his own name, it comes out haughtily, as though everyone should already know who he is.
“Mr. Connolly, first let me say I am sorry for your loss. Can you tell us what your relationship with the victim was?”
“I was fortunate enough to employ Mr. Johnson.”
“Objection,” Dana says firmly.
“Grounds?” Judge Ackerman asks.
“Relevance. Mr. Connolly is a founding partner at Bryce-Connolly. Mr. Johnson was a junior hedge fund manager, so I doubt they were golf buddies.”
Connolly shoots a scowl at her. “I did not know him personally, but?—"
The judge sighs. “Objection sustained. Mr. Connolly, please step down. Mr. Walsh, call your next witness.”
The next one is a little old lady with a handbag. Crap . Even I want to like her. She reminds me of my grandmother.
Once she’s sworn in, Tanner says, “Please state your name for the court and why we’ve called you here today.”
“Mrs. Linda Jackson. I was Neil Johnson’s neighbor for the few months he was in Boston.”
“How did Mr. Johnson seem the few weeks before his murder?”
“He was in a good mood, singing to himself in the halls. He always did that when he met someone he liked.”
Tanner asks, “Did you ever see the defendant’s wife with Mr. Johnson?”
She squints at June. “Yes, I believe I did.”
The courtroom murmurs gut me. There’s no way she ever saw June with him. She never went to his place, according to her. I whisper as much to Dana, and she nods.
Tanner smirks at us. “Your witness.”
Dana puts on a kind smile as she approaches the old lady. “Mrs. Jackson, did Mr. Johnson have a type?”
She nods, blushing. “He liked brunettes with small bosoms.”
Dana pauses at that, gears turning. “Women like my client’s wife?”
Again, she nods. June has big tits, so I’m confused.
Dana walks back to our table, standing beside it. Then she holds up four fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Objection!” Tanner bolts out of his seat.
“Grounds?”
“Relevance!”
“Your honor,” Dana begins. “I promise you, it will become relevant in a moment.”
Ackerman sighs. “It better. I’ll allow it. Mrs. Jackson, answer the question.”
The old woman squints at Dana. “I’ll need you to hold your hand still, young lady.”
But she is. “I’ll do my best. Go ahead.”
“Two.”
The jury and those of us who can see Dana stir. She sympathetically says, “Your vision is compromised, isn’t it, Mrs. Jackson?”
“I see just fine, young lady,” she says, growing cross. “You held up two fingers.”
Dana sighs, walking up to the witness. “Mrs. Jackson, have you ever been diagnosed with a condition that might give you impaired vision or lead to confusion?”
“I want to speak to my lawyer!”
Judge Ackerman says, “Mrs. Jackson, you have to answer the question.”
Her wrinkled face tightens. “I had an aneurysm two years ago, but the doctors say I’ll be fine. I just need a little help sometimes.”
Tanner tries to school his expression, but a muscle tics in his jaw upon hearing that. Either he didn’t know, or he didn’t want her condition to come out in court.
Dana says, “I’m sorry that happened to you, Mrs. Jackson. No further questions.”
The rest of the day goes that way. Tanner puts up a witness, Dana strategically takes them down. A few days pass the same way, one bleeding into the next. I’m a little out of it when we’re back in session the day June is supposed to take the stand. Funny. Every day until now has felt like an eternity. But today, it feels like I blink, and she’s walking on shaking knees to the stand.
Tanner starts, “Mrs. West, or should I call you Ms. Devlin?”
“Either is fine, thank you.”
“Is there a reason you won’t officially take your husband’s name?”
Oh, for fuck ’ s sake, you misogynistic asshole.
“I am professionally known as June Devlin. Is there a reason you haven’t taken your wife’s name?”
That ’ s my girl.
“I’ll ask the questions, thank you. Please state for the record your relation to the victim.”
“We went out a few times.”
“While you were also dating the defendant, correct?”
The jury collectively arches a judgmental brow at her.
“No, that’s not correct.”
He frowns. “But you were dating Mr. West before you dated Mr. Johnson, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but?—"
“And then shortly after he went missing, you were dating Mr. Anderson?”
“Yes.”
I’d love to beat the smug look off his face. He sneers, “Ms. Devlin, when you date multiple men at the same time, are they aware of each other? Or would you describe yourself as a cheater?”
“Objection,” Dana says. “Asked and answered. She clearly stated she didn’t date them at the same time, but Mr. Walsh is making it sound like she did.”
The judge gives her a sharp look. “Ms. Horowitz, the objection is sustained. Mr. Walsh, find a new line of questioning, or this witness goes to the defense.”
“Ms. Devlin, tell us what happened the last night you saw Mr. Johnson.”
Okay, here we go .
She says, “He hung out at my bartending job, then walked me home.”
“Go on.”
“That’s it,” she lies. “He left right after. I never saw him again.”
“No further questions, your honor.”