Chapter 73
LUCY
Idon’t know what was more shocking.
That my husband had been murdered, or that I was a suspect in his death. And there was no sugar coating it. The LAPD had undeniably treated me as a suspect.
Could they have anything that pointed at me, besides being the spouse? Impossible. I’d never threatened or hurt anyone in my whole life. I got along with everyone. And it was I who was looking for the divorce. I didn’t even get any financial windfall if Eddie died.
I wanted him out of my life. I didn’t want him dead.
And yet, despite all that, the detectives had given the impression they knew something that I didn’t.
I got a call around four p.m. from my law firm.
I probably should have reached out myself, but my brain was mush at that point. Between finding out that Eddie was murdered, talking to the LAPD, and then my parents, my brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity.
If I were being honest, I was probably also a little scared that they’d take me off the Winona Savage case. Turned out, I had a right to be worried.
The news had released Eddie’s name as the murder victim, and somebody from my firm had seen it.
“We’re so sorry, Lucy. That’s just terrible. And we’ll completely and totally understand if you can’t sit in on the trial on Monday. It really might be for the best. Don’t worry, we’ll find a new case for you soon.”
I knew they weren’t just suggesting that I sit this trial out. They were insisting on it.
I cried for about the third time that day.
Yes, all of my attention should have been on my husband’s death.
But I’d spent so much time preparing this trial and had really been looking forward to it.
Plus, my intuition was telling me that my husband might have been up to no good when he was murdered. I wasn’t ready to go all-in on my mourning until I learned more. Sorry if that sounds callous, but it’s truly how I felt.
My parents got back to Los Angeles at six p.m. that night and drove straight to my place.
Tears were exchanged, and my father reiterated five times that this would eventually blow over. To me, it sounded a little callous. I mean, Eddie had died. For him, this was never going to blow over.
But for my father, I was his only concern. That had been the case my entire life.
I’m sure there was a small part of him that felt bad for Eddie—he had liked him at one point—but all of his attention was now focused on his daughter.
My mother spoke when she had something to say, but it was mostly my father’s show at this point.
“You need a lawyer,” he said.
“I’d rather not call my firm just yet. Maybe they’ll catch the guy who murdered Eddie before Monday. And if that’s the case, I’d be bringing undue attention to myself at the firm.”
“I get your point,” my father said. “But you still need an attorney. They might be able to get some information that the police won’t give you. And then you can find out why they might suspect you.”
“Who did you have in mind?”
“Who else? Remington Patton.”
Remington Patton was one of the reasons I became an attorney.
She was a legend in the business, with the name to go with it. It screamed royalty. I remember thinking it was a man the first time I heard the name, but no, Remington was the best-known female attorney in all of Los Angeles.
It had long been my goal to meet her.
But not like this.
I met her less than an hour later.
My father must have had more pull than I realized because when I drove home with my parents, Remington Patton was already waiting at their doorstep.
She was more diminutive than she appeared on TV. Maybe she wore huge heels in court, but in person, she was barely five feet tall. And that was being generous.
She was probably around sixty-five years old and had a veritable scowl on her face. My first impression wasn’t all that great.
After my father let us all in, we reconvened in my parents' family room.
“Can you give me a rundown of everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours, Lucy?”
I proceeded to tell her everything, starting with Eddie’s odd offer to pick me up donuts, his not returning, calling the police and a few hospitals that night, being woken up by police officers the following morning, and finally, having the police question me.
“And one last thing,” I said.
I told her about my upcoming trial and that my firm had essentially informed me I was out.
“Yeah, that was never going to happen,” Remington said. She certainly didn’t mince her words. “If I’m being honest, you’re probably more likely to be in court being arraigned for your husband’s murder than working your firm’s case.”
That hit me like a ton of bricks.
“And you’re not going to talk to the LAPD again,” she added. “Not one fucking word.”
“I understand, even though I didn’t do anything.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. But guess what? I also know a lot of people in prison who are innocent, but they talked to the police without a lawyer.
So you will keep your mouth shut. And if I’m being honest, you never should have talked to them in the first place.
You’re a lawyer, you should have known better. ”
I could tell why Remington Patton was good at her job. She was very much in your face and obviously knew what she was talking about.
It doesn’t mean I had to like her.