Chapter one
Nearly twenty-seven years later…
I fall back on my pillows, my phone settling on my chest. His “Grim Reaper” joke is not funny, even if it has nothing to do with the gruesome murder trial I’m currently navigating as defense counsel, though the press has called me worse.
My many nicknames include Monster, Ice Queen, and my all-time most hated, Money Grubber.
According to the press, I’m just looking to elevate my future paydays with this win, at the expense of the victims of a killer and their families.
They always forget the part where the defendant is innocent until proven guilty, and my client happens to be innocent.
In other words, he’s extra amused and riding this joke all the way until midnight.
My phone rings, and I don’t even look at the caller ID before I answer. It’s Oliver. Of course, it’s Oliver. “Why are you calling me this early?”
“I thought you’d want to get a jump on the whole reaping gig.”
“That’s a bad joke on the day I’m waiting for a verdict on a murder trial. You do remember that I’m defending a man accused of killing six women, right?”
“Considering my office is prosecuting against you, yes. I remember quite well.”
“Because all that matters to the district attorney, otherwise known as your boss, is looking good in an election year,” I say. “An innocent man’s life, obviously and most certainly, does not. The evidence is circumstantial. This is all about the election. You needed a fall guy.”
“Not me. It was never me.”
“And even if I get my innocent client off, he’ll be stigmatized for the rest of his life. I’ve seen the supposed evidence, and it’s a bunch of crap. They got him on a hair in the car of a victim after she met him at the coffee shop for a tutoring session.”
“He had a connection to all of the victims.”
“So did four other professors. Any of them could have been unlucky enough to get framed. You know he was framed, Oliver.”
He mumbles under his breath and then replies, “As an assistant district attorney, you know I have no comment.”
“You could have spoken up.”
“Why are we having this conversation again? I did and was sent back to my corner. There was a lot of pressure from the public for resolution, and when that happens, in my experience, the legal system latches onto the easiest target. And I will deny saying that if ever asked.”
“There’s a killer out there who will kill again.”
“And once your client is out of the picture, the heat to find the real killer will be in play. Now, please change the subject. Conflict of interest and all that stuff. Returning to what’s important. Birthday dinner?”
I grit my teeth and force a lighter tone.
“Will my food have eyes that watch me while I eat?” I ask, reminding him of the one date we’d gone on years before.
He’d taken me to eat fish, served with the head and eyes intact.
I hate fish. And I really, really hate fish eyes, but it’s a funny memory that eases the knots in my belly.
It roots me in life, not death, and there is too much death to be dealt with this day.
“I will never live down our one bad date, will I?” he says with a laugh, and his laugh is one of the things that draws me to him. He feels it deep in his soul in a way I’ve never felt anything, and secretly wished I felt everything.
“It was our only date for a reason,” I shoot back, but the truth is, it wasn’t the fish that made our date night the start of a friendship. For reasons I can’t explain, and despite his good looks and success, he feels like the brother I’d always wished for and finally have in him.
“I didn’t know the restaurant served fish with the heads intact,” he reminds me for the millionth time. “Or that you didn’t like fish or big egos, but I’ve improved on all fronts, don’t you think?”
“Improved on all fronts?” I ask incredulously. “Your ego is bigger now than it was three years ago. Lord, help us all after that magazine prints the write-up they plan about you—hottest ADA in the country. Please. Give me a break.”
“I am pretty hot.”
“Oh jeez, are you really going there?” I tease, but I’m struggling to stay in the moment, my mind clawing its way back to the courtroom decision awaiting me. Somehow, though, I keep this going, adding, “I’m officially swimming in fish eyes and your ego.”
He chuckles, and knowing him, he’s more amused with himself than me. “I’m sure you are. Back to dinner. You pick the restaurant tonight. Name the spot.”
“You can’t be seen in public with me. Conflict of interest, remember? Let’s make it after I recover from the verdict. This weekend. I’ll sit this birthday out.”
“You skip your birthday and Christmas far too often.”
Because my parents skip holidays and that’s all I know, I think, feeling the bite of that this year more than others, for no good reason.
“Now you skip it over a verdict you’ll need to celebrate anyway,” he continues. “We both know you’re going to win.”
Hope blossoms in my belly, but I don’t dare let it get the best of me, and rejection mode hits back. “I don’t know that, and neither do you.”
“Yes, we do. And I’d say more, but I work for the DA. Until this case is completely signed and sealed, I can’t speak all the bullshit I want to speak.”
“They don’t let you anywhere near their case because of your friendship with me.”
“No, but even the press is reporting the DA buckled to election year and public pressure. There’s no DNA evidence.
No witnesses. It’s a circumstantial case based on him knowing all of the victims. And, of course, they believed because of his limited financial resources, he’d end up with a public defender which is a crap shoot. ”
“I’m a young lawyer. I’m sure they didn’t think I was much better.”
“You clerked for your father, who’s one of the top lawyers in the country. He’s well known for winning.”
“For being a shark,” I amend.
“Be that as it may, the DA’s office dreads seeing his name on a case file.
Despite your tense relationship, it’s well known that you learned from him.
You launched your career as his second chair.
You became a fixture by his side, and that offers you credibility others at your young stage of career would not hold. ”
And yet, I never once felt any pride emanating from that man, my father. It was more like he pressed me to deserve to be called his daughter, a reward I felt unachievable. This despite my desperate efforts to find one shred of affection in him.
But that didn’t exist, not even when I worked until I could barely stand. “He pushed me,” I confirm. “He beat me up with his demands, but it did create who I am today.”
“To that point,” Oliver continues, “the minute the DA’s office heard you took the case, they were in my office trying to convince me to tell them your weaknesses.”
I perk up at this admission. “You never told me that.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“And what, Oliver, did you call my weakness?”
“Macaroni and cheese. For real. They weren’t happy.”
I laugh. “Did you really?”
“Scout’s honor, and you know that matters. I really was a scout.” His tone turns serious again. “The only thing you have against you right now, Ember, is your client is a little creepy. You have to know that. The way he holds his hands in front of him all the time. It’s odd.”
“The psychologist I put on the stand said it was, quote, ‘a behavior that is a subconscious way of managing stress or anxiety,’ and the man is stressed. She also said that action offered him a physical anchor and a sense of control under duress.”
“But students said he does it all the time, not just during his trial. And he has no family. They died in a car accident, right?”
“Yes. Your point?”
“Maybe that fucked with him.”
“I thought you said I was going to win?” I demand, all kinds of indignant. I only wish he could witness the depths of my scowl right now.
“Oh, I one hundred percent believe you created reasonable doubt, and as long as the jury follows the rules of the court, they will find him not guilty.”
“But juries are unpredictable,” I supply, speaking what he’s left out to shelter me, though he’s doing a lousy job if that’s his intent.
“Thank you for turning me into a ball of nerves. He’s a nice guy, Oliver.
Devastated to be accused of such a thing and worried about finding the true killer.
He celebrated when I hired a private detective to try to do just that.
He cried in my office three times. Did I ever tell you that?
Not once, Oliver, not twice, but three times. ”
“I’m not the timid schoolteacher type he comes off as, but if I were charged with a half dozen murders, I’d cry, too. You win this case, you end up with a booming legal practice, but he’s still the guy the DA thought killed all those women.”
“I know,” I breathe out. “Believe me, I know. I encouraged him to consider a new name and a new life, but then how does he keep his work history?”
“Okay, this is not the conversation I meant to have when I called. If you win, and I believe you will, let him revel in freedom for a bit, and then he can deal with the future. And you, you need to revel in your win, just the same. Which is why we’re doing this tonight.
Pizza, chocolate, and booze—your place. We’re doing it.
That’s not a question. See you at seven.
And we’re talking about Christmas plans, too.
I know your parents jet off for an exotic holiday every year, and you’re used to it, but you had your grandfather then. He’s gone now.”
And there it is. The reason my parents’ typical coldness is bothering me this year. My grandfather’s countering warmth is gone. He wasn’t even my real grandfather. He and his wife, who passed before my time, adopted my mother, and yet, he felt more like family than anyone else in my life.
“You can come with me to my parents’ place,” Oliver offers.
“No,” I say quickly, a squeeze in my chest at the thoughtful offer. “No. You have amazing family traditions, and I’m not intruding on any of that, Oliver. I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. We’re talking about this tonight.
I really have to go. Later, sweetheart.” He, of course, calls everyone “sweetheart,” and everyone but me seems to like it, but it’s a joke between us that’s become part of our friendship.
He starts to hang up but hesitates, his tone serious. “Ember.”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to win because you made us all see his innocence, even if my boss won’t admit it.”
“Are you sure I convinced you? After this happy birthday chat, I’m not so sure.”
“You convinced me before the trial ever started. He’s all you talked about for months, despite my frequent ethical objections, I might add. And catching killers is good, but we never catch the real one when we blame the innocent one. You did good.” This time, he hangs up.
I drop the phone on the bed. God, I really love/hate that man.
It’s crazy kismet perfection that a bad date led us to best friend status.
I throw off the blanket and sit up when, unbidden, my mind flashes back to the woman in front of the courthouse, to the moment she collapsed, lying on the ground, her body jerking around as we tried desperately to help her while we waited on the emergency team.
By the time the ambulance had gotten there and I’d confirmed the woman was safe, I had to be in court, and so had Oliver.
I’d tried to check on her after court, but no one at any hospital I called knew who I was talking about. I’d called every hospital possible, and they all ended with the same outcome.
The woman didn’t exist.