Chapter 19
Allison
“Ah, the first appearance of the congressman’s mistress,” says Vivian, sitting at one end of our war room, the conference room down the hall from my office that we have commandeered for the Childress trial.
We are still reviewing the mountain of evidence from the prosecution, playing catch-up.
Viv taps her laptop. “They have dates and locations of every tryst.”
“He mentioned to me he had a ‘relationship’ with a woman in D.C.,” I say. “He didn’t think it would make a difference to the case. Do you think she hurts us?”
“Not sure yet,” says Viv. “The G will try to find some relevance to her just to dirty up Childress before the jury.”
“Maybe we can use her for an alibi,” jokes Aaron. “ ‘I didn’t take a bribe that day because I was at the Waldorf Astoria cheating on my wife.’ ”
Vivian likes that. “You’re starting to loosen up, Aaron. But still with the suit and tie. You don’t even take your coat off. You do know we’re business casual if we don’t have court or a client meeting, right?”
“Leave him alone,” I say. “Dress how you want, Aaron. You class up the joint.”
“I have a question,” says Viv. “Why do powerful men always cheat on their wives? And why do they think they won’t get caught?”
“You’re asking me?” Aaron puts his hand on his chest. “I’m not powerful or married.”
“But you’re a man.”
My phone buzzes. A call from Bruce Ghadiali, Luke’s prosecutor. “I’ll be a minute,” I say. I leave the room before I answer.
“You have the forensic results yet?” I ask.
“Not yet. But I do have a witness list and discovery and an inventory of the car. No surprises. I emailed it to you, but I can mail hard copies if you want.”
“But when am I getting the DNA and print results?”
“Soon, I think. It’s always a wait. Especially for a drug case. Even one where the defense attorney was once a famous prosecutor.”
“Aw, shucks, you say the nicest things, Bruce.”
“By the way, someone told me your client is your brother.”
“Whether he likes it or not,” I sing, reaching my office. “You’ll let me know when the forensic testing comes back?”
“Of course.”
I sit in front of my laptop and pull up Bruce’s email.
The state’s witness list is simple enough: the state trooper who pulled Luke over and the other trooper who helped conduct the search.
The list of evidence is just as short and obvious: the bag in which the Oxy pills were found and the pills themselves.
The inventory of Trinity’s car looks standard, too:
Glove Compartment
Napkins
Straw
Bottle hand sanitizer
Owner’s manual
Bag peanuts
Tube Advil
Dashboard
Paper clips (2)
Sunglasses
Power cord (6-in.)
Container mints
Center Console
Coins
Thumb drive
Flashlight
I call Luke. “No word on the forensic tests yet,” I say. “But we got their witness list, exhibit list, and inventory of Trinity’s car. I’ll send it over to you. Do you want to stop by the house tonight? I could cook you dinner.”
“Thought you were grinding on that congressman’s case.”
True, but I need to keep an eye on my brother. He’s still talking about pleading guilty, taking the fall for those drugs—something I can’t let him do. The weight of this presses down harder each day, watching Luke’s life break into pieces.
“I’ll bring work home,” I say. “We’ll eat and have a look at the state’s discovery, then I’ll get back to work.”
I rummage through the fridge like I’m racing a clock, pulling out whatever’s within reach—half a bag of frozen chicken, a tired head of lettuce, one tomato, a crumble of feta, and a block of frozen spinach I didn’t even know I owned.
I find a block of parmesan and some pasta sauce.
Chicken parm is one of Luke’s favorites, though this will be far from my finest version.
I nuke the chicken for a few minutes to partially dethaw it, then toss it into a pan. I set the spinach to steam, breaking it apart with a spoon until it stops looking like a green brick.
Earlier than expected, Luke comes in through the front door.
“I printed out the discovery,” I say. “It’s on the kitchen table. No surprises.”
“Okay. Something smells good.”
It’s the garlic I’m adding to the spinach. Getting Luke to eat vegetables is like rolling a pebble up a mountain. He takes a seat and leafs through the documents tendered by the state.
“Basic glove-compartment stuff,” he says. “A ‘thumb drive’? Meaning, one of those little sticks you put in a USB port?”
“Yeah, of course. You’ve never heard of a thumb drive? It holds documents, photos, whatever.”
“Okay. So…nothing much here. Did you talk to him? The prosecutor?”
I flip the chicken filets, preferring to focus on the stove. “I told you already, the forensic test results should come back soon.”
I stir the spinach, add a touch of olive oil, anything to avoid his stare.
“You know what I’m asking,” he says. “Did you talk to him about a guilty plea?”
I move over to the island and start chopping the tomato for the salad.
“Have you suddenly gone deaf?” he asks.
“No, but my ears have filters that prevent nonsensical questions from ever reaching my brain.” I put down the knife and turn to him. “You were set up, Luke. And if you could just wait until the forensics come back, we might know who did it. If we don’t already.”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about this a lot since the court hearing,” he says. “And this will surprise you, but I think you’re right. I think I was set up. And I think I know who did it.”
“You do?” My heartbeat rockets into overdrive. “Who?”
“Who knew I was driving Trinity’s car that morning?” he asks.
I think about that. “Trinity, obviously—”
“Obviously.”
“Presumably her brother, who was expecting you—”
“Right,” he says. His shoulders rise. “Who else? Not you. You didn’t know.”
“No, I thought you had a scrimmage that day,” I say.
“Right. But…did anyone else know?”
Noise from the mudroom. Finley coming in from the garage.
I look at Luke. He meets my eye contact, raises his eyebrows.
Fin? I mouth.
“Oh, hey.” Finley walks into the family room, dressed in a suit, his collar open and tie pulled down. “Didn’t expect anyone home,” he says. “Had a meeting with some investors.”
“Cool,” says Luke too enthusiastically, eyes still on me. “The herbal cream?”
“Yeah, we’re trying to raise two mil.” Fin grabs a bottle of open wine from the fridge and pours himself a glass. “You guys look like you’re in a serious conversation.”
Luke blinks out of it, returns to the kitchen table. “No, not at all. Just going over some documents from the prosecution. Hey, settle something for us, Fin. The Oxy they found in the car? The dosage was eighty milligrams. That sounds like a high dosage. Or is that typical?”
I turn back to the food but keep one eye on my brother.
“What am I, a pharmacist?” says Fin. “I have no idea. I never took the Oxy they prescribed. Wanted no part of it.”
“Right, you said that before.” Luke nods. “I forgot.”
“Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes,” I say, trying to change the subject.
“I’m gonna get out of this suit.” Finley takes his glass of wine and clomps up the stairs.
I’m shaking my head before Luke leaves his chair and walks up to me.
“No way,” I whisper. “It wasn’t Finley.” I take my phone and move to the family room, scrolling through my text messages with Fin.
The frequency of our texts has dropped significantly since I discovered he was cheating again, so it doesn’t take long to find our exchanges on the day Luke was arrested, February 16.
That morning, before I heard the news about Luke, I’d texted Fin, asking him to run an errand to the hardware store.
Crazy day for me, he replied. Could Luke do it?
Luke has scrimmage, I responded. To which Finley replied:
That was canceled the other day ok will try no promises.
“Finley knew we’d canceled our scrimmage with Benedictine,” Luke whispers. “I remember mentioning it to him.”
I look up. Luke’s right about that much.
“And I’m pretty sure I told him I was driving those clothes down to Nazarene for Trinity,” he adds.
“It wasn’t Finley,” I say. “He may be a lot of things, but he wouldn’t do that to you.”
“No?” Luke leans in to keep his voice low. “The guy who cheats on you? The guy who almost killed someone in the parking lot outside my building? He wouldn’t frame me?”
“Okay, but—let’s not jump to conclusions,” I say. “Let’s be methodical about this. Wait until the forensic test results come back, okay? Then we’ll know more. I’ll bet you’re wrong. I know you’re wrong.”
“Yeah, but what if I’m right?” His head dips slightly. “Whose side will you be on?”
“Hey.” I grab his arm as he moves away from me. “Do you even have to ask that question?”
Luke stares at me, the way he does when he’s already decided not to say what he’s thinking. His eyes linger a beat too long, like there’s something pressing at the back of his throat, something he’s swallowed down.
My brother is keeping something from me.