Chapter 39
Luke
I step into Trinity’s second bedroom, which feels more like the inside of her brain—restless, organized in its own chaotic logic, and single-minded of focus.
The walls are covered edge to edge in printouts and pinned clippings: newspaper articles in varying shades of yellow, some crisp from recent research, others brittle from being dug out of archives:
Baseball Phenom Hit by Drunk Driver
DUI Accident Leaves Star Pitcher Critically Injured
“He May Never Pitch Again”: Local Star’s Recovery Uncertain
Woman Who Hit Teen Pleads Guilty to DUI
Photos of my bike, bent and twisted, after the accident. Expert reports blown up to poster size, margins filled with Trinity’s handwritten notes in red ink. Tire-mark analyses. Diagrams of impact angles. A reprint of the New York Times article last summer, one paragraph highlighted:
The driver, Carmela Muller, 37, a loan officer from nearby Berwyn, submitted to breathalyzer testing at the scene and was arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol.
After being charged with multiple crimes, including aggravated reckless driving, Ms. Muller pleaded guilty to driving under the influence and served 18 months in prison.
When reached at her home in Kankakee, Illinois, Ms. Muller would not comment on this story.
A mug shot of Carmela Muller after her arrest, front and profile, looking like someone who knew her life had suddenly and irrevocably changed.
Photos of men who were boys back then, my buddies, the ones with me on the hill that day: Kevin Galloway, Jimmy Wilding, Charlie Gennaro, Andy Frerichs, and, of course, Finley.
A plat of survey of the hill we rode before the village renovated that entire block, with dimensions and measurements and angles penciled in. Old photographs of that hill in the winter, when people used it for sledding, and in the summer, though she has no photos of bikes.
On another wall, alone, is a second excerpt from the Times article:
“I don’t think she was treated fairly,” said Mr. Rankin. “I’m the one who came wildly into the road. It was much more my fault. I don’t think she deserved to go to prison at all.”
“I’m working on the text for the narration.” Trinity walks into the room, reading glasses perched on her nose, finding yet another way to look sexy. “Wanna read it?”
“I can, sure. Who’s narrating?”
She sighs. “I have a list of actresses to audition. If my budget permits.”
“You should narrate it yourself,” I say. “You have a nice voice.”
“Doubtful.” She rolls her neck. “So what’s the latest with Finley and Allison? When I met with Finley the other night on the documentary, he didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Don’t know much, either,” I say. “All I know is she kicked him out. We didn’t have a long conversation, just some quick text messages. But that’s mostly because she’s so busy at work. And she has plenty of reasons to boot him out of the house. One, in particular.”
She sits down on the bed. “Yeah, it sure seems like he’s cheating on her.
Once, when I was at his condo to interview him, I saw a wineglass with lipstick in the sink.
The other night, I saw a condom wrapper in the wastebasket of his bathroom.
I didn’t ask. None of my business. I want him good and happy for now.
I want him to think of me as his friend, an ally, partners on this documentary.
Once the research is done and we expose his role, he can hate me all he wants. And he will.”
I think about that. “I can’t see their breakup affecting the project.
If anything, he’ll be more interested than ever.
He wants to be involved in something big.
He thinks this thing’s going to make him a star.
God, I’d love to see the look on his face when he realizes what it’s really gonna show.
By the way, when are you going to tell him that we know about the brakes on my bike? ”
“When I’m done getting information from him. Say what you want about him, but he has a great memory of that time period. I have pages and pages of notes, all sorts of little details about what all you boys were like back then, the places you’d hang out, lots of baseball stuff—great detail.”
“That’s because he still lives in that time period,” I say. “He never grew up.”
She thinks for a moment, chewing her lip. “Look, I don’t want to ambush him. I’ll get all the information I can, but before we actually film, I’ll confront him. He’ll have the choice of participating or not.”
“You think he’ll still participate after we accuse him of causing the accident?”
She shrugs. “He might deny it. If he wants to, if he wants to go on camera and say it’s not true, he deserves that opportunity.”
“You’re nicer than me.” My phone chirps. I pull it from my pocket. “My sister,” I say.
“Hey,” Allison says when I answer. “I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, yeah. Did the forensic test results come back?”
“Not yet,” she says. “But I’ve been thinking. This Childress case, it’s dominating my time. And once it starts in May, it’ll probably go at least through the summer. Bottom line, I don’t think I can give your case the time it deserves. You need someone else to handle it.”
I glance at Trinity, who can hear Allison through the phone.
“Um, okay,” I say. “If that’s what you think.”
“Can I email you the paperwork? You need to sign a consent and an acknowledgment that we are no longer attorney and client. You can e-sign it and send it back.”
“Sure.”
“Great. I’m sending it now. I’ll stop by tomorrow morning, if you’re around,” she says. “I’ll give you fully executed copies. And we can talk about who can represent you.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
I turn to Trinity when the call ends. “Wonder what that’s about. You think she knows about the test results?”
“Maybe.” Trinity looks up from her narration notes. “Didn’t you say, once she learns about the results, she wouldn’t be your attorney anymore?”
“That’s the least of it.” I laugh. “When she sees the test results, she’ll want to string me up. God, I’d give anything to see the look on her face when she gets that news.”
“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much,” she says.
“It’s just that she deserves it,” I say. “You know how many chances I gave her to come clean? I told her I wanted to plead guilty. I blamed Finley. No matter what I tried, she just sat there, insisting it was you, Trin. That doesn’t piss you off?”
“Yes, of course. But just…be careful. This is Allison you’re dealing with.”
“I’m not afraid of her,” I say with a wave.
“You caught her on surveillance video planting those drugs in your car. She can’t make that go away.
And her DNA and fingerprints on the drugs?
She can’t make that go away, either. She’s cooked, Trin, I’m telling you.
And she has nobody to blame but herself. ”