by Emily Duvall
“Maren’s here,” Sara announces with a stack of documents in her hand. She’s high-strung with all the memos and court dates and transfer of documents going on behind the scenes. “I told her to wait in the conference room.”
“Send her in,” I say casually.
Sara’s eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t protest my decision. Seconds later, she returns and gestures for Maren to enter.
I wait until Sara has left and closes the door. A gruff huff escapes my mouth as I act indifferent to the way black compliments her skin and how the V-neck teases my eyes with the slightest hint of cleavage. “Maren,” I say, holding back everything I want to say. “Thank you for agreeing to talk.”
She raises her chin slightly. “I’m doing this for the prosecution, not for you.”
“So. You’ve already spoken with Dana’s team.”
“Yesterday, yes.” She comes a little closer, stopping halfway to my desk.
“I’m surprised she’s allowing you to talk.” I get out of my chair and walk to the other side of my desk. My arms fold over my chest, but my voice is intimate. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me first?”
Her fingers squeeze tightly at her sides. “You’re defending a monster.”
“I’m gathering facts. I’m doing my job. You can’t fault me for that.”
“I don’t,” her voice raises. “I’m doing what I should have done months ago.”
“I wish you would have trusted me with the information you’re about to say.”
She says nothing. She doesn’t have to with the storm gathering in her eyes. “You said it yourself, this case changes things between us.”
My lips press furiously together. “That’s what I said, yes.”
“Is that why you’ve been hanging out with me? To get information?”
“No.”
“It is!” Her finger fires down to her side.
“I won’t waste my time convincing you otherwise.” My words are cold. The tone is harsh. “This is the last time we speak about the case in private. If there is anything you want me to know, say it now. Because when we walk into the conference room, everything goes on the record.” I reach around her and open the door. “Whatever you say in there, do not mention our kiss.”
Her gaze lifts to mine. “I would never do that.”
I turn the knob and push the handle. “Let’s get this over with.”
We walk down the hallway, past the rows of open office doors and employees rushing around.
The conference room is small with the table taking up most of the space. The chairs are bulky and leathery. The seats are filled by my assistant, Sara, Jane, and a handful of other staff.
Maren and I enter like strangers and I motion for her to sit next to Sara. Introductions are made. Documents are slid in front of Maren. The sooner this is over, the better.
My pulse quickens at the promise I asked her to keep. What if she tells these people we kissed? What if I’ve asked her to trust me and I won’t bring myself to do the same for her? “Let’s get started,” I say definitively and take the seat opposite of her.
My opening is standard, I review our role in the case. “Can you confirm where you were on the night in question?”
“You know I was at Pierce’s,” Maren says like this is the last place she wants to be. “Everyone does. I’m tired of answering that.”
“Just answer with the facts,” I warn her. “Not opinion or emotion.”
Sara snorts. I shoot her a glance, but she’s writing on her notepad with her head bowed.
“Can you tell us what you were wearing that night?”
“Jeans, black short-sleeve shirt, the necklace I’m wearing now, and my hair pulled back in a clip.” Maren spews the words out faster than I can blink.
“Quite a good memory,” Sara says. “That night was over half a year ago. How can you be sure?”
“I was color-coordinating my shirts based on the day of the week back then, a habit I stopped doing at the new year. Black shirts are what I wore last November.” Maren’s expression is straight-faced, unaffected, bored even. I know though by the way her fingers begin to tap the table, she’s uncomfortable. “Isn’t there a video at the bar? You should check. My therapist—”
Sara’s eyes light up. Her shoulders shimmy into rigid posture and she pounces. “You have a therapist?”
Maren looks to me. “Yes. Doesn’t everyone?”
“Half the people in the room,” someone at the end of the table jokes.
Sara scribbles a note and shows the attorney seated next to her.
I hate that I’m going to hit Maren dead center, where it counts. Everything she doesn’t want people to know about her I sum up with one sentence. “Why do you see a therapist?”
“I have trouble…” She looks around the table, taking in each of the faces. “With reading social—”
“Maren’s Autistic,” I get right to the point.
Her eyes go straight to mine. “Why would you tell them?”
“It will come out in court.”
Her hands come to the top of the table and she balls her fists. “You’re going to use that against me?”
Yes, is the answer everyone in this room is thinking. Remaining calm on the inside isn’t easy. The room is suddenly warm and stuffy. My mind is churning, my cheeks burn. This is the last thing she wants people to know and I’ve shined a spotlight on her. “This is fact-checking. It’s just part of the interview. We don’t like surprises.”
“But why would you tell these people?”
A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. Stop, my mind screams. This is going down the wrong path. Change the subject before someone questions how I would know such a detail about her. “Let’s move on. Where were you sitting at Pierce’s?” I finally say.
“Second barstool from the end.” Maren’s voice doesn’t give an inch of warmth. I can see in her eyes she is not ready to let this go, which makes me rush through the next set questions before she can bring this full circle.
“Who was with you?”
“My sister, Libby.”
“I think everyone knows who Libby is,” I comment, nodding to Sara.
Sara shows Maren a photo of Beth, Ellie, and Amanda. “Do you recognize these women?”
“They were standing next to me at the bar. They were obnoxious.”
“How so?”
“Laughing and bumping into me. I wouldn’t move seats though, there weren’t any others available. They wanted to get drinks for free, which I don’t blame them. The idea has merit. Why pay for something a man will buy for you?” She looks contemplative. She thinks about this. “They had nineteen drinks between them.”
“Did you sit near them the whole night?” I ask with anticipation, sensing I’m close to something.
“Except for the time I went to the car to get Libby’s sweater. She was cold.”
“What happened then?”
She flashes a warning gaze at me. Her hands are fidgeting like crazy.
My body leans forward. I’m looking at her like there’s no one else in this room. Even so, the rustling and movements of staff in their chairs has stopped. “Did something happen when you went to get the sweater?”
Her gaze is locked on mine. Her voice is low as a whisper. “He will kill me if I tell you.”
“Who?” I croak. “Pierce? What did he say to you?”
Maren’s lips form a quiet, “Yes.”
I look at Jane and she’s equally shocked. Pierce has never said a blessed word about going outside at any point. If this is true, the fallout will be massive. This more than damaging to our case, this will kill our defense and the prosecution will bury us alive.
My gaze rivets back to Maren and I fight back a groan of agony. She’s telling the truth though. I know it. “Did he speak to you?” I manage to ask, keeping my composure.
“I’m not going to defend Mr. Pierce,” Maren says, pushing back her chair. “I’m on the wrong side, aren’t I? Why
would Dana have me come here? She said it’s procedure, but that doesn’t make sense.”
I clear my throat. “We have a right to interview you,” I explain, leaving out the fact that she’s right. Usually the other side likes to keep their witnesses close. Maren’s allowed to talk to us, Dana can’t prevent her from that, but something is off here and I’m missing whatever that is. Maren’s testimony gives us what we need. If I let her go now, I’ll look incompetent with my team on the cusp of gaining information that will build a better defense. All these facts are sitting in a pretty order and Maren is the one to shoot the golden arrow through them. “What did you see? Walk us through the time you left the bar to get the sweater.”
“I got the sweater from Libby’s car and I started to walk back inside,” she says, bouncing her knee forcefully. “I had just shut the car door, when I heard people arguing. Pierce was in front of the driver—a girl and was swinging a bottle of alcohol in his hand. The brand with the blue label and the lion. They started to argue, and I stayed back, by Libby’s car. Pierce poured a shot glass and forced the driver to drink. She didn’t want to. She asked him to stop. She kept saying no and he refilled the glass…” Maren counts to herself. “Six times. The other two girls got out of the car and jumped him. I didn’t know what to do. He swung at their faces. They were crying and yelling, but they got in their car and drove away. I would like to leave now.”
“The bruises on their faces,” Sara says, ignoring her request. The team nods in agreement. We’re all thinking about the doctor’s report and the marks found on the faces of Ellie and Amanda. Maybe they weren’t from the accident. We can spin this.
“What exactly did Pierce say during this confrontation?” I ask, fearful of the fact that Maren’s coming unhinged.
“He egged them on to drink more. He punished them for coming to his bar. Mr. Pierce directed his anger at the driver. He said, ‘You’re going to learn a lesson. You come to my bar. You show me your fake ID and you threaten my business. Drink up, you underage bitch. That’s what you came here for. Bet you never thought you’d get caught.’ That’s what he said. The girl—Beth—did what he asked. She drank the shots.”
“And you just stayed back?” Jane says with a determined voice.
“I was afraid,” Maren admits with guilt in her voice. “I didn’t want him to hit me. I know I should have called the police, I should have told someone, but he was so angry at those girls.”
The room is silent. Maren looks at me, watches only me, and I can’t comfort her. Her face is red, and her lips are trembling feverishly like a junkie in need of a hit. I can’t do anything because she can’t be a witness for the defense and her testimony will crush my case. One glance at Sara and she knows too. Everyone does. The current running through this room is brutal and acute. We all internalize the weight of her words. “Ms. Cole, you’re sure?” I say.
“Yes,” she answers in the most confident voice I’ve ever heard.
“Did Pierce see you?”
“Yes.”
Shit and shit. “Did he say anything to you?”
“He told me he’d look at the video, find out my identity, and come find me.”
“Did you believe him?” Sara asks.
“Yes,” Maren answers whole-heartedly.
I have failed her. I failed her, and I didn’t even know it. “Maren,” I say, maintaining my anger. “Has he threatened you since that night?”
“Yes.”
We’re screwed. We’re screwed so badly I can’t bring my gaze to the other lawyers.
“I need dates,” Sara says.
My hand lifts. “No. We don’t need that. Ms. Cole has said enough.”
“But—” Sara protests.
“Ms. Cole has given us what we need.”
Rosenthal is going to get this out of her like a moving train and my client will be found guilty on more than one count. This isn’t a felony anymore. This is worse. This is attempted manslaughter and aggravated assault. Damn if I don’t know what’s coming next. New charges. Pushback on the trial. More hearings. More work. All of this for nothing.
“What are you doing?” Sara mouths the words.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Maren says.
“You can go,” I answer, ignoring the combative gazes. They want more from her. Details and times and loopholes. Anything we can use to our advantage. Maren’s words echo in my ears and that rift of doubt expands. Why would Dana hand us Maren’s testimony? What’s the catch? This feels wrong. She should want to keep this to herself. My gut twists. My brain hurts. I’m sick to my stomach. What the hell is Dana up to? And what’s in store for Maren?
Maren grabs her tote and heads for the door.
“I’ll be back in a second,” I say to the panic-stricken team. “Take a break.”
“Wait up,” I say, jogging over to the elevators and step inside. The doors close and thankfully, we’re the only two people inside. My hand flies to her wrist. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The elevator shifts, and she falls toward me, catching herself before I can steady her. “I tried to.”
“You didn’t. Not really.”
Her gaze challenges mine. “Good thing I didn’t. You told them. How could you?”
The doors slide open to the lobby and I swallow my words. She doesn’t stick around to hear me out and makes a b-line for the exit. I go after her, despite the curious eyes of fellow employees. “I need to know if you’re okay. I shouldn’t have brought you in—”
“I just want to go,” she calls over her shoulder.
“Stop, please,” I say in an annoyingly desperate voice. A curse slips through my lips. “We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
Maren turns the corner as Julie passes by and stops me. “Good, Caleb, I need to talk to you,” Julie says. “I’m getting messages about the witness prep. Was that our witness? Why is she walking away?”
I run my hand through my hair. “We’re in trouble,” I say.
“Those are not the words I want to hear, especially from you.” Julie’s eyes flare and narrow like a weapon. “Then fix whatever just broke. Don’t you dare embarrass me or this firm.”
“I can assure you that will not happen,” I lie.
“Making assurances is like holding water. I want action. Get it done, Caleb.” Without another word, she leaves me to figure out how the hell I will do that.
The development in the case follows me home like a stray dog. I plop on the couch and open my laptop and try to figure out how to make this right. Everything about Maren’s testimony crushes down on me. The details obliterate weeks of work and sleepless nights.
A part of me has never accepted that I can’t control all the elements of a case. The jury will hear a case where parents are grieving, and a young daughter will take the stand pleading that she didn’t have a fake ID and Paul and his staff let her drink. They’ll hear how he threatened her and made her drink against her will without proof, except for Maren’s words. I want to reduce the warm fuzzies and show the jury Beth isn’t innocent, that her friends and had gotten quite adept to going to bars and playing their games. None of that stands up to what Pierce did, which I believe he poured alcohol down Beth’s throat and attacked her friends, then, threatened Maren. The cracks in the case open wider, giving way to an abyss of possibilities that can go wrong.
Has Beth said anything about Maren? Does Rosenthal already know? Of course she does, I think scathingly.
I grab a pad of paper and a pen. The opening arguments coming to me effortlessly. The right words are always the easiest to say. “This is not a case about three best friends being rebellious teenagers for a night,” I speak loudly, standing and moving around the room, using a voice heavy with doom. Maren’s voice haunts me as I speak. “This is about a group of girls who set out to break the law…” I grab the laptop and lift, ready to hurl it across the room. I stop myself, red-faced and breathing hard. Destroying my property won’t change anythi
ng.
I pick up the phone and call Libby instead. “Hey, Caleb here.”
“Hi. How are you?” she says with a full mouth. “Give me a sec. Sorry. I’m in the middle of eating. How’s the case?”
I don’t tell her about Maren’s testimony. Even if I wanted to, her words are sealed in confidentiality now, but that doesn’t stop me from asking the question, “I hoped you could tell me if Maren left the bar without you at any point in the night? We are going over testimonies and video footage. There’s a point Maren leaves the bar. You didn’t say anything about that.”
She swallows. “Sorry, I had to wash down some awesome Low-Mein. I don’t know, I think she left to get a sweater? It slipped my mind. Why? Did you bring her in?”
“I did, today. Did she tell you she’s going to speak on behalf of Dana’s team?”
“Why would she be on her side? What did she say?” Libby’s voice is tense.
“Nothing that I can tell you.”
“I haven’t had a chance to touch base with her. I’ve been so busy. I was going to call her tonight, but if she’s going to be with the prosecution and I’m on the defense, I can’t bring up the case. You know that though. Do you know who the judge is?”
“Felix Rice.”
“Hmm…I’ve gone in front of him before, he’s decent. He’ll be fair.” She finishes a drink with a slurp. “I hope Maren didn’t discuss her date in front of your staff.”
I go still. “Date? We haven’t gone out in weeks.”
“Not with you, with Andy.”
“Who’s Andy?”
“Some guy she met in the grocery store. Thanks to you, she’s discovered dating. And she sounds happy. He’s no one you need to worry about. You should focus on making sure Julie doesn’t find out that you and Maren were hanging out. They only reason I’m not saying anything is to protect Maren, not you.”
My mood nose-dives. “They’ve kissed?”
