by Trixie More
Can I do ten more? His mind always answered, Yes. Yes, I can do ten. Breathe in. Breathe out. One...The counting went on until he got to ten. Then, Can I do ten more? Yes. Yes, I can.
The man on the other end of the phone should have sounded happy. Instead, he sounded like he thought she was trying to pick his pocket.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name is Sophia Moss, I’m a prosecutor for the New York City Cybercrime Unit.” She wished they were on video because all the eye-rolling she was doing needed an audience. As it was, nobody could see it. Still. #Drama.
“Why are you calling me?”
Idiot. Don’t make me repeat myself, she thought.
“I told you. I have information that relates to your client. Information you should know about.”
“You’re not waiting for discovery, why?”
William was a hard man to help, and his client, Doug, was just a hard man. A hard, hard man.
Ugh! Stop it! Sophia warned herself. I absolutely don’t want anything to do with a convicted kidnapper and...that other thing.
No woman in the #MeToo age would. Or should.
“I’m not assigned to the case. I’m not calling you as a prosecutor. I’m acting as a citizen.”
“Why aren’t you bringing this to the prosecutor on the case? Isn’t that what you folks do? Help each other?”
“Look. Stop making this difficult. Do you want to help your client? Isn’t that what you private practice guys do? Help your clients?”
There was silence on the line. Sophia tried again.
“Okay, listen. I’m going to bring this to the prosecutor just as soon as I’m done with you,” she said. “Doug tried to get me to help him about a month ago...”
“What?”
“He was in court one day while I was working. He was watching the trial, then he caught up to me outside the courthouse.” She decided to skip the part about trailing a mob boss’s bodyguard and sucking face in an alley. “I wouldn’t give him the time of day.”
“And?”
“I’m no fan of his, but I don’t think an innocent man should sit in jail. Plus, I have evidence that he couldn’t have murdered George Connelly.”
She could practically hear the guy sit up straighter.
“I’ll meet you anywhere, right away,” he said.
That was more like it.
“I’ll be at your office at six today.” She hung up.
It was more like six fifteen when she walked into the law office of William Jackson. From the relieved look on the guy’s face, Sophia guessed he’d noticed she was late. The receptionist’s desk was empty. The office was no more than an antechamber and two rooms, one the office where the guy worked, and the other a conference room slash law library. The door to the office was wide open and William was already coming out from behind his desk, the relief on his face triggering her own sympathy.
“I’m sorry to worry you. I stayed to finish one more thing at work before heading over here and...” Sophia shrugged.
“No problem. I’m just glad you’re here.” William was out in the reception area now, heading over, hand extended. Sophia shook his hand. She pinpointed the minute he fully noticed her looks. A flush rose on his cheeks, but he covered well enough, turning to the coat rack and getting a hanger. “Would you like me to take your coat?” When he turned back to her, his expression was under control. She took off her coat and handed it over. He gestured to the office. “Go ahead in. We’ll sit at the table.”
His office had a window on the left-hand wall. A large desk facing the door took up most of the room. In front of the window was a discount store rolling cart with a coffee pot and small fridge on it. The table was round and had four worn chairs. Everywhere except the table, there were stacks of files and papers. A little coat rack was near the door and two suits still in their bags from the cleaners hung there. William was wearing khakis and a button-down—no court today, she guessed. For his part, William seemed reasonable, kind and serious. He hesitated and looked at her.
“Would you like the door closed or open?” he asked.
“Closed is fine,” Sophia said, despite preferring it open. “I don’t want to be overheard.”
He nodded and took the chair across from her, a notepad and pen at the ready.
“So, do you know my client?” His face was easy, open.
“A bit. He wants me to pursue what he claims is a cyber-crime.” She hesitated. “I saw him once, years ago. I saw both of you.”
William’s eyebrows raised but he stayed quiet.
“I was in court the day he pled to the kidnapping.”
“False imprisonment,” he said.
“What about you? How long have you been representing Mr. Lloyd?” She watched him carefully, paying strict attention to the words he chose.
“He’s been my client since he was eighteen.”
That surprised her. “How long ago was that?”
“Seventeen years.”
So he was thirty-five. Seven years older than she was.
“He’s a very loyal man, Ms. Moss.”
She wondered why he told her that.
“In what way?”
“Every way. It’s his defining characteristic.” William leaned back from the table, his face speculative. “Personally, I value that quality in him. What do you know about George Connelly’s death?”
Sophia took a breath. This was it. The prosecutor on George’s case wouldn’t be happy. Heck, nobody she knew would be happy. Under all her secrets, her weaknesses and obsessions, there was one thing she hadn’t fucked up. She was honest when it came to the law. She always wanted justice to prevail. When it suited her and when it didn’t, there was no difference. Justice should triumph.
“First, you need to know that I lived with George Connelly’s brother, Ben. I’ve been friends with him since I was in middle school.”
That surprised William, she could tell, but he just nodded.
“George Connelly was missing for a very long time.”
“You know that because his brother...”
“My brother, Derrick, found George badly beaten one day. Derrick took him to the hospital. It turned out George had borrowed money from a loan shark and had fallen behind. The beating was a warning. As soon as he was able, George ran away. I found out later that someone had been watching his home, his wife and kids. So George and his wife decided George should leave—for the safety of his family.”
“How long ago?”
“About two months before Doug was arraigned.”
“Go on,” William said.
“George and his wife bought disposable cell phones and communicated via texts. Those texts continued until seventeen months ago.”
“And then?”
“The texts stopped. George’s wife and I both believe that George was killed at the time the texts stopped coming.”
“Do you have the cell phone?”
“George’s wife does. You would have to subpoena it.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
For an instant, she didn’t think she could answer. This was the right thing to do, she knew it, but her heart had a different reason. Her heart showed her a memory. Doug, gray hood damp from the rain, fists shoved into the pockets, standing across from her hotel. She’d reached for him and he’d grabbed her wrist. Are you going to hit me? The memory was so vivid. She’d wanted to grab him, turn and pull him behind her, drag him to her room then. The power she’d felt had been intoxicating.
Across from her, Doug’s lawyer cleared his throat softly.
“He’s a compelling man,” he said.
No. Sophia agreed with William, but that was not why she was here. Absolutely not. She sat up straighter.
“I’m here because I don’t believe Doug Lloyd should sit in jail for this crime. He was incarcerated at the time the texts stopped. He couldn’t have killed George.”
“You said this crime,” William said, the question imp
lied.
“Yeah.” Sophia wrote Deb’s name and address on the pad and handed it back to William. She stood. “That’s because I think there are other crimes he did commit. Believe me, if I find evidence of them, I won’t hesitate to put him straight back inside.” The man was a criminal. She needed keep that in mind.
William rose to walk her the couple of steps to the door. “Well, then I thank you for this. I’m sure Doug will be grateful.”
“There’s no need to tell him about our conversation,” Sophia said.
“He’ll want to know...” William said.
Sophia shrugged. “Do what you think is right. Just be clear: I didn’t do this for him, I’m doing this because it’s right.”
Marley hauled her sorry butt up the stairs to the apartment. She was bone-weary. She’d stayed late, going next door with Allison to have a beer and share a plate of calamari. They’d had a good day of catering and it was nice to go to Mastrelo’s, be a customer for a minute. Be a young woman with friends, having a laugh and shooting a round of pool.
Then Ben had shown up and spoiled the fun.
Marley pulled her key out of her purse. It was after ten. With luck, Karito would be asleep. Sometimes Marley’s mom couldn’t get the willful child to do what she was told. Sometimes, Karito was too much for her grandmother, her abuela. Hopefully, tonight there would be peace behind the old door, with its peeling paint, scrubbed raw by Marley’s mother.
She leaned her forehead against the door. She had to open it. It wouldn’t be hard, just put the key in the lock and turn. For now, it seemed like a magnificent effort. She could almost imagine sliding down, curling up, and sleeping right here on the mat, home—but not.
She stared at the paint. It had been dark green, but under that was a stronger coat of cream paint. Anywhere the paint had peeled, her mother had scrubbed and scrubbed until the door was smooth and clean, the cream color bleeding through. It almost looked worse than the neighbor’s doors, which were never cleaned or touched, the green flaking off and piling in the corners of the hallway. Marley imagined what it must be like for her mother, living in a country where she could never speak the language, only able to talk to other Hispanic people, limited to where she could shop, unable to work, to live. She stayed in the apartment and cleaned like it was her life, and really, it was.
Marley’s father had come to the US and earned his visa. He’d brought his wife with him and left her here when he died. Marley had been born not ten blocks from here. She was a citizen but she was raised in the insular neighborhood and lifestyle of her parents. She had no college, she had only a high school diploma. That made her mother cry. Her father had been a well-educated man. Her mother too. Here, in this country, they floundered.
Marley turned the key in the lock, pushed open the door and held her breath. All was silent. “Bless you, Father,” Marley whispered to God. She crept through the dark and quietly eased passed her daughter, sleeping on the couch.
“Mom?”
Marley froze.
“Shh, Karito. Go back to sleep.”
“Are you home now?”
Marley knew what she meant. She wondered if Marley had to leave again. Sometimes, Marley came home and changed, leaving again to work her shift at the pub. “Yes, my heart. I’m home now.”
Her daughter sighed and curled onto her side, her thumb moving toward her small mouth. The other kids would tease her if she ever had friends and sleepovers. So far, Karito remained apart from other children. Another American unable to get out of the neighborhood.
Marley brushed the strange red brown hair away from her daughter’s face. In her sleep, her blue eyes were hidden behind the shut eyelids.
“Mi amore. My heart.” She kissed her daughter and got ready for bed. Karito was back in school, but with her grandmother voiceless in this country and her mother at work all the time, the chances weren’t good that she’d be able to do the changing required of her. Marley thought about it. Her daughter was one step closer to becoming what the fancy principal called “troubled.” Karito’s father’s life was in turmoil too.
She still couldn’t believe he’d never figured out that Karito was his. In fact, most of the time, she thought for sure he’d guessed. It made the fact that he’d never once asked her hurt all the more. She wasn’t good enough for him, she guessed. The night they’d made love, she’d been convinced they were perfect for each other, meant to be.
Sometimes though, she wondered, what if she was wrong? What if he really didn’t know? Sometimes when things were bad, Marley considered telling him “Eh, you, you living so good—see this girl? This girl here? She’s your daughter. So here I am. Pay up.” But she never did and now, it was too late. It was so complicated.
No, it’s not, and you know it. One blood test and it’s done, she thought. Something in her couldn’t do it. She was so angry at him, but she also still loved him and that was the worst of it. Marley loved the man, and she didn’t want anything from him if it didn’t come from his heart.
“Bastard,” she said. There was nothing more to think about it. He had everything she needed except one thing. He didn’t have the love.
“You did what?” Jacob was apoplectic, and it caught Sophia off guard.
“I told Lloyd’s lawyer that there’s evidence that George was killed while Lloyd was in jail.” She held up her palms. “What was I supposed to do? Let him sit in jail for something I know he didn’t do?”
“That’s just it. You don’t know anything. You don’t know if Lloyd killed Connelly or not. All you know is that George stopped texting his wife while Lloyd was inside. That’s it!” Jacob pushed his hands through his hair.
She’d never seen him this rattled.
“So what? Why does that bother you? This isn’t your case. It’s not even in our district. It’s a Bronx thing.”
“Why does it bother me?” He squinted at her. “Why does it bother me?”
The thought that Jacob was buying time went through Sophia’s mind, but that couldn’t be. Why wouldn’t Jacob want her to know why it mattered so much?
Jacob’s face cleared just a bit. “It bothers me because your actions reflect on our department and on me.” His eyes opened wider. “Can you understand that?”
Sophia nodded. She knew that giving the information to the “other side” wasn’t going to make her popular, but she also knew that if she didn’t, it could be a long time before the prosecutors had to turn it over to Lloyd’s lawyer.
“I understand.” She waited to see if there would be any push back from Jacob, but he seemed willing to let it go.
“Okay, all right. I’ll be back around one. Lunch today?”
Sophia nodded, slightly dumbfounded by the quick change. “Sure. Thai food?”
Jacob smiled. “Sounds good.”
Sophia watched as Jacob left and then turned back to her work, but her mind kept drifting to George. How long had he been dead? Could the autopsy tell if they knew that the time frame might be seventeen months ago? The body had been in lousy shape but not seventeen months bad shape. Had it been frozen? The thought of George Connelly’s body being frozen after being murdered didn’t sit well with her, and she returned to the work she was supposed to be thinking about. However, only a few minutes later, she was back to wondering about George again. From there it was a short jump to thinking about Doug Lloyd. He was a vicious opportunist and worse. If she believed the things that Allison told her, it was certain that he’d forced himself on another man. What kind of person could do such a thing? Rape another man? Sophia’s stomach clenched. What had she done? She’d been seen kissing this man by her whole family. Why had she gone out of her way to get Lloyd out of prison? Didn’t he belong there? Why did it matter to her what the charge was?
Around her, the buzz of the office continued. Inside, her gut roiled. She had let a rapist, kidnapper, and possibly a murderer get out of jail. What the hell was wrong with her?
In her mind, she saw him in court, leaning
forward, watching the case. She remembered the way he’d looked away, the way his jaw clenched, the broadness of his hands. She should be disgusted by him, but instead, she remembered other things. Seeing him squatting down, talking to the child messing around in line for the metal detector. She remembered every detail of the way his face looked when he smiled, the way he’d looked at the waitress that day she’d left the bar and he’d stayed behind. She’d been so jealous. Doug, standing in the park, finding her a lead for her case, sitting so stiffly in the chair at the diner while she hugged him. She’d told him she liked him. He was a lot of bad things but that wasn’t all there was to him and she now knew it, she couldn’t un-know it.
There was no focusing on work today, and Sophia couldn’t bring herself to charge the city for her time if she wasn’t going to be focused. She sent an email to Jacob, bowing out of lunch and letting him know she was taking a half-day. Sophia didn’t claim to be ill. She just gathered her things and left.
Leaving prison, this time, was a vastly different experience. This time, instead of walking out to find Tommy waiting for him, he’d left sitting on a glorified school bus, the windows reinforced with wire. He arrived at the courthouse in a suit William had brought him, with his hands manacled before him. He and the other prisoners shuffled inside to where their lawyers waited.
William was pensive, and if possible, looked more frightened than Doug felt. That was saying something because every so often tremors of fear raced through Doug’s body, making his handcuffs rattle. The other inmates glowered at him. There was no hiding his weakness from them and that thought just brought more tremors. If he was denied bail, the next month inside would be nothing but one fight after another. For once in his life, Doug couldn’t find the fury he’d need to carry him through. Inside there was nothing but the tight, cold grip of terror.
Sitting in the courtroom, waiting for his turn, the cold sweats started. His handcuffs had been removed when he’d been turned over to William, but he still felt restrained. William passed him a wad of tissues from his briefcase, and Doug blotted the rivulet of sweat running down his neck. He absolutely couldn’t stand before the judge like this. Doug focused on his breathing, repeating his mantra silently to himself.
