by Laura Snider
Kylie guided Ashley and Rachel down the stairs and through the crowd of media and onlookers filling the space between the courthouse and the jail. The two buildings were next to one another, so they only had to shield Rachel for a few minutes. Then they were safe inside the jail where reporters were not allowed.
Rachel sighed deeply once the heavy iron door slammed behind her, locking her inside.
It was a sigh of relief. Ashley couldn’t imagine anyone feeling that way about a jail, but then again, the reporters had been tenacious. Far more than they had been when Ashley was in chains. She turned toward her client, studying her. Rachel wasn’t quite like anyone Ashley had ever met. She was like an empty shell, lost beneath the waves of the roaring sea, waiting to be discovered.
“Hey,” Ashley said, speaking softly. “You did fine in there.”
A tear slid down Rachel’s cheek, but she nodded.
Rachel’s wrist and ankle restraints clattered to the floor as Kylie unlocked them one by one.
“Thank you,” Rachel said, rubbing her wrists.
“Sure. I wish I didn’t have to put them on you at all. But rules are rules.” Kylie shrugged as if to say, what is there to do about it?
Rachel nodded, keeping her head down. Eye contact was rare for Rachel. The exception, not the rule. It was a lack of confidence. A young woman trying to make her way in a man’s world.
“I have something for you,” Ashley said, digging in her bag.
“You do?” Rachel’s voice was flat, uninterested.
“It’s nothing special,” Ashley said as she pulled out a stack of papers and handed them to Rachel.
Rachel accepted the documents with tentative hands, pulling them snug against her body, pressing them into her bony chest. “What are they?”
“Your formal indictment as well as the Minutes of Testimony. There are a few preliminary police reports attached to the Minutes. You should read through them and make notes on questions you might have for me. I’ll be back to discuss your case as soon as I can.”
Rachel nodded, looking down at the stack of documents uncertainly.
Ashley turned to Kylie. “Does she have something to write with?”
“Nope. I’ll get her set up, though.”
Rachel was silent. A tear slid down her cheek. A single, lonely soldier threading its way toward the unknown.
Ashley wanted to wrap her arms around the girl, pull her close, ease her pain. But she restrained herself. Comforting a client during a full-blown panic attack was one thing, but it wasn’t appropriate for Ashley to continue doing it. She couldn’t get too close, emotionally or physically, although Ashley was starting to struggle with that propriety. Rachel was like a baby bird that had fallen from the nest. Featherless. Motherless. Defenseless. Looking for a way back home. The question was, what was home to Rachel?
Ashley shook her head, pulling herself out of her thoughts. There was work to do. Not only on Rachel’s case, but on those of her other clients. She had mountains of paperwork to go through. Time was a commodity that could not be wasted.
“All right,” Ashley said, clapping her hands together. “I’m out of here. See you two tomorrow.”
As she made her way down the stairs and out the front door, she was greeted by flashing cameras and shouted questions. Damn it, she thought. I forgot about the reporters. She had planned to go through the back way to avoid them. There wasn’t much for it now but to push her way through them. She headed toward her office, straight into the crowd. She squeezed past some and elbowed others who were unwilling to let her through.
“Ashley,” a reporter shouted as he shoved a microphone in her face, “is it true that Rachel hid her pregnancy from her parents?”
“No comment,” Ashley said in the flattest, most uninteresting tone. They would not get tonight’s sound bite from her.
“The prosecutor says that Rachel drowned her baby and threw her in the hotel trash can. Is that true?”
“No comment.”
“How is Rachel handling jail? She looks terrible.”
“No comment,” Ashley said. Inwardly, she was pleased with the question. It meant her little hair trim had worked.
“Who is the baby’s father?”
“No comment,” Ashley said. Truthfully, she had no idea, but she fully intended to find out.
Ashley was growing frustrated. The crowd was jostling around her, and it was hot there in the center of it all, despite the chill in the air. Ashley pulled at the collar of her coat, loosening it from her throat, but it didn’t help. A row of sweat formed along her forehead and she was starting to feel lightheaded. She tried to shove past a burly man, but he wouldn’t let her through. She was trapped.
A circle had formed around Ashley, reporters noticing her presence and stepping back to give her space. People surrounded her, like a dance circle or a wolf pack. Nobody moved for a few seconds, then someone from behind Ashley reached out and grabbed her arm. Ashley swung around to see a man close to her age with brown hair and plain features. He was not wearing a press badge. He smiled crookedly as Ashley tried to yank her arm away. He pulled her closer to him, surprisingly strong for such a slim build.
“Did you get my letter?” he said. He was close enough for Ashley to smell his breath, a mixture of garlic and onions.
Ashley leaned back. “No. I mean, I don’t know.”
“I’ve been watching you. Heard you on Iowa Public Radio.”
“Please let me go,” Ashley said as gently as possible. There was something wild in his expression. An insatiable hunger, and she was his bait.
“I love you.”
A fluttery, panicky feeling made its way into her chest. What was wrong with this man? He looked so normal on the outside, but the glint in his eyes screamed crazy crazy crazy.
“Let me go,” Ashley begged, but he only tightened his grip. He wasn’t going to release her.
“Hey,” a woman nearby shouted. She wore a black puffer jacket with Des Moines Register stitched above her heart.
Ashley braced herself for more questions about Rachel, but they didn’t come.
“She said to let her go,” the woman from the Register said, taking a step closer. She was stocky like Kylie, with strong shoulders.
Ashley’s stalker released her arm so suddenly that she fell backward. She stumbled and almost fell, but the woman caught her arm, pulling her back upright.
“Thank you,” Ashley said, and she meant it. This woman was the only person in the entire crowd brave enough to intervene.
“Name’s Carley,” the woman said, handing Ashley a business card. “I’m a staff writer for the Des Moines Register. That, what just happened there”—she nodded toward the stalker’s retreating figure—“was messed up.”
“Yes,” Ashley agreed, but she was hesitant. She didn’t know where this was going.
Now that the danger had passed, several other reporters were moving closer to Ashley, shoving Carley from both sides. Carley didn’t budge, not even when a man twice her size tried to edge her out.
“I’d like to talk to you,” Carley said, “but not here.” She tapped the card in Ashley’s hand. “Give me a call and we’ll set something up if you’re willing.”
Ashley shook her head. “I can’t talk about Rachel’s case. Not while it is pending and probably not afterward.”
Carley shrugged. “Who said I wanted to talk about Rachel Smithson?”
Ashley gestured around her. “Everyone wants to talk about Rachel.”
Carley chuckled. “Just give me a call.” Then she turned and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving Ashley to fend for herself.
Questions were hurled toward Ashley from every direction. But then, thankfully, the prosecutor, Charles Hanson, exited the courthouse. The attention swung toward him as he stood on the courthouse steps, straightening his tie and smiling brightly. The wind whipped at the collar of his shirt, but his hair did not move.
As the throng of press moved toward Charles, le
aving Ashley alone in the street, the prosecutor met her gaze and nodded at her, his smile widening. His expression said ha ha, they like me better than you. Which was just fine with Ashley. He could go ahead and think he’d stolen her limelight. Ashley gave Charles a mock salute and slowly began backing away.
When she finally made it to the edge of the crowd, she turned and sprinted to her office. She was almost to the front door when she saw a familiar person walking down the street. Officer Katie Mickey.
Ashley and Katie were close friends. Maybe even best friends. But they had an unwritten rule when it came to cases like Rachel’s. They steered clear of each other throughout the pendency of contentious cases. They were on opposite sides of the law, and spending time together while a case like Rachel’s was unresolved led to arguments. That had happened during a particularly violent domestic assault six months earlier. Ashley and Katie had such a row over drinks one night that they didn’t speak for nearly a month. After that, they decided it was best to keep their distance until cases like that came to a resolution.
Katie smiled at Ashley, who returned the gesture, waving before ducking inside her office and out of sight. As Ashley stepped past the threshold, her toe caught on the doorframe and she stumbled. She hadn’t lifted her foot high enough. Her arms pinwheeled as she tried to regain her balance, but she felt so weak. Weary in a way she had never been before. Perhaps it was from the hectic day and the run-in with the psychotic man. Perhaps it was something else.
“Whoa,” Elena said, standing from her desk. But she was too far away to intervene.
Ashley fell hard, crashing to the floor.
Elena rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”
Ashley lay there for a moment, regaining her strength, before allowing Elena to help her to her feet.
“What happened? Was it the paparazzi?” Elena cast a dark look at the front door.
“No,” Ashley said with a groan. “I mean I don’t think so. I’m just clumsy is all.”
Elena furrowed her brow like she didn’t quite believe Ashley’s explanation.
Ashley dusted herself off and moved farther into the office. “I hope none of them got any pictures of that.”
“They probably didn’t,” Elena said uncertainly. “I’m sure the pictures will come out well. You always look so glamorous.”
Not a chance, Ashley thought.
If Rachel was public enemy number one, Ashley was number two. She was sure that, at the very least, the conservative members of the press would choose the worst picture of her, blood dripping from her nose, sweat beading along her brow, lips dipped into a firm scowl.
After all, she was the villain in their story. The magician trying to manipulate Rachel’s way out of chains. That was precisely what Ashley intended to do, but she liked to think of herself as the protagonist. The underdog fighting for her client’s freedom.
“Anyway,” Ashley said, “I’ve got work to do. If you see a lull in the crowd out there, feel free to sneak out early. I know all this attention isn’t good for your family.”
“Thank you,” Elena said.
“Don’t thank me,” Ashley said. “It’s mostly for selfish reasons. I can’t lose you.”
Ashley headed back to her office, pulling her phone out of her bag as she walked. Still no missed calls from Tom. No messages either.
Sighing irritably, she removed her laptop from her bag and gingerly placed it on her desk. She set her phone next to it and turned to the case files stacked neatly in the corner of her desk. Other cases that needed her attention. The work was never-ending.
She grabbed the top file and dug in. As she flipped a page, a droplet of red blood fell from her nose, splashing onto the paper.
“Damn it,” Ashley said aloud. She held her hand under her nose and grabbed several tissues from a box sitting on her desk.
What is going on? she wondered as she pressed the tissues against her nose.
Stress had weird effects on the body, she knew that from experience, but bloody noses were new. Maybe she was more stressed than she thought. She popped another one of Tom’s homemade candies into her mouth and chewed. Comfort food.
The nosebleed eased after the first five minutes and Ashley was able to refocus on work. Hours passed as she made her way through the stack of files. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, her phone buzzed. A text message. She jumped and grabbed it.
Saw you on the news. You look lovely.
It was Tom. The knot in her chest began to unravel. She glanced at the clock. 6:30. Rachel’s story must have been on the afternoon news.
I very much doubt that, but thanks anyway. Do you have time to talk?
No. I have a study session with Harper tonight. I’m already running late.
Harper?
She’s in some of my psych classes. The only one my age. Us old people have to stick together.
He was spending the evening with some other girl. Ashley’s gut twisted. She wasn’t a jealous person by nature, but it didn’t sound good for their relationship. Especially since Tom and Ashley had spent very little quality time together over the past couple weeks. This was how it began. The beginning of the end of a long-distance relationship.
Okay, Ashley said.
She wanted to sound cheery. Calm, cool, collected. She trusted him, didn’t she? If she was honest with herself, she’d admit that her faith in their relationship was not perfect. It was hard to trust anyone wholly and completely when so much separated them. Their lives these days felt too detached. But she wouldn’t say any of that. Not now, at least. That was a conversation best had in person.
Thanks for the candy, BTW, Ashley texted.
Sure?
A question mark. What did that mean? He had sent the candy. She recognized the handwriting in the letter. It was the same scrawling script that she’d seen on the little notes he used to leave around the house before he moved away. She had no doubt that he’d written it. So what was with the question mark? Was he mad at her again? If he was, he had no right to be.
Ashley shook her head and tossed the phone aside. She wasn’t going to placate him with messages saying, what’s wrong, honey? and are you upset with me? If he had something to say, he should come right out and say it. She was tired of Tom’s passive-aggressive bullshit. For the first time, she wondered if their relationship could handle distance and the rigors of her life as a public defender.
7
Katie
Katie glanced at her watch. 2:35 p.m. She was five minutes late for her meeting. She hurried down 8th Street, toward Genie’s Diner. Ashley was in front of her office, on her way inside, no doubt to avoid the crowd of reporters. The public defender’s office was at the corner of 8th and Central, directly across the street from the diner.
Ashley turned to look over her shoulder just in time to see Katie. She waved, and Ashley returned the gesture before hurrying through the front door. As she did, Ashley’s toe caught on the curb and she stumbled.
Katie stopped, eyeing the space where her friend tumbled out of sight. Then her gaze drifted toward the pack of reporters hot on Ashley’s heels. They were like hunters chasing a cornered fox. Should Katie do something about it? Tell the reporters to leave Ashley alone? But, then again, they were within their rights. They weren’t on private property or harassing Ashley. They were merely doing their jobs.
Besides, Ashley’s fall probably had more to do with her sleep patterns than the stress of reporters. Ashley was like a border collie when it came to her clients. Loyal and determined. Willing to work herself to death if that was what it took to succeed. Someone had to be there to keep Ashley in line. Usually, it was Katie, but that wasn’t an option now. At least not until Rachel Smithson’s trial had ended.
Something crashed into her, cutting through Katie’s thoughts and knocking her off balance. She almost fell, but she caught herself before she hit the pavement.
“Watch where you’re going,” a man said.
“I’m sorry. I was�
�” Katie trailed off when she looked up. Her eyes narrowed. “You,” she said, her tone darkening.
“Forest Parker. The one and only,” the man said, brushing dirt off the knees of his slacks.
Forest was a member of city council. He was the youngest of the three, in his early thirties. His dark hair was wild and wavy, adding emphasis to his remarkably pale blue eyes.
“Thank God,” Katie said with a snort. “This town can’t handle more than one of you.”
“Ditto, Katie,” Forest said. He paused for a moment. “Actually, I take that back. One of your kind is far more than Brine can manage.”
For some unfathomable reason, Forest Parker hated the police. Which was a shame since the city council set the budget for the Brine Police Department. Since Forest’s election, the purse strings had slowly grown tighter, closing in around Chief Carmichael, and Katie by extension.
“What is your problem? Why do you hate us so much?” Katie growled.
One of the few lessons of any value that Katie’s mother had taught her before abandoning her was that she should always seek to understand her opponent. A form of keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Of course, Katie’s mother had been speaking of high-society gossip circles rather than real life. But, then again, those women were like crocodiles. Dangerous in their own right.
Forest smiled in an infuriatingly pleasant way. His features were even, symmetrical. Attractive if not for his personality.
“You,” Forest said. “Not to worry, though. Not for long.”
“Sure, sure,” Katie said with a scowl. He meant his whole “shortchange the cops” movement. “And what, exactly, do you plan to do once you succeed and there are no police officers in Brine?”
“That’s for me to worry about.”
“You better get to worrying about it, then. That, or buy yourself a new pair of Nikes. Because you’re going to be running from a lot of criminals without our help. Run, Forest, run.”
