Wavering Convictions

by Erin Dutton

  “Get a grip, Maggie.”

  She sat there with her hand on the door handle, staring through the glass vestibule that separated those waiting for the elevator from the rest of the garage. A crowd had already gathered, and Maggie stayed safely ensconced in her Prius while the elevator doors opened. Once the passengers disappeared inside and the doors closed, she quickly exited and hurried over to press the call button once more. Maybe the next car would arrive before any other riders did, but with only two elevators, the chances were low.

  The slam of a vehicle door echoed from the far end of the garage. Her palms grew damp, and she clenched them into fists. The sharp sound of approaching footsteps indicated some type of hard-soled shoe.

  “It’s okay. Hard soles—maybe a dress shoe or a woman in heels,” she whispered. They weren’t the heavy footfalls of a large man’s boot. Despite her own reassurances, she felt light-headed, and her breathing quickened. Fear brought a sour taste to her mouth as she remembered staring down at a pair of dusty brown work boots and praying she wasn’t about to die. Five days had been enough time for details of the robbery to begin coming back to her, but not enough to dull the edge of terror.

  Fighting panic, she glanced at the stairwell. Did the unknown spiral upward hold less danger than being trapped in a tiny box with a stranger? She dashed through the door before said stranger came into sight and climbed the stairs as quickly as she could manage in her own flats. These days she dressed with consideration to how fast she could flee if she needed to.

  By the time she reached the top, her calves burned, and she struggled to catch her breath. The stairs ended in a small vestibule that opened to the courtyard outside city hall, across the street from the courthouse. The tension in her chest lessened. She crossed the street, sucking in as much fresh air as she could.

  She stepped inside the front door and stopped immediately, stuck in some kind of line that snaked out into the vestibule between the inner and outer doors. She rose on her toes to see over the people in front of her, and luckily none of them were much taller than her own five feet seven inches. The crowd spilled back from three metal detectors manned by uniformed security guards.

  The line inched forward until it was finally her turn. Then the guard ordered her to drop her purse into a bin and empty the pockets of her dress slacks, waving her through the metal detector. As she exited the other side and waited to gather her belongings, another guard passed a wand over the front of a man holding his wallet in one hand and his belt in the other. Maggie hadn’t set off any alarms and was allowed to reclaim her purse and progress into the lobby toward a bank of six elevators, three on each side of the space.

  The crowd in the lobby was not nearly as organized as the lines out front. Here, in fact, she couldn’t detect any order to the horde. Some people huddled close to one of the elevators, obviously having chosen to hedge their bet on that one being next. Others hung back in the center area, the tension in their posture indicating they were ready to shove forward toward the first doors to open.

  Maggie chose an elevator on the end and tried to make her own place in line, not interested in cutting ahead of someone else just to get into one of the tiny boxes. But most of those around her didn’t share her respect for order. A rotund man practically rested against her right shoulder. When someone pressed into her back, she tried to shuffle forward a step, but she had no escape. The stinging scent of too much cheap cologne mixed with body odor turned her stomach. Pretending to rub her face, she breathed shallowly into her cupped hand.

  She missed the first time the closest elevator opened. The car filled quickly with those in front of her and a few who crowded past her. The next time the doors opened, she shuffled forward with the surge of people. She tried to work her way to the back but ended up trapped in the middle. Hunching her shoulders inward, she attempted to lessen her footprint in the already small space. The woman standing close on her left reeked of stale cigarette smoke. She was too skinny in a seemingly unhealthy way, and her skin appeared paper-thin. When she buried her fingers in her messy ponytail and dug at her scalp, Maggie fervently wished she had imagined the dusting of flakes floating in the air. If she could have shifted to the left, she would have. But two men occupied that space.

  One, wearing a pair of khakis and an ill-fitting plaid shirt, kept tugging at his tie. The other was dressed in a sharp suit, with a bright-blue shirt and a boldly patterned contrasting tie. The way he leaned close and spoke quietly to the other man hinted that he might be the man’s attorney.

  Why wasn’t this elevator moving? Every time the doors started to close, someone in the large crowd still waiting for the next car would push the button, causing her elevator door to open again. The first two times, someone new tried to squeeze in. By the third time, she was ready to scream at them to wait until her car left to push the button again. Surely elevator programming couldn’t be that difficult to figure out. The man behind her shifted and brushed against her.

  “No,” she murmured, then repeated it more loudly as panic surged up in her throat. She didn’t even excuse herself as she shoved between the woman and child in front of her and stumbled back into the lobby before the doors closed once more.

  Ignoring the exasperated looks from the people she pinballed against, she forced her way through the crowd until she reached the security check-in area again.

  “Ma’am.” One of the guards approached her. “Are you okay?” His hand hovered around his waist. Was she about to get hit with a Taser? She couldn’t blame him for being suspicious. “Ma’am?”

  “Yes. Claustrophobic.” She didn’t look up to see if he accepted her explanation before she hurried past him toward the nearest restroom. She would make herself presentable, grab a coffee from the shop adjacent to the lobby, then try the elevators again.

  * * *

  Ally Becker shuffled along in a cafeteria-style line, selecting a small coffee and a plain bagel with cream cheese. She’d arrived at the courthouse over an hour early for her brother’s hearing. His lawyer had warned her that she’d face a bit of a madhouse getting up to the courtroom. Apparently, all the judges liked to start their mornings at the same time, regardless of whether they presided over a docket or a criminal trial. She’d seen the mass of people waiting for the elevators and opted to take her chances that the crowd might thin a bit before his preliminary hearing started.

  She settled at one of only a few remaining tables and pulled out her phone to check her email. Soon, she found the crowds milling about outside the café more interesting than anything on her screen. So her attention was on the entrance when a frazzled-looking woman walked in.

  Ally didn’t know the difference between custom and just well-tailored when it came to women’s dress clothes. But either way, the woman’s black pant suit fit her perfectly. Thick, light-brown curls floated around her head, defying gravity, in a short bob that just grazed her ears.

  Her put-together appearance warred with the furtive, almost fearful way she glanced around the café. Ally felt her discomfort from across the room. Realizing she was staring, she feigned interest once more in her phone screen. But she remained aware of the woman as she rushed through the serving line, then found herself standing in the middle of the crowded space.

  Ally didn’t see any free tables. So before someone could vacate one and steal away her excuse, she made eye contact with the woman. “I’ve got an extra seat, if you don’t mind sharing.” With her foot, she pushed out the empty chair across the table from her.

  For a moment she thought the woman would refuse. She seemed to search the café for another available place.

  “Look, it’s either me or that guy over there.” She tried to inject some levity into her voice as she tilted her head toward a grumpy-looking elderly man with a newspaper spread out on the small round table. The corners draped over the edges like some sort of disposable tablecloth.

  The woman nodded and lowered herself tentatively onto the chair opposite Ally. She s
et her drink and napkin-wrapped-muffin as close to her edge of the table as she could without losing them to the floor. Ally moved her own coffee closer to her, making room, but the woman didn’t adjust her snack.

  “I’m Ally.”

  “Maggie.” When Maggie scowled, Ally began to lose patience. She’d only been trying to be nice, and this woman was acting as if she couldn’t be bothered to do the same. Ally held up her hands, palms out.

  “Okay. We don’t have to be cordial. I just thought since we were sharing a table—”

  Maggie’s face flushed. “I’m sorry for being rude. I—I’m not comfortable being here.”

  “In a coffee shop?”

  “No. The courthouse.”

  “So you’re not a lawyer? I wasn’t sure, since you’re wearing a suit and all.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “So why are you here? If it’s okay to ask.”

  “I’d actually rather not talk about it.”

  “If you’re being charged with something, I’ll try not to judge.” She tried for a joke, but it fell as flat as Maggie’s expression. “Well, then I’ll tell you why I’m here. I’m clearly not a lawyer either.” She gestured to her best navy slacks and button-down shirt. While her outfit was presentable, no one would mistake her for someone as white-collar as an attorney. “My brother has a preliminary hearing today.”

  “Oh.” Maggie stared at her untouched muffin. “I’m sorry. I’m not really sure what to say to that.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. He—uh—he has a drug problem. Now that I think about it, I’m not really in the mood to talk much about that either.” She didn’t know why she’d said anything to begin with. Her brother’s addiction embarrassed her and made her ashamed that he’d reached the point he had. “Let’s talk about something else. What do you do for a living, Maggie?”

  “That’s not an interesting topic either. I’m a public-records clerk for the city.”

  “Well, no—that’s—”

  “It’s boring.”

  “It’s not.” Ally didn’t think most would find her career interesting either.

  “It pays the bills. And I love the people I work with. They’re a great group and have been very understanding this past week when I haven’t been able to be there.” She rolled one hand in a gesture that Ally assumed meant she hadn’t been there because of whatever brought her to court and therefore she likely didn’t want to talk about it. “What do you do?”

  “Carpentry. I recently started my own business, making furniture. But I supplement that job by working for a company that frames houses for new construction.” Until six months ago, she’d worked on a crew with her brother. Even before his recent legal troubles, their employer had given him his last “one more chance” to get his act together. His losing his job had been the kick in the pants she’d needed as well. She decided to stop saying she’d concentrate on furniture-making “someday” and start putting her focus there. She still did framing in spurts to pay her bills, but now she contracted with the company by the job, when she needed to work. She was on a project now that would end in a couple of weeks.

  “Carpentry, wow. I’ve always wished I was good with my hands.”

  Ally smiled and glanced down at Maggie’s hands, which were wrapped around her coffee cup. They were small and looked soft, her medium-length nails well-shaped and painted a neutral shade.

  “Sorry. I—I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” Maggie avoided eye contact. “My father was handy. He could fix anything. I’ve often wished I’d paid more attention instead of taking him for granted.”

  Ally nodded, picking up on Maggie’s use of the past tense. “When did he pass?”

  “About five years ago now.”

  “I’m sorry.” She felt strange expressing sympathy for five-year-old grief but didn’t know what else to say. Ally often got uncomfortable with anything more than light social conversation. On the job site, her crew didn’t have time for small talk. And she rarely spent time with anyone other than her two best friends outside of work.

  “It’s okay. It’s been a long time. I mean, it’s never really the same, but it becomes the new normal, you know.”

  Ally’s own father had run off when she was just four years old. Her mother had met and married Carey’s father and given birth to Carey within a year. They’d divorced when Ally was in high school. He’d been a decent stepfather, but never close enough that Ally missed him after he left. He barely bothered to keep in touch with Carey, so Ally had never been surprised that he didn’t maintain a relationship with her.

  Maggie still looked sad, and Ally wanted to reach across the table and touch her arm. But she didn’t think Maggie would welcome the gesture. “What about you? I know you’re here for your brother. But is anyone else in your family coming? Are you close?”

  “My mother is at home. She says she can’t stand to see him in court. And my father is—not in the picture.”

  “I’m sorry.” Maggie’s sorry sounded sincere and warm and brought a lump of emotion to Ally’s throat that she hadn’t felt in years.

  Ally swallowed, then rolled her eyes. “This isn’t an appropriate getting-to-know-you conversation with a stranger.”

  Maggie smiled. “Is that what we’re doing? Getting to know each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “We were.” Maggie glanced at her watch, then stood and gathered her trash. “But now I should probably head up. It looks like the crowd has dispersed at the elevator.”

  “Oh, right.” When Maggie stood, Ally did, too.

  “Thanks for sharing your table.”

  While Ally was working up the nerve to ask for her number, Maggie left the café and headed for the bank of elevators. She sighed and dropped back into her chair. Bringing her empty coffee cup to her lips, she pretended she was finishing the drink rather than watching Maggie until she disappeared inside one of the elevators.

  * * *

  Maggie got off at the fourth floor and followed the signs for courtroom 4B, one of the general-sessions courtrooms. She stopped as soon as she stepped inside, overwhelmed and wishing she’d taken her boss Inga up on her offer to accompany her.

  “Keep it moving, lady. We all gotta sit down, too.”

  She stepped aside to allow the four people behind her to pass, and they moved down the aisle and into a row of church-pew-like benches. Over half the seats were full already. Should she sit on a specific side? She scanned the people around her, then silently berated herself for trying to figure out which ones looked like the perpetrators of crime. She’d spoken with someone from the district attorney’s office on the phone, but she had no idea what he looked like. He sounded young, but any one of the men in suits gathered around the two tables facing the judge could fit that description.

  She’d just decided to move to the left when a woman carrying a clipboard approached. “Are you a witness in a case today?”

  “Yes. Maggie Davidson.”

  “Who’s the defendant?”

  She cleared her throat. “Um—his last name is Rowe.”

  The woman made a mark next to Maggie’s name. “Hold on. I think General Miller wants to talk to you.”

  “General?”

  “Right. Sorry. In court the assistant district attorney general is addressed as general.”

  The woman turned and pushed through the swinging gate in the low railing that divided the front of the courtroom from the gallery. Bending, she spoke quietly to a dark-haired man seated at the table on the left. He turned to look at her over his shoulder as the woman gestured to where she still stood awkwardly in the aisle. The woman motioned Maggie closer, and she approached the rail.

  “This is General Ralph Miller. He’s handling the preliminary hearing for your case.”

  “Maggie Davidson.” She stuck her hand out. “So you’re the prosecutor on the case.”

  “No. Not exactly. I work here in general-sessions court. Our goal today would be to show the judge we have
probable cause to get the case bound over to the grand jury. After Mr. Rowe is indicted, if the case goes to trial, another ADA will be assigned.” He glanced at the judge’s bench, then at a gathering of men and women in suits hovering nearby. “I’m sorry. I don’t have time to go into all of that right now. But if you’ll call our office later, someone can explain the process. In fact, I spoke with Mr. Rowe’s attorney a few minutes ago, and he plans to ask for this hearing to be reset so he can have more time to prepare.”

  “So I’ll have to come back to court?” She just wanted all this to be over. She’d fought her anxiety to get here, and now she’d have to do it again.

  “Probably. Have a seat and wait for the judge to call the docket. When we get to Rowe, he’ll assign another date on his calendar, probably sometime later this week or next.” Without waiting for a response, he turned away and waved over one of the suited men nearby.

  Clearly having been dismissed, Maggie looked around for the woman who’d helped her before, but she’d moved on and was now huddled in conversation with another woman and her teenager. Maggie found an empty space on a bench in the second row from the back.

  A few minutes later, Ally eased through the doors, along with a tall, lanky, suited man. He angled his head as she spoke quietly to him. He murmured an answer, then pointed toward a seat on the opposite side of the aisle from Maggie. He continued to the front of the courtroom and joined several men and women at the table opposite the ADA.

  Maggie considered moving to sit closer to Ally. Their chat downstairs had provided the closest thing to a distraction that Maggie had experienced in days. For the duration of a cup of coffee, Maggie had imagined she could be a functioning member of society again. Once more, she could be the kind of woman who spoke to an attractive stranger—maybe even flirted, instead of worrying about hidden danger.

  She’d had game before—had never had a problem approaching someone, giving out her number, and leaving with a date. And Ally was exactly the kind of woman she went for. She was beautiful and strong. Openness and welcome warmed her dark-brown eyes. The cleft in her chin begged for Maggie’s finger to stroke it. Maggie had entered that café completely closed off, and Ally had coaxed her out. She’d gotten more conversation from Maggie than anyone had since the robbery.