Most Dangerous Place

by James Grippando

  “Sorry, not my case,” said Abe. “This one belongs to Sylvia Hunt.”

  “I don’t know Sylvia.”

  “I’ll let her know you reached out.”

  “I need to speak to her ASAP. Tonight, actually.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Jack thanked him and hung up. There was more than one route to the detention center, but the evening rush hour was over, so Jack hopped onto the Dolphin Expressway.

  “You think the prosecutor will call you?” asked Keith.

  Jack kept his eyes on the road. “If we don’t hear from her in five minutes, I’ll call her.”

  Keith breathed a heavy sigh. “Well, this certainly wasn’t the way I had planned for you to meet my wife.”

  Jack could have been a friend and simply offered reassurance, but he was in a lawyer frame of mind. “How well do you know her, Keith?”

  “We’ve been married six years. What kind of a question is that?”

  “I didn’t ask how long. I asked how well. What’s a normal workweek for you? Seventy, eighty hours?”

  “We have quality time.”

  Quality: code for not enough. “You travel a lot, I’m sure.”

  “Once a week to Zurich. Every other week to Singapore or Tokyo, depending on where we have the Asia private-wealth meeting. Then there’s the incidental travel—business development, high-net-worth-client events, that sort of thing.”

  “So on average, you’re home—what, three nights a week?”

  “Sometimes four. If you’re suggesting that I didn’t really know the woman I married and it turns out she’s a murderer, then you’re talking crazy.”

  “I’m just asking the questions I need to ask. Does Isa have a criminal record?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never run a criminal background check, if that’s your question.”

  “What do you know about her family?”

  “Her mother died before I met Isa. Her father lives in Caracas—last I heard, anyway. I’ve never met him. He and Isa have no relationship. Isa didn’t even want to invite him to our wedding.”

  “Why not?”

  “Politics. He was a Chavez crony when Isa was growing up. I won’t put words in her mouth and say it was rebellion, but could the daughter of a card-carrying member of the United Socialist Party have married a bigger capitalist than a private-wealth manager for a Swiss bank?”

  There was a time when Jack, a young criminal-defense lawyer who defended death-row inmates, stopped speaking to Harry Swyteck, the “law and order” governor who signed more death warrants than any governor in Florida history. Jack used to tell people it was about politics, too; it was never just about politics.

  “I suppose I can relate,” said Jack.

  “This whole thing has to be a mistake,” said Keith. “Isa hasn’t set foot in Miami in years. She left the U after her freshman year and finished her degree at the University of Zurich. She was working on her doctorate in psychology when I met her.”

  “Isa has a Ph.D.?” he asked, sounding more surprised than he intended.

  “Not yet. That’s been on hold since Melany was born. Actually, pretty much everything has been on hold since the ear trouble started. It’s Isa’s full-time mission.”

  Jack steered over to the right lane of the expressway and took the Twelfth Street exit. His cell rang as they waited at the red light at the end of the ramp. It was Sylvia Hunt. She wasn’t willing to say much to him on the telephone, but she did agree to e-mail Jack a copy of the affidavit in support of the arrest warrant, which was what Jack really wanted. One question, however, Jack wanted answered right away:

  “When was Gabriel Sosa murdered?”

  “Twelve years ago this month,” said Hunt. “April seventeenth, to be exact.”

  “So this was a cold case?”

  “Yes.”

  “I presume there is some new evidence that links Isa Bornelli to the crime, allegedly?”

  “Yes. It’s in the probable-cause affidavit.”

  “You can’t just tell me what it is?”

  “I’m preparing for a suppression hearing in another case. I’m not focused on Ms. Bornelli right now and I don’t want to be accused of mischaracterizing anything. Read the affidavit, and then I’ll be happy to schedule a time to sit down with you and discuss it.”

  Some prosecutors played cautiously, especially with criminal-defense lawyers they had never dealt with before.

  “You’re e-mailing it now?” asked Jack.

  “As soon as we hang up.”

  “Okay. One other quick question. I noticed that the arrest warrant alleges first-degree murder with special circumstances. What are the special circumstances?”

  “Kidnapping and torture.”

  The traffic light turned green. So did Keith’s pallor.

  “You mean kidnapping for ransom?” asked Jack.

  “I really have to get back to my other case. Read the affidavit, please.”

  Jack thanked the prosecutor, hung up, and merged into traffic toward the Justice Building. Keith was looking truly nauseous.

  “You okay?” asked Jack.

  “Kidnap and torture? Seriously? This is a fucking nightmare.”

  Jack didn’t want to make matters worse, but he needed answers. “Where was Isa twelve years ago this month?”

  Keith took another deep breath. “She was a student.”

  “Where?”

  Jack glanced in Keith’s direction, but he was staring through the windshield, as if hypnotized by the string of red taillights ahead of them. “Here. At the University of Miami.”

  They rode in silence, neither man having to say that the quickest way out of trouble—the ironclad alibi that Isa hadn’t visited the U.S. since college—had already evaporated.

  Chapter 3

  The criminal courthouse was dark, but the lights were burning across the street—Lucky Thirteenth Street, as it was known—at the pretrial detention center. Jack parked in the jury lot, which was empty for the night. It was after eight o’clock when he and Keith entered through the visitors’ entrance on the ground floor.

  The multistory detention center north of downtown Miami housed 170 inmates who were awaiting trial on charges that ran the legal gamut from traffic offenses to capital murder. Men and women were held on separate floors, but the same visitation rules applied. Family visits were strictly noncontact, and visitation outside of normal hours was allowed only by court order.

  “Are you saying I can’t see my wife?” Keith asked.

  They were in the lobby, standing on the visitor side of the glass window for guest registration. The corrections officer answered from inside the booth, speaking into a gooseneck microphone. “Visitation for female inmates is Thursdays and Saturdays, five thirty p.m. to nine fifteen p.m.,” she said.

  Keith blinked, and Jack could almost see the fog of jet lag surrounding him. “Today is Tuesday,” said Jack.

  “I’m here all the way from Hong Kong,” said Keith. “There must be exceptions.”

  “Only for attorneys and bail bondsmen,” said the officer.

  “How fast can I become a bail bondsman?” he asked, but Jack knew he wasn’t serious—at least not entirely.

  Jack leaned closer to the glass and followed up with the corrections officer about an attorney visit. A check of the computer confirmed that Isa had already gone through the booking process and that Jack Swyteck was registered as her legal counsel. Isa was in a temporary holding cell awaiting bed assignment. Jack and Keith took a seat in the waiting room. After about fifteen minutes, a guard escorted Jack to the attorney-client conference room, where Isa was waiting for him.

  Jack entered. The guard closed the door and locked it from the outside, leaving Jack alone with his newest client.

  Isa was seated at a small table, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn on the flight from Hong Kong. She rose to greet Jack as he approached.

  “
Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m glad I can help.”

  She settled back into her chair, and Jack sat opposite her at the table. They were surrounded by windowless walls of yellow-painted cinder block. Bright fluorescent lighting lent their meeting room all the warmth of a workshop.

  “How are you holding up?” asked Jack.

  She shrugged. “Just kind of going through the motions, I guess. It’s all pretty surreal.”

  “I understand.”

  She folded her arms, as if cold, but it was probably the total experience that was making her uncomfortable—not to mention the fact that Jack was her husband’s old buddy. Keith had pointed out that these were less than ideal circumstances for a reunion, and it had to feel even more awkward for Isa. Jack decided to address it up front.

  “Look, I don’t want you to feel locked into hiring me as your attorney. This happens to be my line of work, which is convenient in the short term. But choosing a lawyer is a very personal decision.”

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  “I’m willing to help as long as you want me to help. But once we sort out these preliminary matters, I can come up with a short list of topflight criminal-defense lawyers for you to interview, and you can make your own decision.”

  “Keith has told me all about you and the work you did at the Freedom Institute. You sound pretty topflight to me.”

  The Freedom Institute, where Jack had started his career right out of law school, was Jack’s first introduction to capital cases. “We can talk more about that later. For now, let’s tackle the problem at hand. I have a few questions. But first, is there anything you want to ask me?”

  “How is Melany?”

  “She’s fine. Andie took her back to our house with our daughter.”

  “Tell Keith that it’s okay if Melany wants to wear her audio processer to sleep. Being in a strange house might make her feel too disconnected if she can’t hear out of both ears.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him. He’s here, in the waiting room.” Jack explained the restrictions on family visitation.

  “Thursdays and Saturdays? I won’t actually still be here on Thursday, will I?”

  Jack hesitated a bit too long.

  “I need to see my family,” said Isa, “and I can’t bring my daughter here. How soon can you get me out?”

  “Let me explain how the process works. Arraignment is your first court appearance. That won’t happen until tomorrow. You’ll be lumped in with all the other felony arrests, starting at nine thirty.”

  “So I have to spend the night here?”

  “Yes.”

  Isa breathed in and out, as if coming to terms with it. “Okay. I’ll deal with that. Then I get out?”

  “I’ll try to get the prosecutor to agree to that.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “She, not he,” said Jack. “So far I’ve had one phone call with her. She promised to e-mail me a copy of the affidavit of the MDPD homicide detective, which lays out the evidence against you. I had to leave my cell phone at visitor registration, but as of twenty minutes ago I still didn’t have her e-mail. If it’s not in my inbox when I pick up my cell, I’ll go over her head.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a great start. What if the prosecutor won’t agree to let me out? Will the judge release me?”

  She’d hit on the first bit of bad news, and Jack tried to be gentle. “In a first-degree murder case, the legal presumption is no bail.”

  It was as if Jack had punched her in the chest. She looked away, then back. “I can’t stay here. Melany has her surgery on Friday.”

  “We may be able to use that to our advantage.”

  “It’s not a question of using it. She’s five years old. She can’t go without her mommy.”

  “Sorry. What I meant to say is that we have a situation where there are extenuating circumstances that favor your release.”

  “Yes,” she said, “lots of extenuating circumstances. Starting with the fact that I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill Gabriel Sosa.”

  “I don’t always get the answer to that question from my clients. It certainly doesn’t impact my decision to take the case. All I want is the truth.”

  “That is the truth. I didn’t kill him.”

  Jack didn’t respond right away. He gave her a moment to live with her assertion of “the truth,” assessing her demeanor. It wasn’t exactly a lie-detector test, but he did note that she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with nervous jabber.

  “All right. If you want to go down that road, we need to go all the way down it. Do you know who did kill him?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s back up even further, all the way to the beginning. Call it lawyer’s intuition, but when the police escorted you away at the airport, I got the impression that the name Gabriel Sosa was one you’d heard before.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So tell me: Who is Gabriel Sosa? Or who was he?”

  She drew a deep breath. “A boy I knew in college.”

  “How well did you know him?”

  “Not as well as I thought I did.”

  “What does that mean?”

  She hesitated, and Jack was certain that she was going to tell him something that she had never told her husband.

  “He raped me,” she said.

  Jack had reached a point in his career where he truly thought he’d heard it all. And then there was this.

  “I’m sorry, Isa. But you’re going to have to tell me all about that.”

  Chapter 4

  “I’d like to make a phone call, please,” Isa told the guard.

  The meeting with Jack had lasted until 9:30 p.m. He’d warned her about the overcrowded conditions at the detention center, which explained why she was still waiting for a bed. He’d also told her that a charge of first-degree murder meant a cell in Protective Custody Level One, the high-security section. She would get one hour a day to take a shower and sit in the dayroom. She could access books from a library cart to take back to her cell, but Level One inmates had no television or computer privileges. Most important, she could make collect calls from the jail phone.

  A corrections officer escorted Isa from the holding cell to the jail telephone, and Isa took her place at the back of the line. At least a half dozen inmates were ahead of her, depending on how many were also holding a spot for a friend or cellmate. All Isa could do was wait. A little more time to choose her words was probably a good thing. She needed and wanted to speak to Melany—if she was awake at this hour—but she still wasn’t sure how to explain. Isa tried to script something out in her head, but it was hard to focus. From the moment the police had taken her away at the airport, she’d felt untethered from reality. No watch. No cell phone. No talking allowed. She especially didn’t like the way the correctional officer was looking at her. It wasn’t the first time a man had undressed her with his eyes, but in this situation, where she was literally his prisoner, it was especially creepy.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she told him. “You don’t have to wait here with me.”

  The guard seemed to take her point. He made a quick assessment of her wait time and said, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

  Sixty-five minutes passed. The guard had yet to return, and Isa was still waiting in line. The day was weighing on her. She should have been lying on a king-size bed at a luxury hotel sleeping off jet lag. Instead, she’d been forced to endure endless periods of unexplained waiting, interspersed with bursts of pointless activity that seemed driven by nothing more than the correction officers’ personal whim. Up and down several flights of stairs. In and out of different holding pens. She’d been shackled, unshackled, and shackled again. The body search had been especially memorable.

  “Hey, you gonna use the phone or not?” the inmate behind her asked.

  Isa opened her eyes. She’d nearly fallen asleep standing up. Finally, it was her turn. She went to the phone, and her hand shook as she dial
ed Jack’s home number.

  Please, someone answer.

  On the fourth ring, she heard Jack say hello. He was about to bring Keith to the phone, but Isa stopped him.

  “Did you tell him?” At the conclusion of their meeting, she’d asked Jack to tell Keith everything.

  “I did.”

  “So he knows that I was—”

  “Isa, stop,” said Jack. “Remember what I said about jail phones.”

  Jack had given her compelling examples of men and women who had, figuratively speaking, hanged themselves on prison lines. The sign on the wall—All Calls Are Monitored by Law Enforcement—reinforced his words. She was under strict orders not to discuss Gabriel Sosa, the sexual assault, or anything else about her case.

  “I understand,” said Isa. “Does Keith know the rules?”

  “Yes, we’ve covered it. He’s eager to talk to you. Let me get him.”

  It took just a few seconds for Keith to come on the line, but it seemed to take much longer for him to say something.

  “I don’t even know where to begin, honey.”

  “I can only imagine,” she said.

  “I just don’t understand why you never told me about any of this.”

  He was talking about the rape, of course. “Keith, you know we can’t talk about this right now. Don’t make this call harder than it already is.”

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t what I was trying to do.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, and then she came around to what really mattered. “I’m worried about Melany.”

  “Don’t be. She’s doing pretty well. She was busy playing with Jack and Andie’s little girl, until she went to bed.”

  “Melany’s asleep?”

  “No. I meant Riley is out. Melany slept so hard on the plane she’ll be up ’til at least midnight. Let me get her for you.”

  Isa’s grip around the phone tightened. The wait seemed much longer than it was. She hoped she was strong enough to get through this.