by Shenda Paul
After listening to their stories, I question them about Miranda Flume and Lucia Fluss. Jasmine remembers a girl called Lucia who, she says, once mentioned someone called Miranda. Lucia, reportedly, told her that Miranda spoke Spanish when she was drugged up and that she made up stories, then, about being rich. I ask about Lucia's current whereabouts, and Jasmine says she doesn’t know, but I’m almost certain that we’ve just been given our first tangible lead to Maria Riviera.
I also believe that their testimony has provided us with what we need to gain O'Flaherty’s cooperation. Given the more damning nature of Jasmine and Linda’s evidence, I decide against calling Natasha Perkins to the stand. So, our final witness list for Joseph’s trial consists of Carmen Bonacci, Jasmine, Linda, Fico Moretti and Nathaniel Barnes, and I hope to add O'Flaherty soon.
It's nearly eight when I’m finally ready to call it a day. I just have to call Jon before I can go home and speak with Angelique. "We’ve uncovered some very useful information," I tell him before providing an overview of our meeting with Jasmine and Linda.
"Have you had any luck with O'Flaherty?" I ask.
"He still denies knowing of a plan to intimidate witnesses or anything about Maria Riviera. He also swears that he hasn't seen Perez since he took off."
"Perhaps the threat of twenty years for sex trafficking and child enticement will jog his memory. I’d like to be in on your next session with him if I can."
"He and his lawyer appear to be relying on the fact that not many people have been convicted under the new prostitution laws."
"Well, I'll happily disabuse them of that notion."
"Good to hear. I'll arrange the interview and let you know."
"Just call Bec if you can’t get hold of me," I tell him before we say goodbye and hang up.
It angers me that attorneys still think they can get around the law. In my view, our society has, for too long, excused Johns as men who made a mistake while vilifying sex workers. Overwhelmingly, it's the sex workers, predominantly women, exploited by both clients and pimps who get arrested. It hardly seems just that young girls like Jasmine and Linda, or any woman, for that matter, should be damned by society when their male clients are excused on the grounds of having made a mistake. Pimps, generally, also avoid arrest because they’re seldom caught in the act of trading the women.
Good and well-intentioned people have worked hard to get Massachusetts’ new legislation enacted, and I'm damned if I'll allow some defense attorney to rely on the light sentencing of the past to get someone like O'Flaherty off.
Tuesday proves just as busy as we move into the last days of trial preparation. I work on my opening argument while Jodi checks in with our witnesses. She’ll then brief Andrew to ensure he’s prepared for when he meets them at court. Before I know it, I'm driving up to the prison facility for the interview with O’Flaherty.
"Has his attorney been informed?" I ask Jon after we exchange greetings.
"Yes. I expect he’s here, no doubt honing their strategy."
"It won’t help them much," I counter.
Mick and a man, I assume to be his attorney, are seated in the interview room when we enter. He rises, and Jon steps forward. "You must be Mr. Colby; I’m Detective Jon Holmes, and this is Assistant District Attorney Adam Thorne."
We shake hands briefly, and when he rejoins his client, I take a seat across from them. I wait until Jon’s seated before speaking.
"Well Mick, I hope both your memory and willingness to cooperate have improved," I say. He stares back at me insolently without replying.
"Mr. Thorne, my client denies the charges …" Gary Colby chooses to respond, but I cut him short.
"Detective Holmes has informed me of your client's denial and your misapprehension of the laws under which he’s been charged. Let me enlighten you about the very tangible differences between the legislation of the past and the situation he finds himself in today.
"Laws governing human trafficking, including trafficking in prostitution, now ensure that your client faces the possibility of twenty years incarceration. The second, and no less significant, thing both you and he have failed to consider is that Jasmine Thomas and Linda Hall will be testifying at both Joseph Cordi’s and your client’s trials. "
Bewildered, Colby looks at O'Flaherty. "It seems your client has failed to mention the young women. Allow me," I interject before he can address his client. "Jasmine and Linda were both recruited by your client for Joseph Cordi, who then lured them into prostitution. Jasmine was seventeen; and Linda, you should know, had only just turned sixteen. I intend to charge Mr. O’Flaherty with sex trafficking and child enticement."
"Charges I’m sure his fellow inmates will take great interest in," Jon adds, and O’Flaherty pales.
"And lastly," I continue, " you've failed to account for me. I live to put criminals away, Mr. Colby; you should remember that. You and your client should also know that Detective Holmes and I are determined to get to the bottom of the Maria Riviera abduction. With our help, Texas police will locate her, and they’ll arrest Victor Perez. Your client, if he is involved, could find himself implicated in the murder of a border patrol guard and extradited to face murder charges in that state.
"You two have a lot to discuss, so we’ll leave you to it. Joseph Cordi’s trial starts next week; your client has until Thursday morning to decide whether he'll cooperate with the Commonwealth or not."
"Are you offering a plea bargain?" Colby asks, somber-faced now.
"The only concession your client will receive is a notation of his cooperation in his records, should he decide to testify against Joseph Cordi. If he's lucky, the court will take it into account when sentencing him."
I glance over at Jon, who rises to his feet when I do. "Thursday morning before ten, Mr. Colby," I remind him, holding out a business card.
As we’re about to get into our cars, Jon asks why I didn't simply subpoena O'Flaherty.
"He’ll tell us more if he believes there's a chance of a reduced sentence, even if it’s slim," I tell him.
Chapter Four
Gary Colby calls at nine on Thursday to advise that O’Flaherty’s agreed to testify. I thank him and arrange to take his client’s testimony the following day. Jodi and I spend the rest of the morning wrapping up trial preparation, and at lunchtime, decide to pop down to the deli. We run into Tess in the lobby, and I invite her to join us for a quick bite.
"No, thanks," she replies shortly, turning away without further explanation.
"What's gotten up her nose?" Jodi asks, looking back.
"No idea," I shrug, having absolutely no clue and no desire to find out.
On Friday late morning, after our meeting with O’Flaherty and Colby, I call Angelique. "I hope you’re not busy?" I ask.
"No; it’s lovely to hear from you," she replies instantly.
"I know we've arranged to spend the day together tomorrow, and I hope you don't think I'm pushing my luck, but I'd love to see you tonight… if you haven't made any other plans, of course."
"I haven’t, and I'd love to see you too," she says, and I just know by her tone that she's blushing. This reaction in anyone else would amuse me, but for some reason, when Angelique’s face turns that delicate rose because of something I've said or done, I feel territorial and, I should be, but I’m not ashamed to admit, aroused.
"Would you like to go out to dinner?" I invite, already thinking about where to take her.
"You've been so busy this week; let's stay in and relax. I’ll cook."
"That sounds wonderful, but I'll pick up dinner. Do you have a preference?"
"Not really, I trust you to choose."
"Thank you; you’ve made me a very happy man by agreeing to see me," I confess. "I can be at your place at seven-thirty; would that suit?"
"That’s fine with me," she says and after chatting about our day for a short while, I tell Angeliqu
e that, unfortunately, I have to go.
"I’ll be counting down the hours; I can’t wait to see you," I let her know.
"I’m really looking forward to seeing you too, Adam," she says almost shyly after a moment’s hesitation.
Many things have become clear to me over the past week. The most important has been the realization that I can no longer fool myself by saying I care for Angelique, or that I'm falling in love with her. The truth, no matter how implausible it may seem even to me, is that I already love her. I'm not sure just how long my feelings were clouded by my need to bury my past, but I’ve come to believe that something deep within me recognized Angelique instantly for what she is; the one I’m meant to love.
I always thought love at first sight to be an idealized myth. Even in the face of their love, when Matt told me he fell in love with Cait the moment he met her, I scoffed because we were all just kids at the time. "I know what you’re thinking, but I’m telling you, I definitely felt something… l suppose you could call it a strong emotional pull," he said, and when I challenged him about the many girls he’d later dated, he explained that when he realized the depth of his feelings for Cait, he fought against it because of her youth and his fear of upsetting me. "You can run all you want, but there’s no escaping it," he said at my continued disbelief. I didn’t argue but thought it a load of bullshit; I know better now.
I've also realized that Angelique’s avoidance of anything I say or do that relates to my feelings for her, and which I’d initially put down to mistrust, is, in fact, more about her insecurities related to her recent past than any lack of feeling for me. And finally, I’ve realized how genuinely selfless she is. The sacrifice she chose to make for her mother is, of course, the most profound evidence of that, and her misguided, yet admirable, loyalty to Justin is another. But even in the smallest things, she tends to put others first. None of the other women I’ve dated would have turned down an invitation to dinner simply because I’d had a trying day.
My understanding, on the one hand, leaves me ecstatic that the woman I want to spend my life with is so generous and giving; on the other, it fills me with deep regret and anger that her spirit had been so carelessly trampled.
Bec’s reminder of my next meeting pulls me back to business, and for the rest of the day, I barely have time to think about anything other than work. At six, I decide to call it a day and make a quick stop off at the florist. At home, I order dinner to be delivered to Angelique’s at eight, and then, after a shower and change of clothing, I grab a bottle of chilled wine and my earlier purchase before rushing out.
While waiting on Angelique to answer my knock, I think back to the first time I nervously stood in this very spot, fearing that she’d refuse me entry. Now, though, I feel a sense of eager anticipation and belonging.
Angelique opens the door, barefoot and wearing a pair of tight-fitting, faded jeans and a loose, white top that falls off one shoulder. Her hair cascades down her back in silken waves, and her porcelain skin is slightly flushed, but it's her eyes that mesmerize me. They're like pools of dark, shimmering water, alive with happiness.
I'm responsible for that, I gleefully think as I wrap an arm around her waist to bring her close. I bend down to kiss her and, with lips locked, walk us into the apartment. Kicking the door shut, I turn to shamelessly press her against it. When she twines her arms around my neck and molds her body to mine, it takes all of my willpower not to mindlessly grind against her.
"That's some greeting, Miss Bain," I tell her, my voice deeper than usual when we come up for air.
"I'd say so, Mr. Thorne," she responds lightly, but her blush deepens as she stares up at me through those incredible lashes.
"These are for you," I extend my offering, "the wine is to have with dinner."
"They're beautiful and smell divine...just like the ones before," she murmurs, burying her nose in the flowers.
"I'll forever associate peonies with you; they remind me of your lovely skin and the way you blush," I confess. "Just like that," I add, running the backs of my fingers over her heated cheek.
"Would you like something to drink?" she offers before leading the way into the living room.
"Would you join me in a glass of wine?"
"Just a tiny bit. I'm sorry, I'm not much of a drinker."
"I think it's refreshing, and I admire that you don't feel pressured to drink alcohol. I won't have more than two glasses; I never do when driving."
"I respect the fact that you're cautious about drinking and driving."
"I've seen the consequences of not doing so too many times not to be," I say.
"The man who drove into Mom and Peter was drunk," she admits.
"I'm so sorry." I pull her into my arms to comfort her.
"Why don't you open the wine while I put my flowers in a vase?" Angelique suggests after some moments during which we’d just held onto each other. Soon we're in the kitchen, once again, effortlessly moving around each other. I enjoy the experience so much, I can't resist leaning across and kissing the tip of her cute nose.
Settled in the living room with our drinks, I ask about her mother’s accident, and as I listen to her relate the events of that terrible night, I marvel at how this seemingly fragile young woman has so bravely withstood the adversity that fate chose to deal her and her family time and time again. I’ve hardly had time to properly express my regret when there’s a knock at the door.
"That'll be the food; I'll get it," I say, kissing her on the mouth lightly.
Blood rushes to my head at the sight of the person confronting me on the doorstep.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I demand in a hushed, angry tone.
Justin steps back, eyes wide with shock but recovers almost instantly to straighten his shoulders.
"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm here to see Angelique," he says, his tone equally combative.
"She's not expecting you, and there's no way you're seeing her without gaining her permission beforehand." I shut the door partially, not wanting Angelique to hear what I know is going to be an unpleasant exchange.
"You're deciding who she sees now?" he asks scornfully.
"I'm not deciding anything; but after what you've done, you should have had the decency to find out whether she wants to see you before turning up on her doorstep."
"You've always been a sanctimonious prick! Haven't you ever wanted something badly enough that you’d do almost anything to get it?"
"What you call being sanctimonious, I call being principled; and to answer your question, if I want something, I work for it. I don't just buy it." The flicker of discomfort in his eyes tells me my comment’s hit home. His contrition doesn't last, at least, not outwardly. He squares his jaw.
"I don't see how this is any of your business. Get out of my way, Adam."
"You'll have to make me because I'm not letting you near her unless she says otherwise."
"What gives you the right to lay down conditions?" He leans forward, color rising in his neck and face.
"You knew when you met her that she didn’t know what she was getting into, but you didn't care enough to warn her or help her out of the situation. You wanted her but didn't have the balls to defy your father or buck your so-called legacy; so, like everything else you ever wanted and couldn’t be bothered working for, you paid for her.
"And as if that hadn’t been fucked up enough, you continued your deal even when you found out why she needed the money!"
"I didn't force her, I helped her. Without me she would have slept with dozens of men," he replies through gritted teeth.
"Bullshit! You didn't do it to help Angelique, Justin. You did it for selfish reasons. You could have stopped it from happening; you didn't have to play a part in prostituting her, you selfish prick! Then, when your perfect little world imploded, you didn't even consider the position she was left in. You showed up at court with
another woman, adding to her humiliation. You didn't think about her, you don't care about her, you never have. Go home, Justin; call her. If Angelique wants to see you, she'll let you know."
"Fuck you, Adam! You don't know a damned thing about how I feel. You're no better than me; you want her, don't deny it. You may fool her, but don't expect me to believe you're willing to jeopardize your career for her. You accuse me of having used her, but that's exactly what you plan on doing—if you haven’t already. After all, why are you here?"
"I'm nothing like you, and I was invited."
"You forget that I've been here first," he taunts, and the anger, which I'd only barely managed to contain, explodes. I shove him across the hallway, my forearm locked against his throat until he comes to a thudding halt against the wall. He doesn't flinch, his eyes are pinpoints of anger, but whatever emotion he can summon is nothing compared to the storm raging in me. Not since my teenage years have I felt such an overwhelming desire to crush another man.
"Don't fucking talk about her like that!" I threaten, battling the red mist. I know just one more derogatory word from him will make me completely lose control. At this point, I don't care; I want an excuse to hurt him.
He manages to push me back, and I've yet to release my arm from his throat when I feel her touch. Rage ebbs away instantly, replaced by concern at the sight of Angelique’s ashen face. I can tell by Justin’s tiny inhalation of breath that he's wondering, like I am, exactly how much she heard.
"Angelique…" We both say as I turn to her. She looks up at me, eyes brimming with tears. I'm devastated that she may have overheard him accusing me of using her, and even worse, that she may have heard the boastful and utterly disrespectful way he talked about having been with her.
