The wind gusted, and she tucked her chin into her coat. “Ramsey’s lawyer is going to try to discredit Kristen Dillard’s testimony,” she said. “He’s planning to have an expert named Katherine Moscow testify about the fallibility of eyewitness identifications. She’ll talk about the photo array you showed Kristen, argue that the photos influenced her later identification at the lineup—”
“That’s ridiculous,” Leary said.
“Dr. Moscow gave similar testimony in seven other recent cases. In each of them, the jury acquitted.”
“So you want me to investigate Dr. Moscow?”
Jessie shook her head. “I can do that. I want you to find more evidence against Ramsey. Something physical. Something that will corroborate Kristen’s testimony.”
“Like what? Ramsey was too careful. He left no prints, no blood, no semen.”
“Find something.”
“You know the only reason we got him was because Kristen survived.”
She knew that all too well. Ramsey was a serial killer, but she couldn’t prosecute him for the other families he’d raped and killed because he’d left no evidence behind. Absolutely nothing linking the killings to him. His one mistake—the only one he’d ever made, as far as she knew—was stabbing Kristen, but not making sure she was dead.
“The killings stopped after his arrest,” Leary said. “Can you use that?”
“I want something concrete.”
“I’ll try. Maybe we should get together later, go over all the old evidence again.”
Was there a note of hopefulness in his voice? She couldn’t tell. He was doing his job, probably, and nothing more. She silently prayed that was the case. Surely he understood by now that what had happened had been a mistake.
“I can’t today,” she said.
She saw color bloom in his cheeks but pretended not to notice. Forced herself to maintain eye contact.
“When you have some time in your schedule, I mean,” he said. “We’ll go through the file. See if maybe we missed something the first time.”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Definitely.”
They stood together, the street noise the only break from the silence. After a moment, he said, “How have you been? You know, overall?”
“I’ve been good. How about you?”
“Holding up.”
“Good,” she said. “That’s good to hear.”
He nodded. Put his hands in his pockets. “Good.”
Nope. Not awkward at all.
19
Still thinking about Leary as she walked the final steps to her apartment building, she almost jumped when she found Jack Ackerman waiting by the door. He leaned against the brick wall, his hands in the pockets of a long black coat, a hat pulled down over his ears.
“Happy holidays,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
He came away from the wall. “Wow. We haven’t seen each other in weeks. Gotta say, I was expecting a warmer welcome.”
The truth was, her heart was fluttering. With the PCRA hearing over, she had thought he might disappear from her life, but here he was, smiling, looking at her with those blue eyes. But she didn’t want to encourage him, not when there was no way she could allow anything to happen between them. She forced herself to frown. “It’s late, Jack.”
He stepped closer. “Jessie, something’s been bothering me. About the Ramsey case. I’m very concerned.”
“Okay, so call me at my office.”
“Judge Spatt granted Ramsey a new trial because of my breakdown. So what I’m concerned about is, does that mean I don’t get another date with you?”
She sighed. Did he really think an endless stream of corny jokes was the best way to get her attention? “We never had a first date, Jack.”
He gazed into her eyes and she felt another flutter in her stomach. “That’s not alleviating my concern,” he said.
“How long have you been waiting here?”
He shrugged. “Not long. Maybe an hour.”
“An hour?”
“It’s no big deal. I have a lot of free time now.”
“It’s freezing out here.”
“Does that mean you’re inviting me in?”
She hesitated for a moment, tempted. But she knew better. She needed to end this, and she needed to end it now. No mixed messages. “Jack, it’s no more appropriate for us to get involved now than it would have been during the PCRA hearing.”
“Not true. My role in the Ramsey case is over. He has a new trial now, and a new defense attorney.”
“You know none of that changes the attorney-client privilege between you. The law—”
He waved his hand as if the law was of no consequence. “You know I would never disclose anything confidential.”
The door to her apartment building was mere feet away. All it would take was a step or two, and she would be past Jack, inside the warmth of her building, and safely on her way to bed. So what was she doing standing outside in the cold, arguing the same points over and over?
“It’s the appearance of impropriety that concerns me,” she said, as much to herself as to him. “I can’t take any chances with this trial.”
A gust of wind whipped down the street. She turned her face into the collar of her coat, cringing at the icy slap to her cheek. From the corner of her eye she saw Jack pull at the bottom of his hat.
The wind faded, and he said, “So we can’t even be friends?”
“It seems pretty clear you want to be more than friends.”
“I’m a lawyer. I know how to settle.” He extended a hand. “Friends?”
She knew how to settle also, and she never took the first deal offered. “Professional acquaintances would be better,” she said.
He gritted his teeth. “Ouch.”
“Take it or leave it,” she said.
Part of her hoped he would refuse, but he grasped her hand. Even through his glove, his grip was firm—not the macho death-grip some men employed to telegraph their masculinity, but strong and confident and warm. They shook, then she watched his hand slide into his pocket. She wondered what kind of deal she’d just made.
“Now that we’ve reached an understanding,” he said, goofy smile undercutting the seriousness of his tone, “what can two professional acquaintances do to get out of the cold, a few nights before Christmas?”
“You’re not going to dress up as Santa Claus or chase me around with mistletoe, I hope.”
“No. I’m Jewish.”
“I guess it’s safe, then.”
“If you want, I could chase you with a menorah. Or a dreidel? But I was thinking we could take a walk.”
She laughed, her breath visible in front of her face. “It’s been a long day, and I’m tired.”
“One of the things I learned during my stay at the nuthouse was that sometimes the best thing you can do for your body and your mind is to just take a walk. The cold won’t bother you so much once we get moving. Why not give it a try?”
“Believe it or not, I have walked before. It’s not some new thing I need to try—”
“Once around the block. Then I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
It would be so easy to say no. Just shake her head, tell him goodnight, and walk through that door into her building.
“Once around the block,” she said, “but that’s all.”
Of course he was right. Once they started out, the air felt less chilly and her body seemed to gain renewed energy. Soon she was noticing the snow-dusted buildings, the holiday-decorated windows, even a few stars shining above the towers of the city. She had forgotten how beautiful Philadelphia could look in the wintry darkness.
“Did you always know you wanted to be a prosecutor?” Jack said. “I mean, was that why you went to law school?”
“Hell no.” She shook her head, smiling as she remembered her younger self. “I thought I was going to be a big-shot corporate lawyer, working on huge deals and raking in the bucks.”
/> “Really? What changed your mind?”
“The state paid off a chunk of my student loan debt in return for a commitment to work for the government.”
He laughed. “Come on, you expect me to believe that’s why you became a prosecutor?”
“Penn Law ain’t cheap.”
“Jessie—”
“Okay, the truth is I had a really inspiring Criminal Law professor. Christine Keller. I worshiped the woman. She got me interested initially, and then I worked a summer for the DA’s office, and after that, working for some big law firm didn’t seem appealing anymore.”
Jack nodded, looking satisfied. “Criminal law isn’t for everyone, but I think, for a certain type of person, it draws them. I knew back in college, when I volunteered for various justice projects. I applied for law school because I wanted to be a defender.”
She watched his face as they walked. Even in the shadow of his coat collar, she thought she saw sorrow pass across his expression. She hesitated, then said, “Do you miss it?”
“Yes. Badly. But.... It wasn’t healthy for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jack matched his pace to hers, so close that his shoulder touched her every few steps. She doubted the contact was innocent, but she didn’t tell him to stop. What harm could there be in a few bumps, when they were both bundled in heavy coats?
“Drafting people’s wills isn’t bad,” he said. “Once business picks up, it should keep me relatively busy. And I’ll have time to pursue my hobbies.”
“You have hobbies?”
He shrugged and his shoulder nudged her again. “I’ll come up with some. Knitting, maybe? Go-kart racing?”
“I’m serious.”
“Maybe I’ll teach. Inspire some students of my own? Assuming any law school would have me, after my infamous episode.”
“Don’t dwell on that. It happened to you, but it doesn’t have to define you.” They stopped at the edge of Chestnut Street where it arced over the Schuylkill River, and Jessie looked down at the dark water. A few plates of ice drifted on a slow-moving current.
“Big plans for the holidays?” Jack said.
“I’ll probably spend Christmas with my dad.”
Without warning, he leaned forward and kissed her. His lips felt cold at first, but quickly warmed against hers. She jerked away, shoved him, and backed up a step.
“What the hell, Jack? I thought I was clear.”
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed a gloved hand over his face. “It just felt right. I wasn’t thinking.”
“This is why we can’t be friends, or even professional acquaintances, Jack. Because you want more than that.”
“And you don’t?” His eyes flashed.
“I can’t. Don’t you understand that? I can’t.” She turned away from him, and started walking.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“Home. And you should go home, too.”
20
Woody had never cared much for Christmas. His parents had not instilled in him the religious convictions that he had observed in many of his coworkers at SCI Huntington. To them, Jesus was real, a God that was present everywhere, even in a close-security prison. To Woody, Jesus was nothing but a stained-glass-window decoration and—when worn around the neck of a busty woman—a titillating fashion accessory. That half the world celebrated the birthday of some guy who lived over two-thousand years ago—and only to the age of thirty-three—had always struck Woody as pretty fucking ridiculous.
“What are you thinking about, baby?”
He blinked, finished his lukewarm coffee. Amber sat on the carpeted floor beside him. Morning sunlight filtered through the ornaments hanging from her Christmas tree, tinting her long blonde hair red, green, and white. He had been asking her to stop calling him that for six months, but at least it was moderately less cringe-worthy than sweetheart or honey.
He shrugged and put his empty mug on the carpet by his hip. “Jesus.”
She laughed—not the idiot giggle she used at the club but her real laugh. “You’re thinking about Jesus?”
“It is Christmas, remember?”
“Sure, but—” She crawled over to him, nuzzled her face into his neck, and any irritation over her pet names for him evaporated. He found her even sexier in her striped pajama pants and plain white tank-top than he did when she wore the thongs, push-ups, thigh-highs, and platforms that comprised her professional wardrobe. Her breasts, swelling beneath the cotton tank, crushed against his bare chest. “I’ve never seen your pious side before,” she said into his ear.
She slid a hand past the waistband of his boxers. He grabbed her wrist, stopped her.
“Are you going to open your present?” he said.
Only two gifts waited in the shadow of the tree. His gift for her and hers for him. He hadn’t known what to get her, had almost resorted to a teddy bear before his brother pointed out the bracelet in a jewelry catalog. Michael, always smarter, even now.
She began to kiss his chest.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Open it.”
Her lip curled. He recognized the sly grin from her performances. She turned and reached for the small box under the tree. Her tank-top lifted as she stretched, revealing the tattoo on her lower back.
She sat Indian-style beside him, the box in her hands. “Is there something you want to say while I open it?”
“Not really.”
She peeled away the wrapping paper and opened the box. When she looked inside, her grin slipped into a look of disappointment. “Oh.”
“Put it on.”
She lifted the bracelet out of the box. But before she could work the clasp to close it around her wrist, her body hitched and she started to cry.
“What the hell, Amber? It’s returnable.”
“It’s not that. I just thought—”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. “What are you, nuts?” He reached for the edge of the chair behind him and pulled himself to a standing position. Her blonde head bobbed as she cried. “You thought I was going to propose to you?” Shaking his head, he walked to the kitchenette and refilled his coffee mug.
She followed him. “Woody—”
“You really think I’m going to marry a girl who spreads her legs for tips?” With his free hand, he snatched the bracelet from her. “You don’t like this, I’ll take it back.”
“Don’t, I like it.”
He turned his back on her, stared at the sink. He knew the real reason for his anger had nothing to do with her marriage fantasies. It was that by crying she’d changed the mood of the morning and made things more difficult than he’d planned. Now when he pitched his idea she would take it as an insult instead of seeing it as a fun game. She would be wounded. She would refuse. And then he’d have to threaten her.
He sighed.
“What is it, Woody? Why are you mad?”
Without makeup caked all over her face, she looked twice as beautiful as she did at the club, but he would never tell her that now. He’d already managed to put all kinds of wrong ideas in her head. God only knew what kinds of scenarios she’d imagined. The two of them raising a family? Amber nursing their infant with one of her implant-gorged breasts?
His eyes looked past her and found the other present under the tree. “What did you get me?”
A sad smile brightened her face. She pushed a sheet of blonde hair away from her eyes, turned, and skipped to the tree. He watched her ass move under the pajama bottoms and tried to convince himself that the morning could still proceed according to plan. She was a free spirit, uninhibited, adventurous.
The words no longer rang true. Amber had exposed her all too conventional heart and now he could see her only as what she was. Fragile, vulnerable. Damn her.
She returned with his present, a flat rectangle wrapped in red tissue paper. He tore away the paper. “A book?”
“Look at it.”
It was a beginner’s guide to chess. He opened it, f
lipped through the pages. “Michael loves chess.” His brother had mastered the game at a young age, though in high school he’d preferred varsity sports.
“I thought you could teach yourself the game and then, when you visit him, the two of you could play.”
He put the book on the kitchen counter. “Thank you.”
“Can I have the bracelet? I’m sorry I cried. It was silly of me. Sometimes I get stupid around the holidays.”
He gave it back to her. This time, she put it on without bursting into tears. She held up her wrist so the white gold links reflected the kitchen light. “It’s pretty.”
She kissed him, wrapped her arms around his waist. Now or never.
“Amber, there’s something I want you to do for me.”
She looked into his eyes. “What?”
With her face so close to his, and her cheeks still damp with tears, he couldn’t tell her. He gestured toward the other room. “Let’s talk on the couch.”
After he’d made his request, she threw one of the couch pillows at his head. Years working at a prison had honed his reflexes. He deflected the missile with his right forearm and it went spinning into the Christmas tree, where it knocked ornaments and pine needles to the floor.
“You asshole!”
“Calm down, Amber.”
“I’m not a whore!”
All he’d asked her to do was turn on her charm and seduce a guy—something she did three nights a week with countless slobbering strangers anyway. As he’d feared, she took it as an insult to her character.
“A whore fucks for money,” he said. “I’m not offering you any.”
“Like that makes a difference. I don’t even know the guy.”
“You’ll like him.” Woody highly doubted the truth of this assertion, but he plunged forward anyway. There was no other option now but to bull his way through. “He’s a lawyer, a very smart guy.”
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