When asked for comment on Ms. Saint’s involvement in the upcoming murder trial, record label attorney Max Simpson stated that Ms. Saint cannot comment on the pending trial but that she will cooperate with authorities at every stage of the process, as she has all along.
Mr. Shepherd is a relatively new player in all of this but described himself as knowing some of the same people as Ms. Saint. That’s a circle we’d all like to run in! We’ll update you with everything we find out about this mysterious charmer.
The byline at the bottom said the story was filed by Maggie White, Entertainment Buzz Reporter. I expanded her picture with my thumb and forefinger.
It was the blond woman from the after-party. She’d talked to me, run with my evasive quote, then taken video during my meeting with Lizzy. “Shit.”
“That’s ten, Uncle Nate!” said Page, clapping.
Their dad was a football coach. His discipline methods were predictable. I got out of the water and started my ten push-ups. “When did that post, Reed?”
“This morning,” said Reed.
“7, 8, 9, 10,” said Page. She clapped.
“Did you go to her concert too?” said Reed.
I stood and brushed the sand from my hands. “I did.”
Reed's eyes got big. “How was it?”
“Loud.”
Reed giggled. “You’re so old, Uncle Nate.”
“But pretty great. The woman can sing.”
“Did she sing ‘Rainbow Bridge?’”
“It was the encore.”
“With the a cappella part?”
“You got it.”
Reed couldn’t take her eyes off her phone. “What was she like?”
I thought for a minute. “Strong. Charming. A little wild.”
“Was she nice though?” said Page.
“She was. To me anyway.”
“Why would anyone want to hurt her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Isn't that why the man you represent killed that person? Because he was trying to hurt her?”
I hope the jury saw things like my eight-year-old niece. “Yes.”
“Why would somebody do that?”
“Sometimes we’re wrong about people. We think they’re our friends but really they’re doing something that hurts us.”
“Like with Aunt Sarah?” said Page.
“Page!” said Reed. Her eyes were big as she looked up at me. “I'm so sorry, Uncle Nate.”
“Don't be, honey.” I crouched down and took Page’s hand. “Especially like Aunt Sarah. And if you're ever not sure if someone is your friend or if you’re not sure if something’s going to hurt you, you come to me or your mom or your dad or to Pops or to Grandma. Okay? We’ll help you figure it out.”
Page’s eyes were welling up. “I'm sorry, Uncle Nate. Mom told us not to talk about it with you. I forgot.”
“Don't worry, Page. Aunt Sarah would want you to ask me questions. And I do too. Come here.” I gave them both a quick hug and a kiss on top of the head. “Now go tell Grandma that Pops will be back in an hour and I'll put away this paddleboard.”
Reed and Page hesitated for just a second before they ran through the yard games up to the cottage to find Grandma. Tom tossed a bocce ball in the air and said, “C’mon, Nate. Izzy and Kate are getting cocky.”
“Is it cocky if you win every time?” said Izzy to Kate.
“I just think it’s truthful,” said Kate.
“Coming,” I said and turned away. I grabbed the paddleboard but it slipped and I dropped it, splashing lake water up onto my face.
Which was just as well because I had realized that I hadn't said my wife's name out loud in a very long time.
19
I was on my way to the office Monday morning when my phone buzzed. Olivia. “Hey, Liv.”
“I've got some hints, Nate, but still no answers.
“Shoot.”
“Aaron Whitsel’s records still check out. He’s a full-time grad MBA student at the University, he's a decent student, and he’s spent his last two summers interning at major finance companies in Chicago and Detroit. Where he lives and what he drives matches up with what he made in the summers. Wardrobe and car are a little pricey, but he was working at pretty big companies and his student loan balance makes up the difference.”
“Loan balance high?”
“Of course, but everyone’s is now. Nothing unusual there.”
“Okay. Any more on Purcell?”
“Blake Purcell is murkier.”
“How so?”
“Remember how I told you that he dropped out of school after a couple of years but has been living the same life on his own near the University?”
“You did. We guessed that maybe his parents were still footing the bill.”
“Right. They're not. He was always on scholarship, part academic, part soccer. His parents live in Indiana and his dad works at an ethanol plant whose production keeps fluctuating. Mom’s in and out of part-time work. Doing okay but sure doesn’t seem like enough left over to keep a separate residence going for a kid.”
“Does he work?”
“Not that I can see.”
“Expenditures?”
“High priced car and condo. No student loans to fund it and no job. Nothing flashy but the expenditures seem higher than what’s coming in.”
“Turn up any dealing indicators?”
“Nothing major. If he is receiving a lot of money, he's being smart right now about doling it out slowly; nothing to attract attention unless you really had a reason to dig in.”
“Which we do. And?”
“I have a theory.”
“Which is?”
“Blake was the supplier and Dillon provided the access.”
“I thought Dillon was the supplier?”
“I did too, at first. But think about it—Dillon travels all over the country with these tours. He doesn’t bring everything the stars need with him and he’s certainly not going to risk carrying something like heroin with him everywhere. What makes more sense is that he has contacts in different cities for whatever the tour needs and uses each one when he needs them. His phone is his trade. So the star says what he wants, Dillon makes a call, and Purcell appears.”
“Hmm. Good thought. Keep digging. If Blake takes the stand, I’m going to need all the ammo I can get.”
“Nate, this isn't the kind of ammo you can just walk into court and shoot.”
“Got it, Liv. But I need to be ready just in case.”
“The people Blake’s dealing with aren’t gonna want the publicity.”
“Isn't that more dangerous for Blake than me?”
“It should be. But…”
“I’ll only use what’s necessary. Great work. Send me a bill for what you've done so far.”
“It's more fun to have you owe me.”
“I’ve got deep pockets right now. Take advantage of it.”
“True. I’ll have the rest of these reports ready when you come to the gym.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Sure. I'll talk to you…Oh, I almost forgot. Heard any good songs lately?”
“Go to hell, Brickson.”
“I’ve been listening to ‘Give Me the Whole Thing.’”
“All the way to hell.”
“Although I do like ‘Roll Me One as You Roll on Out.’”
“I don't think you'll need a navigation system to find it.”
“Personally, I like to get close to the speakers when I listen.”
“Just follow the path you’re on.”
“Really close. But then again, I’m not a mysterious lawyer.”
“Fuck off, Liv.”
“Rock on, Nate.”
We both hung up. It wasn’t a lot but it was something. Hopefully, by the time we went to trial, I’d have something we could use.
Cyn was already at work in the conference room when I arrived. She glanced up at me and went back to typing. “Why would yo
u talk to a reporter?”
“Good morning, Cyn. My flight was fine, thanks. Thanks for making the arrangements.” I picked up a mug and went to the coffee machine.
Cyn stopped typing, looked at me, and folded her hands on the table.
I poured. “I didn’t know she was a reporter.”
She went back to typing. “Enjoy the party?”
“That’s where Lizzy wanted to meet.”
“Lizzy is it?”
“That’s what she preferred.”
“So you got close?”
“No.”
“That’s not what it looked like in the picture.”
“It was hard to hear.”
Cyn sighed. “There’s a certain amount of attention that goes with a case like this. Try not to make it worse.”
“Will do. And I accept your apology too.”
Cyn raised one dangerous eyebrow.
“For sending me to North Carolina and putting me in such a terrible position. I know you didn't mean it.”
Cyn ignored me.
I walked around the conference table to the ever-present stacks of papers and files. “Anything important happen over the weekend?”
She glanced significantly at the picture from Entertainment Buzz that was conveniently loaded on her tablet.
“Besides that,” I said.
“Daniel prepared the preliminary jury instructions. He emailed you a set to review. I sent you a follow-up with notes on which ones need attention.”
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow at her.
“Based on what Christian used in our last two murder trials. Olivia wants to talk to you about the results of her investigation into Mr. Purcell and Mr. Whitsel.”
“She caught me on the way in.”
“Good. And Lindsey worked on categorizing the physical findings.”
“Such as?”
“She’s putting together a diagram of the broken bones. She figures we’re going to see one at trial.”
I nodded. “That's what I would do if I were them.”
“Finally, the prosecutor is filing a motion today to sanction you for tampering with a witness.”
My stomach did a little flip at the word sanction before I thought it through. “He talked to Lizzy Saint too.”
“Exactly. So I took the liberty of having Daniel draft a memo opposing the prosecutor’s motion and filing a cross-motion to sanction him for the same conduct.”
“Oppose it by mucking it up?”
“I don’t see the pursuit of equal and proportionate justice as mucking it up, Nathan.”
“Of course not. Anything else need my attention?”
“Not before noon.”
“Good. Let me catch up and we’ll all meet here in the conference room then. You want to order everyone some lunch?”
Cyn stared at me.
“I meant to say do you like deli sandwiches or pizza?”
“Sandwiches.”
“Excellent.” I nodded, went to my office, and set to work digging out from under the electronic shit that had piled up in my absence.
Cyn, Lindsey, and Danny were all waiting when I arrived with the sandwiches.
“Which one’s the egg salad?” said Danny.
“No one that I'm associated with would order such an abomination.”
Danny grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ll ‘Roll on Out’ as soon as I’m done.”
Lindsey shook her head and took a turkey club. “If you do, make sure you ‘Roll Him One First.’”
Cyn sat straight in her chair, unfolding her sandwich wrapper with precise motions. “I'm sure he'll ‘Give You the Whole Business,’ Daniel.”
Lindsey snorted. “The Whole Thing, Cyn,” she said before taking a huge bite.
Cyn folded her wrapper into a placemat. “Yes, of course. He’ll ‘Give You the Whole Thing.’”
I opened my own sandwich. “If you three fail as attorneys, I'm sure it won't take you long to fail as comedians.”
Lindsey pointed at Danny over her sandwich. “See, Danny, don't forget where you came from. You start staying out all night with rock stars and spending all your energy on being mysterious, and pretty soon you get cranky and tired and can’t even interact unless you have the adrenaline rush of the paparazzi.”
“You done?” I said.
“I don't know,” said Lindsey. “Has Entertainment Buzz posted anything else yet today, Danny?”
Danny made a show of scrolling through his phone. “No. But it’s not rock 'n roll o’clock yet, is it?”
“That was a real Ripper, Daniel,” said Cyn.
“Is that his name?” I said. “I’d forgotten, Sandy, thank you.”
There were a couple of more comments about bosses jetting to all-night parties while real lawyers worked before I said, “Okay, Cyn, where are we?”
“Since your weekend cost the most, why don't you fill us in on what you found out first.”
I told the group about how Lizzy claimed she didn’t remember anything and about Jared Smoke's general antagonism. I also let them know that Max Simpson had cut off any further contact with Lizzy but that he confirmed that she wouldn’t testify to anything that wasn’t in the report.
“Honestly, I think we are better off with that,” said Lindsey.
“Why?
“I spent the weekend making an illustration of all of Dillon Chase’s broken bones.”
“Cyn mentioned that.”
“The last thing we want is a witness who saw it happen.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. We're going to get it stuck up our ass with diagrams and photos. We’re going to hear about what a painful way this would be to die. If we have a witness give us the individual blow-by-blow of screams and cracks and pops too, we’re screwed.”
“Dying from heroin addiction isn't too pleasant either.”
“No, but we aren’t going to be able to prove that would have happened either.”
“I think we might.”
“How?”
“I’ve got an idea about a toxicologist. I’ll let you know if it pans out.”
“So I put together the injury chart.”
“And?”
“This is one of the most brutal killings I’ve ever seen.”
I sighed. “I’m hearing that a lot.”
“I mean it, Nate. I think a traditional self-defense argument gets him fried.”
“Ohio doesn’t fry people anymore, Lindsey.”
“Fried, injection, what's the difference?”
“I imagine a pretty significant one.”
“Nate, no jury is going to excuse what he did.”
“We’re not looking for an excuse, we’re looking for a justification.”
“Is there a difference?”
I sighed again. “Not a significant one.”
“Invaders crest the final hill, and drop their lance on me, I rise and fight, the last to stand, futile though it be.”
We all stared at Danny.
He shook his head, and looked down, embarrassed to be the center of attention.
“What was that?” I said.
He half-smiled and didn’t meet our eyes. “It’s from Ripper. ‘Last Stand.’ It seemed appropriate.”
I thought. “I don’t remember that from the concert.”
“What about ‘stand and fight, stand and fight, stand and fight and bleed?’”
“That I remember,” I said. “That’s one of Hank’s songs then?”
Danny nodded. “Third hit off the album, I think.”
“Getting back to the murder trial?” said Lindsey. “I was saying it’s going to be hard to explain these injuries?”
“Right,” I said. “Danny, I want you to work on a motion in limine. There’s no basis for the prosecution to say that Lizzy remembers anything from that night and they should be excluded from speculating or citing hearsay reports unless she appears at trial. And no conjecture about what she might have witnessed when she was half-conscious.”
<
br /> “Got it.”
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Where are you going?” said Lindsey.
“To talk to Hank. You’re coming with me. We’re going to talk to him about Lizzy and Smoke. And about breaking a man to pieces.”
20
Cade Brickson answered the door and I swear that every time I saw him, I was surprised again at just how big he was. He waved us in and said, “He’s out back.”
“Outside the house?” said Lindsey.
“He’s allowed in the yard. You going to talk about the case?”
I nodded.
“I’ll stay in here then.” Cade sat down at a table and started tapping on a laptop.
We made our way through the common room and out the back door to Cade’s deck where we came upon Hank in the act of spitting a chicken. Two chickens, actually, which looked to be in the final stages of being trussed and mounted. Hank’s hair was a little wilder and his skin a little tanner as if he’d been spending a good part of his days outside. His blue eyes gleamed when he saw us. “I don’t suppose you snuck some beer in for me in that file folder of yours.”
“Sorry, Hank,” I said. “That would violate the terms of your release.”
“If they learned about it.”
“And put you back in a cell,” said Lindsey.
Hank sighed and stared at the sun for a moment. “Can’t have that I guess.”
I pointed. “Expecting company?”
Hank blinked. “What do you mean?”
“The chickens.”
He cocked his head. “Dinner. One for me, one for Cade.”
“Of course.”
“Here, let me just get this on.” Hank finished tying off the legs of the last bird then set the spit on Cade’s gas grill that had been adapted to cook rotisserie style. “There we go, not as good as an oak flame but not bad.”
Hank took a seat at Cade’s patio table and motioned for us to join him. As we sat, I said, “How’ve you been?”
“Counting the days until this is over, Counselor. How many days ‘til trial?”
“Fourteen.”
“The trial will take a week?”
“More or less.”
“So only three more weeks.” He drummed his fingers. “I suppose I can handle that.”
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