States of Grace by Mandy Miller (great novels of all time .TXT) 📗

He flings himself back in his chair. “Now why don’t you tell me what you really think?”

“It’s a loser. I know it.”

A waiter wearing a red satin bow tie appears. “What can I get for you?” he asks, with the emphasis on the “you” and looking only at Marcus.

“We need a minute,” I say. The waiter doesn’t budge. “We need a minute here, okay?”

The waiter flares his nostrils at me, smiles at Marcus, bowing in retreat.

“The bow tie is a bit over the top,” Marcus says.

“Ya think?”

“Okay, so it’s not a slam-dunk winner.”

“Who would have thought I would end up defending the types of scum we used to lock up?”

He reaches for my hands across the table. “Don’t let it get to you. It’s just work, remember?”

I fix Marcus with a stare. “I need to talk to someone about this, or I’m going to explode. But you are sworn to secrecy.”

Marcus draws his thumb across his lips. “Do go on.”

“There’s a mountain of texts between my client, Zoe, and her former best friend. Seems Zoe had a crush on the victim.”

“Not good.”

“It gets worse.”

“The BFF stole Zoe’s boyfriend, and, while Zoe didn’t say it, I get the feeling the BFF may have been sleeping with the victim, and the BFF was the one who found the body.”

“Very soap opera.”

“What does all of that say to you?”

“It says your girl had some pretty strong motives for murder.”

“First big case back, and this is what I’ve got.” I make a zero with my hands.

He raises an eyebrow. “You know most defendants are guilty. At least you used to know that,” he adds with a wink.

“Stop making fun of me. I’m serious. I’m going to lose, which is bad enough. It’s not that I need Zoe to be innocent. It would be nice to have a theory, any theory, that doesn’t involve her being the only possible killer. I’d like one shaky leg to stand on so I have something to say in court that doesn’t sound like freakin’ fantasy land. I need a plan B, Marcus.”

“You used to love raking attorneys over the coals for their outlandish defenses.”

“Asshat.” I kick him under the table. “Thing is—the victim was the only person who listened to her. Why would she want to kill him?”

“Jealousy knows no bounds, my friend.”

I stare out at the parade of cars. Regular people with regular lives. Why is it that looking from the outside in has a way of smoothing the rough edges of life? In all likelihood, some of them are in the middle of ugly divorces, or nursing ailing parents. But from the outside, their lives are bathed in a warm, comforting glow of routine. I’d settle for a little of that illusion at this point.

The waiter reappears.

“Burger for her, hold the bun. New York strip for me, rare,” Marcus says, shooing the waiter away with the menus.

“To make matters worse, she’s a total loon.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she has a history of hurting herself and fighting.”

“More not good.”

“And pot. And who knows what else.”

Marcus covers a sly grin.

“But, guess what? She may be a psychological train wreck, but wait for it…She’s competent. At least that’s what Michaels told me today.”

Marcus stuffs his fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing. “I guess you do get what you pay for.”

“Zoe was adopted. From Russia. And by Gretchen. You remember her, don’t you? What a start in life.”

“I watched a program about the problems the kids adopted from orphanages overseas can have. Maybe that’s got something to do with her behavior.”

“Thanks, Oprah. What? You thinking about adopting?”

He gives me an exaggerated eye roll. “‘No’ and ‘Hell no’ would be the long and the short answers. Heck, I haven’t even had a date in months. Working too hard.”

A taught silence descends between us. The real reason Marcus called is about to surface, an intuition confirmed by the change in his tone from jocular to serious as a hanging judge.

“I want nothing more than to see you succeed. I was quite concerned about you when you fell off the edge last year. I wasn’t sure I’d get you back.”

“And?”

“I have certain obligations not to talk about cases I’m working on, just like you.”

I look away, guilt bubbling in my gut for having said too much about Zoe’s case.

“And?”

“And if I said maybe I saw something that rang a bell, you would believe me, right?” He leans his bulk across the table. “Maybe you should go back and look again at everyone involved in the case with fresh eyes.”

“Why? What am I missing?”

“Exactly! You’re missing something, but I can’t tell you what. I wish I could. You’ve spent a career thinking accused equals guilty. But sometimes that’s not the case, even though it can seem that way at first blush.”

I scoot my chair in close. “What are you saying, exactly? Do you or do you not you have anything to help me? I sure would like to see it if you do. As it stands, I got zippo, nothing, nada. And I’m running out of time.”

“Think about the types of cases we work on at Statewide. We investigate and prosecute crimes that impact more than a single jurisdiction and—”

“Thanks for the lecture, so how’s about telling me something I don’t know?”

He hangs his head. “I can’t do that.”

I stifle a sigh of frustration and stare over his shoulder at the bar crowd, drinks and voices raised, without a care.

“Stop for a second and think about what kind of crimes those are? What kind of task forces did we work on together?”

“Organized crime. Drugs. Crooked politicians.” I ball up my napkin and throw it on the table.

“Look, all I’m saying is try to see outside the little box of your case. Look into the wild blue yonder and see what’s out there in the blue sea of death that might help you find your defense.”

“And by ‘blue,’ can I assume you’re referring to OxyContin?” I say, referring to the street name for the pain