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

going on, why you told me one thing and the cops another. Zoe’s trial starts Monday and unless you help me out here, she’s going to prison for a very long time, or worse.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, eyes drifting to a young man on a motorcycle, a young woman in back, hair flying out in a golden contrail as they disappear into the night.

“Oh, yes I do. Come on, Joe. The truth. I need you to tell me the truth. You owe Zoe that much. You lied to her before, about Serena. The least you can do is to tell the truth now.”

Set jaw. Clear eyes. A flicker of doubt. His resolve crumbling. I’m well acquainted with his type. For all his swagger, he’s a trust-fund kid schooled in the Anglo-Saxon Protestant tradition of noblesse oblige, the obligation to help the less fortunate to allay the guilt of one’s privilege, so I play to his congenital guilt, betting he won’t want to seem like a total douche.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would let her be railroaded. At least not if she didn’t do it, right?”

He drops his bag at his feet and sinks to a squat on the sidewalk.

“You were with Zoe when Sinclair was killed, weren’t you?”

He covers his face. “Yes.”

“Why’d you tell Detective Sorenson you weren’t with Zoe in the parking lot? That you were in the library? That’s a lie, Joe.”

A quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one is within earshot. “I’ve got this brother and he—”

“Sam, I know. Younger than you. Drug problem. Zoe told me all about him and the trouble he’s been in with the law.”

He stands and leans against a trash can. “He just can’t stop using.”

“You told Zoe what you saw at FCP, about her father and the bags of cash. You have to tell the truth.”

He clenches his fists and shakes them at me, his white knuckles a stark contrast to his scarlet face. “You’ve got it all wrong! I didn’t lie! I told that detective the truth, wrote it all out for him, how I was with Zoe. That she couldn’t have killed Mr. Sinclair because she was with me.”

“What? The prosecutor told me you said you denied being with her.”

He shakes his head hard from side to side as if trying to erase the memory. “After I signed the statement and gave it to the detective, he ripped it up.”

“What?”

“He said that if I ever told anyone about being with Zoe that day, that,” he says, his voice quavering, “he said he would set Sam up, make it so he goes away to prison for a very long time. “And he said he’d kill me. And feed me to the sharks.”

“Oh. My. God.”

He swipes at a runaway tear with the back of his hand. “Now you understand why I can’t help you?”

I give him a few seconds to gather himself, until he’s squared his shoulders in a futile attempt to give the impression he’s got everything under control. “I understand, but if I promise you that if you testify you were with Zoe when Sinclair was killed, I will make sure you and no one in your family is harmed, would you do it?” My words may be spoken with confidence, but it’s an act, one borne out of desperation. I have no idea how I’ll be able to keep that promise, given my less than cordial relationship with law enforcement.

He sighs. “Ms. Locke, I can’t take that chance. My mom and dad have suffered enough.”

“And what about Zoe? It’s a young woman’s life I’m talking about here.”

“And her dad? Yeah, like he’s not the cause of so many people’s suffering.” He lets out a sinister laugh. “I have to leave now.”

I grab his bag and sit on it. “Remember Joe, lying in court’s a crime.”

“I’m not going to court,” he says, eyeing the bag, trying to figure a way to dislodge me.

“So, what do you say? Will you do the right thing? Or will you just stick your head in the sand? Imagine how you’ll feel when Zoe gets convicted, knowing you were too cowardly to tell the truth.” I brace myself, half believing he’ll rush me and knock me on my ass to get his bag. “I didn’t take you for a coward, Joe. But then again, maybe you are. Appearances can be deceiving, can’t they?”

A few of the longest seconds of my life pass, my heart aching at the thought of Zoe alone in a windowless cell for twenty-three hours a day until she takes her final breath. Then, like the light of dawn cleaving the darkness, the fear lifts from Joe’s eyes, replaced by a narrow-eyed scowl of determination.

“Hell, my folks have done everything they can for Sam. I can’t hide behind my brother as an excuse. Sooner or later, he’s going to have to straighten himself out or he’s as good as dead, but that’s his choice. But Zoe doesn’t have one.”

“So you’ll testify at Zoe’s trial and go with me to the authorities to tell them about what Detective Sorenson said?”

He extends a hand to pull me to my feet. “Yes, I will.”

“Thank you. And one more thing.”

“What now?”

“Last thing, I promise. Were you mad because Sinclair was sleeping with Serena?”

“Is that what Zoe said?”

“Not exactly.”

His cheeks redden. “Yeah, I was mad. But not because she was fucking him. But because she was dealing, just like him. I thought she was better than that.”

“Dealing?” I ask, trying to sound surprised given my unconfirmed suspicions after I saw her at the clinic and the widow’s place.

“To kids on campus.”

“Holy shit.”

That’s why we broke up. She tried to sell Sam some dope. Can you believe that crap?”

Every nerve in my is body is electrified. “Sinclair and Serena were in business together?”

“Yep. Serena might have looked like a runway model, but deep down inside she was rotten. And so was he. I know it’s not right to