“Sorry, Brinkman. No can do. The boss says it’s a ‘must go.’” He chuckled.
I glared at him and headed for the lockup. But one of us was happy. Scott was beaming. “Thanks for getting me out, Ms. Brinkman. You’re saving my life.”
“That phone’s in my office within the hour. Got it?”
“Absolutely. I’ll make the call as soon as I get back to Bauchet Street. You’re the best, man. I mean it.”
I remembered a question I’d had. I glanced around to make sure no one was listening and spoke in a low voice. “What made you choose Paige’s apartment?”
Scott stared at me for a moment, then licked his lips. “I… uh, I knew Chloe lived there and I figured she’d have good shit, ’cause she was, like, famous.” He snorted back some nasty-sounding phlegm. I leaned away.
The bailiff called out, “Wrap it up; we’re moving ’em out.”
I talked fast. “Listen, I’ll be setting pretrial dates so I can keep pressuring the DA to give you a deal. You’d better show up. I mean it; don’t be messing around. Be there and be on time. That guy wants your head on a spike. If you play it smart, I may be able to talk him down.” Truthfully, I didn’t like my chances. I just wanted to make sure Scott had plenty of incentive to behave.
“You got it.” Scott gave another of his honking snorts.
It made me wince. “That’s gotta hurt. You ever talk to a doctor about that?”
“About what?”
“Never mind.”
I headed back to the office and told Michelle about my ordeal. “If Walt doesn’t make that little doofus back off, I might have to cut him.”
“I’ll hold him down for you.” She shook her head. “That phone better be worth it.”
I pictured Paul Wesson’s fierce glare. “I don’t know how it could be.”
I went back to work, going over my questions for the jury and my opening statement. I kept looking at the clock, wondering where Scott’s minions were. When they still hadn’t shown up at six o’clock, I stomped out and fumed to Michelle. “He’s got to be home by now. Maybe I should go out there and remind him that I can get off his case as fast as I got on it.”
“I wouldn’t get all twisted up about it yet. Scott’s a flake, and now that he’s out of jail, he’s in no hurry.”
“Guess getting him out on OR wasn’t my smartest move.”
“Probably not. But he still needs you. He’ll come through. Go home, have a drink, get some rest.”
I started to head back into my office to take her advice, then paused. I hadn’t told her or Alex about my last visit with Dale and how he’d gone ballistic. But if I did, I’d have to explain what’d caused it, and that would mean telling them about Sebastian Cromer. I’d never told anyone about him before Dale. Not even Michelle.
Back when we were kids and I was in the middle of the nightmare, I’d told her things were bad and that I hated Sebastian, but I was ashamed, so I’d never come right out and said what was happening. I’d blamed myself, figured it had to be my fault-that there was something wrong with me. And Celeste only reinforced that belief. I eventually got over that, but I never wanted to even think about it, let alone talk about it. So I’d never told Michelle the whole story.
For some reason, I wanted to now. “You have plans tonight?”
“Big ones. Wash my hair, rewatch some Mad Men episodes, do laundry. My life is very full.”
“Mind if I tell you something? I mean ancient history, childhood stuff.”
She gave me a curious look and sat down in front of my desk. “What’s up?”
“Remember when we were in eighth grade and I was always in trouble?”
“How could I forget? You made me hide your stash of Jack Daniel’s in my locker for a week. I was so paranoid I couldn’t sleep the entire time.”
“You drank some of it.”
She laughed. “Hey, I needed to calm down.”
“I guess you were entitled.” I smiled briefly. “Anyway, I thought I should tell you why I was such a… mess.” I told her about Sebastian, about my mother, about all of it. When I finished, Michelle had tears in her eyes.
“I knew something was going on at home, but jeez, Sam.” She shook her head. “I had no idea it was that bad.” Michelle sighed. “Though, now that I think back on it, it all fits. Why didn’t you tell me? My folks would’ve taken you in.”
“Celeste would never have let me do that. It’d make her look bad.”
Michelle had a disgusted look. “You’re right. It’s always all about her. You know, I used to get the feeling she was jealous of you.”
“What? Why?”
“It was just a feeling I got whenever she was around. And now I know I was right-and I know why. She didn’t snag Sebastian. You did. He didn’t want her. He wanted you. With her ego, I bet that really chapped her ass.”
“That’s so gross I don’t even know what to say.”
“Anyway, I don’t think she’s jealous anymore. She’s gotten a little more human-or at least better at imitating one-since she married Jack.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy.” Which was just a fluke. Celeste had gone looking for money and accidentally fell on a guy who happened to be decent. “Anyway, I told Dale about it.”
Michelle’s eyes got wide.
“He lost it completely.” I told her about his meltdown.
She sank down in her chair and shook her head, her expression sad. “It’s so strange. He’s the perfect dad in so many ways. And if he’d been around, he would’ve shut Sebastian down in a heartbeat. But then there’s this other side.”
I nodded. “Jekyll and Hyde was a true story, after all.”
FORTY-SIX
We packed up and I went home. I made myself go to bed at eleven, but I was so keyed up I didn’t manage to fall asleep until one a.m. Good news: I didn’t have the dream. Bad news: I only got about five hours of sleep.
But I still woke up wired. I always do when I’m in trial. It doesn’t matter how late I stay up or how much I drink. I pop out of bed like someone zapped me with a Taser.
I tanked up on coffee anyway. The adrenaline wouldn’t last all day, and I needed to be sharp. I was about to start the hardest part of the case: picking the jury. It’s an old saying that you win or lose your case during jury selection. But for a change, that old saying is absolutely true. And I think of it as a game of trying to catch the liars. Not necessarily deliberate liars. Most people who say they won’t hold it against your client for being a gangbanger or a drug addict-or a cop-really mean it. They’re wrong, but they’re not lying.
Others really are just flat-out lying. Either because they want to get off the jury or because they want to get on.
In a case like this one, there’d be a lot more of the latter. Some because they hope to sell their story later; others because they want a front-row seat to the biggest show in town.
Don’t get me wrong, the fact that some people want to be on a jury doesn’t necessarily mean they’re bad news. But I have to dig a little harder to figure out how they really feel about my client, because they’re more likely to lie about it.
I put on my only good suit, which was starting to show signs of serious wear and tear around the seat and elbows. But it was my good-luck charm, my confidence armor. I was just finishing my usual bowl of oatmeal when Xander called to tell me he was downstairs. A jolt of adrenaline made my stomach lurch. I dumped out the bowl, grabbed my briefcase, and headed out, heart pounding, brain running two hundred miles an hour. This was it.
I slid into the backseat.
Xander smiled into the rearview mirror as he pulled away. “Big day! You nervous? I sure would be.”
“Yeah, I am.”
I always had first-day-of-trial jitters. But they’d be gone once we got down to business.