Peter paused, watching MaryLou stand as he’d instructed, allowing the judge to see how pregnant she was. A guilty person could have a pregnant wife, of course, but it never hurt to pull out all the stops. “Mr. Sandoval, as you might imagine, is not a flight risk.”
Peter laid out his prepared argument, knowing in the pit of his stomach it was a loser. The state needed to nail someone for the Shandra Newbury murder. What the hell. Might as well go for it. Plan B.
“And finally, your honor, last night Boston police discovered another body in an empty foreclosed house, similar to where Shandra Newbury was found. As you are well aware, my client was in police custody at that time. One might argue, your honor, that whoever killed Shandra Newbury-and you heard my client plead not guilty to that charge-also killed last night’s victim.”
Peter felt Elliot shift in the chair beside him, heard a low muttering from the spectator section. He looked at the prosecution team, but they were all busy with their paperwork, probably so certain of the outcome they barely listened.
“In closing, Your Honor, we would ask that my client, Elliot Sandoval, be released on his own recognizance. He is financially unable to provide bail. By law, bail amounts are not designed to prevent the defendant from release, but only to ensure their return. He is eager to show his good intentions, and offers to reassure the court by wearing a GPS device.”
Peter cleared his throat, stalling, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Not that it would matter. He was sorry, but Elliot Sandoval was about to go back into custody. His first child would be born with a father in jail. Peter had done his best. That was all he could do.
“Thank you, your honor.” Peter sat, trying to look confident, gave Elliot a pat on the back. Poor guy actually looked hopeful, which made Peter feel even worse.
The judge closed her files, adjusted the frothy white ruffle at her throat. She smoothed her already smooth hair away from a forehead, shifted in her chair.
“Motion granted, Mr. Hardesty,” she said. “Own recognizance, with a twice-daily check with parole. That is all.”
“Your honor!” The DA leaped to his feet, followed by his assistant. “We would strongly-”
“That is all, Mr. Grainger.” The judge stood, signaling the clerk. “You made your bed. Mr. Hardesty, your client is free to go.”
52
Holy shit. Jane almost said it out loud, stopped herself just in time. The judge was letting Sandoval out?
The court emptied again as the judge disappeared behind the quickly closing door panel. Sandoval hugged Peter, rumpling his jacket in the enthusiasm of his embrace, as MaryLou rushed to the bar, one hand on her stomach, sobbing full bore.
The district attorney’s table packed up its briefcases and scuttled out the side door before Jane could even try to get a statement. Jake, too, and the cop, gone in an instant. All probably huddled somewhere, speculating about why the rug had been pulled out from under their prosecution. The Daily reporter was texting madly, Jane saw. No more Facebook. This was news.
Jane hustled toward the defense table, notebook out, needing to call this in to the desk, wishing just this once she was back on TV, or at least had TJ with her. What a moment this was, Sandoval and his wife embracing, both crying, Peter looking happy. And baffled. Small comfort that the TV stations had missed all this, though they’d certainly try to interview the newly released-Jane couldn’t believe it-Sandoval at his home.
And of course, as she had to keep reminding herself, it didn’t mean Sandoval was innocent. But he was out of jail, a big step. That had to mean the evidence was flimsy, charges teetering on dismissal.
“Peter?” Jane waved at him to get his attention as the court officer led Sandoval away. She approached the low mahogany bar, the thigh-high wooden barrier that kept spectators on one side, lawyers on the other. “What do you think? Were you surprised? Why do you think the judge released him?
“MaryLou?” Jane turned to the young woman. MaryLou was still in full sob, wiping away tears with both palms. “Were you surprised?”
“Jane? Hang on a sec, okay?” Peter interrupted, tucking a manila file under one arm and opening the bar’s low swinging door. “MaryLou, Elliot will be out in an hour or so. I’m sorry, the processing will take a while. Want to meet me in the coffee shop? I need to talk to Jane, then I’ll be right there. You all right?”
“I’m okay, yes,” MaryLou said. “I don’t know how to…”
“We’ll talk,” Peter told her. “See you in a few.”
They watched MaryLou walk away, touching her hand to each of the pews as she waddled back to the heavy courtroom door. The court officer smiled as he held it open for her.
“She must so relieved,” Jane finally said. “What an amazing job you did, Peter. I can’t believe the judge-”
“It wasn’t me,” Peter said.
Jane was surprised to see him frowning.
“Aren’t you happy?” she asked. “I’d have thought you’d be-”
“Oh, I’m happy,” Peter interrupted. “But something is up. Big time.”
“Like what?” Jane tried to understand where he was going.
“She didn’t even hear my arguments, you know? Wasn’t listening. And the DA not even presenting? Shit. Sorry. I mean-hell. She’d made her decision before we even came into session. I have no idea why.”
“Your Kenilworth Street argument, don’t you think?” Jane had been wondering about the same thing, even before Peter brought it up in court. “Reasonable doubt?”
Peter didn’t answer. He loaded his paperwork, a file at a time, into the accordion folder, carefully tucking pencils into individual leather loops on the inner walls of his briefcase.
“Maybe they have someone, a suspect, for that?” Jane persisted. Maybe that’s why Jake had been so protective. So annoyingly silent. Maybe they’d solved the Liz McDivitt murder, and Shandra Newbury’s, and even Treesa Caramona’s. Maybe they were all connected by some bad guy still out there. “Because they were all in empty houses. But Elliot was in custody, couldn’t be involved. Exactly as you argued.”
Peter clamped his briefcase closed. Turned to her. His tie twisted to one side, probably the result of Elliot’s awkward bear hugs. He raked a hand through his hair.
“Wish I knew. If I did? Maybe I could get this whole thing dismissed.” Peter shrugged. “Anyway, Jane. I’m so sorry about what happened. I still owe you that dinner. How about tonight, now that my client is out? Unless that new victim is actually connected to him somehow. Then we’re in trouble.”
Jane stared at him, looking past him, seeing into the past and the future and into the possibilities of how these puzzle pieces might all fit together. She had an hour before her meeting with Liz McDivitt’s clients. Liz. Sandoval. Newbury. Caramona.
Was poor Liz’s death the reason Elliot Sandoval was freed? Because as Peter told the judge, whoever killed Shandra Newbury might also have killed the victim on Kenilworth Street. But because the name hadn’t been made public yet, Peter didn’t know it was Liz McDivitt, bank president’s daughter, a person who handled those high-risk mortgages and imminent foreclosures.
Should she tell Peter what she knew was the truth?
As a reporter she couldn’t reveal Liz’s identity to the public, but telling a lawyer, that wasn’t exactly public. And if Peter promised not to tell, she knew he was reliable. Lawyer-client privilege, after all. Though she wasn’t his client, they were working on the Sandoval case together. Kind of together. Plus, the cops would release her name any minute now. Had to.
“Jane?” Peter had touched her arm, and she jumped back, startled. “You still with us here?”
“Peter?” she said. “Can you keep a secret?”