by Rex Darby
I pause for breath, ready to lay into him again, but then Brett steps into my office, with a face like thunder. He’s heard the news already?
“Lincoln?” he says.
I turn to him, imagining my demotion, my utter humiliation, that’s to come.
“It’s all my fault!” JaMarcus says, jumping to his feet. “I made a mistake, and I didn’t—”
But as I look at Brett, I see his face is all screwed up in confusion.
“JaMarcus, be quiet,” I say. “What is it, Brett?”
“Come to my office, please, ADA Agnew,” he says. It puts the fear of God into me. Why would he address me like that? “Some information has come to light about Lieutenant Detective Matthew Landers that we need to discuss.”
My stomach drops out, and I walk out of my office, a shell. My whole world is about to collapse.
Liliana Fairweather
While I didn’t want a mistrial, it’s not a terrible outcome. Jason walks free, and Agnew’s so busy covering up Brown-Keat’s fuck up she doesn’t have the energy to continue. I’m sure she’ll dismiss the charges, or if she doesn’t, it’ll take a long time to go back to trial.
The ending of this trial makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Not-guilties have me swinging from the chandeliers, dancing in Bijou, picking up a good-looking patron for a one night stand, going on a spending spree, or sending lavish gifts to my mom.
But this is different. It’s calmer, quieter.
Marisol and I manage to coax Nerius from his cave with an offer of a barbecue in the back yard. He does a mean grilled fish, Caribbean style, and we get in plenty of beer. We all drink too much of it, and they both end up spending the night – Marisol on the couch and Nerius in my bed. Something may or may not have happened with Nerius in my bed. I plead the fifth.
The next morning, I wake up before either of them, and find a letter on my entrance mat. I open it, and it’s handwritten.
Dear Liliana Fairweather
You’re going to be the person to change my life.
I’m in federal prison for a murder I DID NOT COMMIT.
Look up my case ‘Myshella Watkins’ on Google and you’ll find it all. I was convicted for killing my boyfriend’s wife, but I didn’t do it. He did. Don’t tell ANYONE because he says he’ll kill my son if I tell. But I have to get out. My son’s growing up with my mom and she screwed me up for life and she’s letting my ex-boyfriend see my son when he wants to kill him because she doesn’t know! I NEED HELP. PLEASE.
Myshella Watkins
There’s a prison address and phone number at the top of the letter. I wonder if this Myshella Watkins or her family have enough money to pay me.
I’m still just inside the door when I see the outline of two figures through the blurred glass. Anyone who knows me never comes over without calling me, so it sets me on edge right away.
“Who is it?” I call through the door, hoping to catch them off guard. “Get off my property or I’ll call 911.” I wonder if I’m being paranoid.
“I’m Special Agent Aurelios with the FBI,” a kind male voice says on the other side of the door. My throat constricts. The fact he’s kind makes it even worse. I know these types. They’ll talk you into a comfort zone, and later get you brought up on all kinds of crazy charges, looking at you in a sympathetic way. “And I’m here with Special Agent Kennedy. We just want to have a chat about Burke Fairweather.”
THE END