by Rick Acker
Sofia had just finished recounting the story of their visit with Tim Fitzpatrick. “The phone number he pointed out on the bill was international, and it had the country code for China,” she said. “I tried doing a reverse lookup, but I couldn’t find anything. Which is hardly a shock, of course.” She looked at Nate. “I was wondering—do you think Kevin could find anything? Legally, of course.”
“Of course,” Nate said with a smile.
Jessica stifled a chuckle. Nate glanced over at her, still smiling, and she caught his eye and smiled back. He looked away just a split second too soon, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. It was the same sort of thing he did two years ago when they got close following Tim’s death.
Back then, he had also suddenly gotten even busier than usual. He had never seemed able to pick up the phone when she called or talk for more than a few minutes when he returned her calls. He responded to her emails and texts with terse, all-business replies. He was never rude, but he had clearly been sending a message and setting boundaries. Just like he was now. But why?
“Fitzpatrick isn’t going to testify for us voluntarily,” Sofia continued. “Which is a problem.”
Renewed fear stabbed at Jessica. “But we need him. Can’t we make him testify?”
“Mmm, sort of,” Sofia said, waggling her hand. “We can subpoena him, but he can just refuse to testify. The worst that will happen to him is that he’ll go to jail for contempt—and I think he’ll take that any day over testifying. Or he could just take the stand and lie. We probably won’t be able to prove that he’s lying, so we can’t really threaten him with a perjury charge.”
“What can we do?” Jessica asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Sofia said. “Hopefully, Kevin will find something that ties that number to Lan Long. And if the FBI takes the deal we offered them, we should be able to convince the jury that Lan Long are very bad guys and that Linc Thomas was informing on them. So, the moment Linc walked into the Captain’s Lounge, someone called these very bad guys who would want to kill him. Oh, and coincidentally, these very bad guys may be connected to people who hacked the CODIS database and altered Brandon’s DNA profile, ensuring that he’d be blamed for Linc’s death.” She took a sip of her iced tea. “Anyway, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
“It’s a good story,” Nate said, nodding. “Do you think it would get better if one of Lan Long’s trafficking victims testified—especially if she had also been victimized by Linc Thomas?”
“Yep,” Sofia said. “That would add visceral appeal to our theory of the case and simultaneously make the jury less interested in finding someone to punish for his murder. Two birds, one stone.”
“Indeed,” Nate said. “Do you think you’ll be able to persuade one of them to testify?”
“Already on it,” Sofia replied. “I’ve been in touch with Jade Li, and she thinks she may be able to help. She just found a couple of girls who are out of the business and have people who can protect them. With luck, we’ll be able to talk to one or both of them in the next week or two.”
“Excellent,” Nate said. “I am very impressed. We made the right decision on who should be the lead attorney.”
Sofia shrugged modestly. “Good facts make great lawyers, as they say. And I’ve been getting a lot of help with the facts. I mean, everything in that story comes from either Kevin Fang or Jade Li—and both of them came from you, Nate. How did you find them?”
“Kevin is a longtime client,” he said. “The two of us go back to his college days, when one of his professors applied for a patent on something Kevin invented. We’ve worked together more times than I can count.” He paused and chuckled. “But probably not more times than he can count.”
“He has some remarkable gifts, doesn’t he?” Sofia said. “How about Jade—I’m guessing she wasn’t one of your clients.”
Nate laughed loudly. “No, no. She just called me out of the blue. I guess she has an axe to grind against Lan Long. She must have seen my name on a court pleading or something and decided to call.”
That rang slightly false to Jessica, though it took her a moment to remember why. That’s right—she had been there when Jade first called. It had been a Saturday morning at Nate’s house, and Jade had called on his cell phone.
But if she had found him through a court filing, why hadn’t she called his office line during business hours? And had he listed his cell-phone number in the papers he submitted to the court? She didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be sure without checking.
Was it possible that Nate and Jade . . . No. Of course not. It was so ludicrous and disgusting that she didn’t even complete the thought. She refused to. But she couldn’t make it go away either.
She put down her fork. The food was delicious, but she suddenly wasn’t hungry anymore.
CHAPTER 67
The phone on Nate’s desk rang, and the receptionist’s extension appeared on the screen. He pushed the speakerphone button. “Nate Daniels here.”
“Hi, Mr. Daniels. There’s a Jessica Ames here to see you.”
What was Jessica doing here? They didn’t have a meeting scheduled, and she hadn’t called or emailed to let him know she was coming.
Well, she was here now, and the receptionist had effectively told her that he was in his office and not on the phone. He had no choice but to go out and get her.
“Thanks. I’ll be out in just a minute,” he said.
He took a deep breath and walked out to the lobby. She was standing by the reception desk, smiling and holding two paper coffee cups. She handed one to him. “You like your coffee black, as I recall.”
“You recall correctly,” he said. “Thanks. Did you come all the way into the city just to bring me coffee?”
“That and to give you a break. You’ve been working awfully hard recently.”
“I have indeed,” he said. “In fact, right now I have—”
“Nothing for the next hour and a half” she said, interrupting and finishing his sentence. “I checked with your secretary.”
He shook his head and sighed. “I am betrayed.”
“We both think it would be good for you to get out of the office and go for a walk along the water.” She took his elbow and nudged him toward the elevator. “Let’s go.”
He shouldn’t go. He knew it. But he wanted to, and he couldn’t think of a decent excuse on the spot. He took a sip of the coffee. It was hot and good. “All right. But you know I can’t be separated from my office for too long. I’ll get withdrawal.”
They rode the elevator down and walked across the marble-floored lobby, making small talk about mutual friends and the prospective buyers for Nate’s house. The air was fresh and cool outside. The sun still shone on the bay, and the fog had not yet rolled in—though before he left his office, Nate had seen the white wall of mist a mile out to sea.
“Thanks for dragging me out of the office, Jess,” he said. He steered toward a stretch of sidewalk crowded with gaggles of tourists wearing matching T-shirts. The risk of a personal conversation would be reduced there.
“It’s good to just have some time together, isn’t it?” she said.
“It is, even if it’s just for a few minutes. It’s true that I don’t have anything on my calendar for the next hour and a half.” He took a quick look at his watch. “Make that hour and twenty minutes. But I’ve got a couple of briefs that I need to edit between now and then.”
“Then I won’t waste any time.” She stopped and turned to face him, forcing him to stop too. The tourists moved on, clustering around the edge of the sidewalk to take selfies with Alcatraz in the background.
“I owe you,” she said. “For everything. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you’ve done—and are still doing—for Brandon and me.”
She looked up at him with those beautiful, warm brown eyes—and tore him in half. Right down the middle. Half of him wanted to hug her tight and tell her how much he car
ed about her too. How much he needed her. To let go of the secret that had been festering inside him.
But the other half knew better. Knew that loneliness was painful, but not nearly as painful as other things. Knew that certain sins were best left unconfessed. Knew that he should defuse the situation and get back to his office as soon as possible. That half won out. “Don’t be too grateful yet. We don’t know what’s going to happen at trial.”
“But that’s why I’m grateful,” she said. “Six months ago, we did know what was going to happen, or we were pretty sure, anyway. Brandon would be convicted and spend decades in prison, maybe his whole life. Now we have hope.”
“Thanks in no small part to you and Sofia,” he said, relieved that the danger had passed.
“You heard Sofia. We wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without Kevin and Jade.” She paused. “By the way, I was wondering about Jade. You said she must have gotten your number from the court file, but she called your cell phone, not your office number. And she called you on a Saturday morning.” Her voice was casual, but she watched him closely as she spoke.
The unspoken questions hung in the air. Did he know Jade before she called him? If so, how did he know her?
He wondered whether this whole coffee-and-a-walk thing had been a setup so she could put him on the spot about Jade. If so, it was brilliantly effective. He couldn’t give her an evasive answer and end the conversation like he could if they were on the phone. They were more or less alone, so he couldn’t use the presence of other people as an excuse to not answer. If he dodged or refused to answer now, that would effectively be an answer. He had two choices. He could tell the truth or he could lie. And he wasn’t going to lie to Jess, even if she had trapped him.
“I’m not sure why she did that,” he said, looking down at his coffee. “She probably thought I would be alone.”
“So . . . you knew her already?”
He nodded, his gaze still on his cup. He couldn’t bring himself to look up. “It was during a very dark time in my life, about a year after Sarah’s death. A client invited me out on his boat. He asked if I had a date, and I said that I didn’t. So he said he’d arrange one for me. I wasn’t interested, but I wasn’t going to say no to a client. I assumed he would bring some single friend of his, but it was Jade. I didn’t know . . . what she was until later, after the day on the boat was over. I asked if I could see her again, and she laughed and quoted me a price. I’m ashamed to say that I paid it. More than once. I was looking for no-drama companionship, and she was looking for money. At the time, that seemed acceptable to me.”
He took a breath and blew it out. “I was talking to Tim one day, and he figured out what was happening. Maybe I wanted him to figure it out. I don’t know. Anyway, he was . . . blunt. And right. He pulled me out of that dark place and helped me see the problems with what I was doing. I stopped seeing Jade. That was about three and a half years ago. I hadn’t spoken to her between then and when she called me that morning.” He clenched his jaw for a moment and gave his head a tight shake. “I make no excuses for my behavior.”
He finally looked up. Her face wore exactly the look of frozen horror he expected. And deserved.
He sighed. “Please don’t share this with Sofia or anyone else. And now I really should get back to work. Thank you for the coffee.” He turned and walked back to his office, alone.
CHAPTER 68
“Brandon, good to see you again,” Father Vicente said, a broad grin splitting his face.
From Brandon’s perspective, it was good to see anyone. The near-total absence of human contact over the last week had been wearing on him. “Good to see you too.”
“How are you doing?” the priest asked. “I understand that your yard and commissary privileges were suspended. Is everything all right?”
Brandon shrugged. “As all right as it gets in here, I guess. Someone said something to me in the hall and I said something back. He made a move, but the guards got between us before anything happened. No big deal.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. It sounds like you’re being punished for something that isn’t your fault. That must be very frustrating.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve gotten used to being punished for things that aren’t my fault. This is just par for the course,” Brandon said, wary that this might be another attempt to draw him into a let’s-talk-about-your-feelings conversation.
Father Vicente looked at him sympathetically. “I don’t blame you for being bitter.”
Yep, the priest was trying to play psychologist/social worker again. Time to redirect the conversation. “You said you were in here when you were younger. Has it changed much?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Father Vicente said, looking around. “It’s changed some, I suppose. Building D is new. They’ve repainted the other buildings, but I can’t say the color is an improvement.” He gestured at the ugly yellowish-green walls and smiled, making his mustache bristle.
Brandon smiled back. “It’s tough to imagine a worse color,” he said. “It’s like they were trying to make it look like someone puked on the walls.”
Father Vicente nodded and chuckled. “But in a larger sense, jail doesn’t change. Not really. The details may be a little different, but it’s always bars and walls and men locked inside. What changes is the men. When I first rode through Tassajara’s gates, I was a boy. An angry, impulsive, and immature boy. I was scared and alone too, and I joined a gang to protect myself.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “It was just one more mistake in a long list. And the list got longer—I fought and smuggled drugs because the gang ordered me to. I blew a chance at parole as a result. I got angrier, harder, and—I thought—smarter. Older gang members taught me how to steal cars without getting caught. They offered to set me up as a drug distributor when I got out. I was well on my way to becoming a career criminal. I don’t know what would have happened if God hadn’t broken through the shell I was building for myself.”
And here comes the God talk. Brandon had been bracing himself for it ever since his first meeting with Father Vicente. At least they could get it over with and out of the way.
Father Vicente paused for a moment and looked at Brandon as if he was expecting a response. But Brandon simply sat silently and waited for the priest to go on.
After about ten seconds, he did. “My father died,” the priest said. “Brain cancer. If I had gotten parole when I originally thought I would, I’d have been there with him. But instead, I was stuck in prison. My family lived almost two hundred miles away and their car wasn’t in good enough shape for highways, so all I could do was talk to them on the phone once a week.”
He sighed heavily. “That’s how it was for six months, as he slowly went downhill and finally passed away. It was very hard. Harder on me than him, I think. He was always in good spirits, but he knew that it was tearing me up. We had been very close, and I’d probably never see him again—and it was all my fault. At the end, he gave my mother a message for me. He said, ‘Tell Vicente it’s all right. I’m going to heaven now, but I’ll see him when he comes to heaven too.’” His voice became unsteady and he stopped for a moment.
He cleared his throat and went on. “I clung to that, Brandon. He was in heaven, and I’d see him again. But deep inside I knew that the road I was on didn’t lead to heaven. If that didn’t change, I would be separated from my father forever. I didn’t know how to change it—I didn’t even think I could. I’d done too much evil. But I had to try, so I got a Bible and tried reading it.”
He chuckled. “It made no sense to me, of course. I tried talking to some of the older prisoners who I knew were regular Bible readers, and they started explaining it to me. They invited me to their Bible-study group, and then to mass. And to make a long story short—or at least a little less long—the shell around me began to crack. And through that crack, light came. I had lived in darkness for a long time, so the light wasn’t comfortable for me—but I knew I needed it. Eventually, the cr
ack widened and the shell fell away—and here I am today.” He gave Brandon a searching look. “Do you have the light of God in your life?”
It was a moving story. And a few years ago, Brandon would have been moved by it. Now, it mostly made him uncomfortable.
When Brandon was growing up, he had heard this sort of story regularly in and out of church. Pastor Craig loved to bring speakers with uplifting “testimonies” to youth-group meetings or retreats, and Brandon’s mom regularly suggested that they watch inspirational dramas—often “based on a true story”—as an antidote to the action movies Brandon and his dad gravitated toward. Brandon hadn’t minded much. He nodded along with the speakers and tolerated the movies; he even enjoyed some of the sports-themed ones.
But then Omar Sanchez came to work drunk and rolled that dozer. And God wasn’t there. The straight-to-DVD version of that story would have had Dad in the hospital with a broken leg or something. Omar would have come into his room and begged for forgiveness. Dad would have given it, of course, and witnessed to Omar about Jesus. The story would have ended with Omar accepting Jesus as the Lord of his life and maybe even going to church with the Ames family. But in real life, the story had ended with Dad’s crushed body in a coffin, Omar brain damaged and warehoused in some nursing home, and Brandon and his mother left with a gaping hole in their lives. A hole that all the pat homilies of Pastor Craig and his entire roster of speakers could not fill.
And then Brandon was arrested for a murder he didn’t commit. And God wasn’t there. He didn’t send an earthquake or angels to burst open the doors of the jail and lead Brandon home. He didn’t give Brandon a wise old celly who would teach him some spiritual lessons before Brandon’s inevitable release. No, he sent Reys instead of angels, then he forced Brandon to kill one of them. And he gave Brandon Judas Iscariot for a celly.