“Did he hurt you?” Jessie said.
Maxine shook her head. “Not physically.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“No.”
“What did you do, after he said all this to you?”
“I called him a liar. A sick, twisted liar. I ran out of the house. I was telling myself that Oscar was lying to me about all of it, that Kent was still alive. I drove over to Kent’s place as fast as I could and then I saw the lights and the police cars and I knew.”
“That’s when she found us,” Graham said.
“I’ve been living in a hotel room ever since. Oscar and I don’t have kids, thank God. It’s just me. I barely slept until Oscar was arrested. I was sure I would wake up and find him in bed with me. Ready to laugh at me again and … use me.”
“I am so sorry that you had to experience that,” Jessie said. “And I’m sure your husband was lying about Kent’s last words. I’m sure he felt about you the same way you felt about him—and that’s exactly why Oscar killed him so viciously.”
Maxine nodded and wiped her eyes. “He thinks he’s going to get away with this. He’s sure. You can’t let that happen. Please. I am begging you. Don’t let that happen.”
12
That night, Jessie pored over the menus from Grannis House and tried to make some decisions. Leary was right—she was not usually an indecisive person—but for some reason, she was finding it hard to make any final decisions about their wedding. Finally, hours after Leary had fallen asleep, she closed the menus and joined him in bed.
As soon as her head hit the pillow, she started thinking about Oscar Hazenberg, the crime scene photos, and the story Maxine Hazenberg had told her at Marathon Grill. She did not sleep easily that night.
The next day, within minutes of arriving at the office, Jessie had a visitor. Normally, she would not meet anyone without an appointment—especially before her first full cup of coffee—but she made an exception this time. It was her father.
Jessie could not remember the last time her dad visited her at her office. Maybe once or twice when she had been a new prosecutor. Not since then.
His head, which had seemed to reach the heavens when Jessie had been a little girl, didn’t quite touch the top of the door frame as he entered, but he did duck a little. He pulled Jessie into a hug, and she felt the reassuring pressure of his callused, factory worker’s hands.
“This is a surprise, Dad.”
“A good one, I hope.” Harland Black shrugged out of his coat. He hung it over the back of one of her visitor chairs. The chairs were squeezed against the edge of her desk and there was barely enough room for the two of them to stand. As her father looked around the tiny room, she felt a flush of embarrassment at the threadbare carpet, out-of-date computer, and florescent lighting. The room didn’t exactly scream power lawyer.
But her father said, “I am so proud of you, Jessie.” He spoke the words in his usual tone, plain and honest. There was no question about his sincerity.
“Thanks, Dad. What did you bring?”
He was carrying a backpack—it looked like one of her brother Alex’s from high school. He sat in one of the chairs and set the bag on the floor.
“You know,” he said, “when I was growing up, I never thought I would be anything other than a factory worker like my dad. I never imagined my kids would be anything special, either. But look at you.”
Now she felt herself blushing. “I owe it all to great parenting.”
He grinned. “Maybe some of it.”
Instead of sitting behind her desk, she took the visitor chair next to him. In the cramped space, she could feel the familiar vibrancy radiating from his body, the warmth. It was a feeling she would never tire of.
“I’m actually here to try to impart some fatherly wisdom.” He reached down, unzipped Alex’s backpack, and pulled the opening wide. Jessie saw two thick, heavy-looking books inside that instantly piqued her curiosity. Her father was many things, but a voracious reader was not one of them.
Then he pulled out the first book, and she understood.
“Dad….”
“Just bear with me, Jess.” He placed the book on his lap, handling it with a carefulness that seemed almost reverent.
Jessie stared at the cover of her parents’ wedding album and felt a lump in her throat.
Her mother passed away when Jessie was four years old. Taken by cancer. Jessie’s memories of her mom were limited. She treasured the few clear memories she’d retained and lived in fear of forgetting. She had looked at the wedding album many times during her life—especially as a child—as if she could somehow add to the limited memories she had. As if through the photos, she could know her mother and glimpse the family she might have had.
But eventually—maybe in high school—she concluded that the wedding album caused more pain than solace. She had not looked at it in decades.
Her father opened the book. “This is your mother in her wedding dress.” His face, when she turned to look at him, was wistful, his expression faraway. “I thought she looked beautiful every day, but on the day of our wedding…. I had never seen her like that. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Just look at her.”
The pages of the album were made of heavy, cardboard stock. Jessie reached a finger to touch the coarse surface, just as she’d done so many times as a child—her fingertip inches from the image of her mother’s face. A face she could never again touch. She felt her vision blur.
Jessie wiped her eyes. In the photo, her mother glowed with happiness. Her father stood at her side, looking impossibly youthful, almost like a different person than the man sitting beside her now. Together, they seemed to radiate inner peace, love, happiness. Jessie’s heart clenched with pent-up feelings of longing and loss. Then she felt a sudden stab of anger.
“Did Leary ask you to come here? To ‘talk some sense into me?’ Is that what this is about, Dad?”
Her father let out a gruff breath, but did not deny it. He placed the wedding album on her desk and brought the second book from the backpack.
She wasn’t sure she could handle this right now.
Less professional than the wedding album, this book was a cheap photo album of the type once sold at local drugstores for a couple dollars. Jessie knew what was inside. For years, her father had stuffed this and similar albums full of Polaroids and prints documenting the lives of his children. From first steps, birthday parties, and Christmas mornings, to trips to Hershey Park and Great Adventure, to spelling bees, sports events, and graduation ceremonies.
Her father did not turn to any of those pages. He opened the book to the very first page, where a series of Polaroids—discolored and warped with age—had been glued to the page. The photos were from a hospital maternity ward in New Jersey. A woman in a chair. A tiny bundle held to her chest.
“The day you were born,” her father said.
Her mother wasn’t looking toward the camera. Her face was turned downward, her gaze on her newborn daughter. Her smile looked somehow even warmer, more loving than it had in the wedding album.
Her father turned the page, where photos showed her mother feeding her, playing with her, laughing with her. There were pictures of Jessie’s brother, Alex, too, and of Jessie’s father, a proud, young daddy.
Jessie’s tears streamed freely now. “Why are you showing this to me?”
“Because I don’t want you to deny yourself this happiness. Work is important, but life is short—sometimes shorter than you think.” He ran a finger down the page, just as she had done, as if he could touch the memories.
Jessie felt her anger fade. She touched her father’s hand and squeezed it.
“There’s always going to be more work,” he said.
“Does it need to be an either/or question? Can’t I have a marriage and children, and a career, too?”
“I don’t know. If you think that’s possible, I guess I believe you. You got smarter than me a long time ago. I’m just…. I’m wor
ried about you.”
“You don’t need to be.”
Quietly, he gathered up the albums, replaced them in the backpack, and zipped the bag closed. He rose from the chair. “I’ll be here for you, Jess. You know that. Anything you need, you let me know.”
“I know, Dad. I will.”
After her father left, she sat in silence for several minutes, trying to bring order to the chaos of emotions within her. She thought about her parents. She thought about Leary. She thought about Maxine Hazenberg, Oscar Hazenberg, and Kent Edley. She thought about the values she stood for, the things she’d done to get to this point in her life, and the things she still intended to do. And she was surprised by the feeling of confidence, of self-assuredness, that washed over her.
I can do both.
She walked down the hall to Warren’s office and told him she wanted the Hazenberg case.
13
Jessie saw Leary the moment she stepped out of Warren’s office. He must have overheard her tell Warren she wanted to take the Hazenberg case. He turned and marched away from her, his back and shoulders rigid with anger.
“Leary, wait….”
Damn it. She did not want to make a scene here in the DA’s office.
When she’d helped him get his position here as a detective, she’d known mixing their personal and professional lives would be risky. Most of the time, the pros outweighed the cons. He was a great investigator, and they worked well together. It was wonderful to walk to the office with him, to see him every day. But once in a while, their situation wasn’t ideal. Like right now.
She jogged to catch up with him, reached for his arm, and tugged him to a stop. The office doors to their left and right were closed, thankfully. She hoped her colleagues were busy at the courthouse or police station, and not here to witness a domestic quarrel.
“It’s fine, Jessie. We’re adults. You don’t need to soothe my feelings.” The hurt in his eyes said otherwise.
He started to move away from her. “Just wait a second, will you?” she said. “Can we talk?”
“Talk about what?” His words were clipped and his voice had an edge. “If you want to talk about which photographer to hire, I’m all ears. If you want to talk about how you’re going to devote every waking moment of the next several months to the Hazenberg case, then I’d rather not.” He turned away from her again.
“That wasn’t cool,” she said to his back. He froze. “Sending my dad here to guilt-trip me.”
He turned and looked angrier than ever. “I didn’t send him anywhere. I called him and asked for his advice. He came here on his own, because he cares about you. We both want you to be happy.”
“If you want me to be happy, don’t ask me to change who I am.”
“You know that’s not what I’m doing. Warren offered you the chance to slow things down temporarily so you could focus on our wedding. You don’t want to. At this point, I’m not even convinced you want to get married.”
“I want to marry you. Nothing has changed.” She felt her hands ball into fists. Why did this need to be so frustrating?
“Nothing has changed?” His voice rose. Jessie glanced around self-consciously.
“Not so loud,” she said. “Okay? Please? We can discuss the wedding at home tonight.”
“You seem to think wedding planning is something you can put off indefinitely, like getting continuances for a trial. It’s not. There are no continuances. If we don’t book a photographer, we won’t have one. If we don’t decide on music, there isn’t going to be any. No food, no wedding cake. Do I really need to explain this to you?”
Someone cleared his throat behind her, and Jessie felt her face burn as one of her fellow prosecutors, Roland “Rolly” Westbrook, sheepishly edged past them in the hallway. Leary looked away from the man, his jaw tight.
“Let’s talk about this at home,” she said, trying again.
“I don’t think I’m coming home tonight, Jessie.”
“What are you talking about? You made your point. You don’t need to be dramatic.”
His eyes narrowed. “I’m not being dramatic. I just need some space. Some time to think. I’ll stay at a hotel for a few nights.”
Jessie didn’t know if she wanted to scream with frustration, cry, or both. Leary was overreacting, wasn’t he? He was being unfair to her. First sending her father here to try to emotionally manipulate her, and then threatening to move out of their apartment and stay at a hotel? It was unfair and hurtful.
He’s hurting, too, she reminded herself. That’s where this is coming from.
“Nothing has changed, Leary,” she said. “We love each other.”
“Let me ask you a question, Jess. What are you going to do as soon as we finish this conversation?”
Jessie faltered, but she did not want to lie to him. “I need to review the Hazenberg file, talk to Emily, prepare for the preliminary arraignment—”
Leary nodded. “Exactly. I’ll check into that Holiday Inn Express on Walnut and text you the room number.”
That was the end of the conversation. She watched him walk away.
14
Jessie entered the preliminary arraignment courtroom with a sense of dread. After looking at the crime scene photos, hearing Maxine Hazenberg’s story, and reading the medical examiner’s autopsy report, the thought of sharing the same oxygen with Oscar Hazenberg made her queasy. She was further unsettled to find that the gallery of the arraignment courtroom was unusually crowded—reporters, lawyers, and spectators from the public had come out in force.
The upside was that today’s proceeding would almost certainly go her way. In a preliminary arraignment, a magistrate judge determined whether or not to allow the defendant to post bail and go home, or remain in a jail cell during the trial. Defendants were innocent until proven guilty, so locking them up prior to a jury verdict required justification. Jessie was confident that a denial of bail was justified here.
Kristina Nolan entered the courtroom. The defense attorney wore a conservative skirt suit. Her hair fell in auburn curls just past her shoulders. A pearl necklace rested against her throat. She offered Jessie a polite nod. Jessie returned the greeting.
Kristina crossed the gap between the prosecution and defense tables to shake Jessie’s hand. “We meet again.” Kristina had a warm smile that seemed to convey affection, but Jessie wasn’t sure of her sincerity. Jessie had faced off against Kristina and her husband two or three times during her years in the Homicide Unit, and she knew they were smart—sometimes devious—adversaries.
“Good to see you, Kristina.”
“Looks like we drew a nice crowd.”
“I’m sure you and Hal had nothing to do with that.”
“Of course not,” Kristina said. But her knowing smile was all the confirmation Jessie needed that the Nolans had arranged for the crowded gallery. Snagging Hazenberg as a client was a huge opportunity for them, a chance to significantly elevate the status of their firm, so it made sense they would want as much publicity as they could get. A media circus was a good thing for a couple defense attorneys looking to build their client roster. It was rarely good for a District Attorney seeking reelection, though. If the trial went smoothly, no one would credit the DA—or Jessie. But if Hazenberg escaped justice, Jesus Rivera would be judged quickly and harshly as an ineffective guardian of the city’s safety and welfare.
No pressure, though.
Kristina’s gaze lighted on Jessie’s engagement ring. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“Do I know the lucky man?”
“Mark Leary.”
Kristina nodded. “Marrying a co-worker. Something I know a bit about. If you ever need any advice….”
Jessie was pretty sure Kristina Nolan was the last person she would ever seek for advice, but she said, “I appreciate that, Kristina.”
“Well, I guess I better get organized.”
Jessie watched Kristina settle in at the defense table. Where
was Hal Nolan? The two defense attorneys usually worked as a team. Had Hal decided to skip the bail hearing because getting his client released on bail was a lost cause? Or was he absent because he was up to something?
Just focus on the task at hand, she told herself.
The magistrate entered and took his seat at the bench at the head of the courtroom. He greeted Jessie and Kristina with a dry, “Ladies.” Then he cleared his throat, turned to one of the sheriff’s deputies, and asked him to fetch the defendant.
A door at the back of the courtroom opened and Oscar Hazenberg emerged. He strode from the doorway like the guest of honor arriving to a dinner party, not even acknowledging the armed deputies flanking him. He nodded to Jessie as he passed the prosecution table, and there was no malice in his expression. Just a friendly nod, as if he were a colleague here to do his part. Then he shook Kristina’s hand and sat down at the defense table beside her.
Most of the men and women Jessie prosecuted glared at her with threatening stares, arrogant sneers, or outright curses. One man had spit on her before being dragged out of the room. Yet Hazenberg’s polite nod somehow managed to chill her just as much.
“Okay,” the magistrate judge, Boggs, said. “Let’s get rolling. Mr. Hazenberg, I understand the Commonwealth has charged you with first-degree murder, along with several lesser included charges.” He read these off in a tired voice. Then he checked the courthouse calendar and set a date for the first court hearing—a date Jessie couldn’t help but notice was uncomfortably close to her wedding. “Now,” Boggs said, “let’s talk bail.”
“Your Honor,” Jessie said, “the Commonwealth strongly opposes bail in this case. The crime with which Mr. Hazenberg has been accused is particularly gruesome and vicious. Moreover, he is wealthy, an architect with a six figure income, a wife who also works, and no children to support. We believe he has the money and the means to flee, and ample motive to do so as well, given the weight of the evidence against him and the likelihood that he will be convicted.”
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