Taking a mental inventory, Susan Howell set the rest of her messages aside and addressed both attorneys.
“So, the state has rested,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I realize it’s just after one-thirty, but I prefer to start fresh tomorrow morning. And Ms. Hill, are you planning to put your client on the stand?”
Lauren was a bit startled, though. She thought it was much later. Checking her watch, she confirmed the time was only 1:36. Today must have really rattled her, if she wasn’t even able to keep track of the time.
“No, your Honor.”
Bzzzzz. Bradley’s phone vibrated inside his jacket pocket. He casually reached for it.
Looking directly at Lauren, Judge Howell scolded. “And what the hell were you doing, earlier? It’s so unlike you, Counselor.”
Lauren looked down toward the floor.
“Your conduct was—”
Lauren’s shoulders slumped.
Reading the text, Bradley chuckled. “I believe it’s generally called cracking under pressure.”
It was the distraction Lauren was hoping for. “Piss off, Bradley. Cracked, my ass. Exactly how many cases against me have you won?” Lauren placed the tip of her index finger against her thumb and held up the symbol to him. “Zero!”
Bradley felt that like a spear thrust in his side. It hurt, and she had meant it to hurt.
“But who’s counting the near misses, right?” she added, twisting the knife.
Bzzz! Judge Howell’s phone sounded.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Let me get rid of this.”
With Judge Howell momentarily distracted, Bradley whispered, “But you still said I was the best sex you ever had.”
Laura smugly replied softly, “May I remind you that was ten years ago. Since then, you’ve taken a nosedive. You’ve fallen way off the charts.”
Having finished with her call, Judge Howell cut in. “Whoa—whoa! We’re crash landing headfirst into mistrial land!”
Judge Howell shook her head and took a deep, cleansing breath. Playing it cool, she continued.
“Well, the inordinate hostility between you two makes a little more sense, now. Nevertheless, Mr. Bradley, just to confirm, are the people prepared to start closing tomorrow morning?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Good. Timewise, I’ll give each of you three hours, Mr. Prosecutor, an additional hour for rebuttal.”
“Could I get an hour and a half?”
“Blowhard!” Lauren interjected.
Looking at Lauren sternly, Judge Howell concurred. Although she believed the added half hour was fair, the judge didn’t care one way or the other. As long as it went off without a hitch, unlike the present day no one was enjoying. “Any other objections?”
“No, Your Honor. That’s fine.” Bradley said.
“Kiss-ass.” Lauren puckered her lips for emphasis.
Seeing her with those guppy lips, Bradley chuckled. “And that’s just the foreplay.”
“It’s a turn-off.”
“Okay, you two. Ms. Hill, are we in agreement?”
Lauren reluctantly nodded.
“All right, then, I’ll see each of you tomorrow.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Oh, and let’s keep the bitter memories to a minimum, shall we?” Without another word, Judge Howell turned, grabbed her portfolio and appointment book, and went directly to work.
Taking the cue, Lauren and Dillon made their way toward the exit. Dillon opened the door for Lauren, but she would have none of the sexist attitude and motioned for him to exit ahead of her. She could get her own door, thank you very much. Shrugging his shoulders in a suit-yourself motion, he did.
“Lauren.”
The soft-spoken, all-too-familiar voice behind her caused Lauren to stop in her tracks. It wasn’t the stern yet sometimes pleasant, feminine voice she was accustomed to hearing in that office and had taken direction from over the past several days. No, the voice calling to her was decidedly masculine: a voice of reason, commanding attention without being demanding. She had heard it before, been lectured by it, even, at inconvenient intervals throughout the day. One thing about it was painfully clear—Lauren Hill never wanted to hear that voice again.
The voice wasn’t frightening, but it frightened her. Lauren was comfortable being in charge of her own life. She didn’t want to be held accountable for her actions. She wanted to do what she wanted to do, when and how she wanted to do it: a rogue wolf in sheep’s clothing. That’s what she intended upon doing. Only, there was just one Being preventing her from doing so. With God, there was no way she could get away with her plans. Without being convicting, the voice convicted her.
Lauren gazed down the hallway to see if Dillon had heard the voice as well. It was obvious to her he hadn’t. At least he didn’t acknowledge he had. He just kept walking briskly straight ahead, whistling. She watched as he disappeared around the corner. Lauren thought to call to him, but she didn’t want him thinking her crazy if it only turned out to be her imagination run amok.
Silence behind her. Not so much as the rustling of paper. Maybe she had imagined it. Then she realized something was missing. The part of herself that always listened for ticking clocks alerted her that it shouldn’t be this quiet. The distinctive droning of the pendulum inside Judge Howell’s mantle clock had ceased.
This can’t possibly be good, she thought.
“Lauren.”
She turned. “Judge Howell?” Lauren placed a dainty hand upon her forehead and applied pressure. “If you’re God, and I’m not going crazy, why are you talking to me?”
She began to cry uncontrollably. I’m going insane. It’s happening. I can feel it. It’s happening. It’s happening. No—no—NO!
God approached Lauren. But the closer He got to her, the further to the floor she slid.
“Noooo, noooo,” she whimpered.
God looked down upon the crumpled form of Lauren Hill. Pitying her, He bent to cradle her in His arms. In them, she found comfort. His noble features and calming reassurance soothed and quieted her. Lauren’s tears dried as she looked into the deep wells of His eyes.
“You are not insane, Lauren.”
“Then what am I?”
“I suppose some would use the word ‘blessed.’ But I would say ‘forewarned.’”
Suddenly, Lauren was looking, not at God, but at Judge Howell cradling her and trying to assess what was wrong with her. Startled, Lauren twitched.
“I’m calling a doctor,” said Judge Howell.
“What, what for?” Lauren asked, coming to her senses.
“You passed out.”
“I did?—No, no, no, no, I didn’t!”
“You most certainly did,” she paused. “Less you’re having some sort of nervous breakdown.”
Lauren shook her off and scrambled to her feet. “No! No! You’re right. I just passed out. Low blood sugar,” she said, reaching for her purse. “Stress!”
“I think you need to see a doctor.”
Lauren wiped her tear-drenched eyes. “No, please. No, thank you, completely fine. Have a candy bar in my purse. Should’ve eaten lunch.” Lauren tore open the wrapper of a Pay Day and began ravenously devouring it. Peanut halves fell to the floor. “Just a little hungry, that’s all. I’ll be fine, now.”
Judge Howell stood shaking her head. She wasn’t buying it, but Lauren was already moving toward the door.
“See you tomorrow. Gotta run. Closing arguments.” Lauren dashed out of the judge’s chambers. “Closing arguments!”
As if warding off evil, Judge Howell shut the door. She sat behind her desk, pulled a flask from the bottom drawer, and poured it into the can of Diet Coke. She sat back, glad the day was over.
“Some days, there just isn’t enough alcohol.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lauren met up with Ryan and Maze in the main corridor by the front entrance of the courthouse. Ryan was gazing intently out one of the windows to the street below. Maze spotted Lauren com
ing down the crowded hallway. How could he not? He had the hottest-looking attorney in the county. He tapped Ryan on the shoulder and pointed in her direction.
Ryan waited until his boss was close to inform her that the press hounds had gathered at the base of the steps. Lauren glanced out the window. There they were, not so patiently waiting to conduct interviews with the principal players.
“So they are. We knew this, though. Let them have their day in the California sun.”
Lauren turned to Maze and shook her head. He was an untidy mess. Motherly instincts took over. She immediately went to work sprucing him up. She straightened his tie and jacket while telling him to run a comb through his matted hair. While Lauren groomed Maze, she prepared him as best she could to face the media. Plucking a tiny, practically unnoticeable lint ball off the front of his jacket, Lauren held it up.
“Cameras catch every flaw, and that includes character flaws,” she said. “Look sharp. Be sharp. Got it?”
Although he had never quite been able to get used to how demanding Lauren was, Maze did as instructed. He wasn’t stupid; he understood everything she said. He wasn’t willful or naturally rebellious. He was just scared out of his mind and sometimes had difficulty focusing.
“You still look guilty, though,” Ryan said unkindly.
Maze cringed. Lauren shot Ryan a “must you?” look.
“What? I was only kidding.”
As confident as she could be in her client’s appearance, Lauren led her team down the courthouse steps to the gauntlet below. “Just act natural.”
Easy for her to say, Maze thought. This could very well be my last night of freedom.
As the trio reached the last tier of steps, camera shutters opened and bulbs started flashing. Anxious reporters converged, thrusting microphones before them.
“Ms. Hill, Ms. Hill.”
Holding a hand up, Lauren informed them that, one at a time, she would take their questions.
The first question, which she knew was coming, was what had happened to her earlier to make her exit the courtroom so abruptly. Not caring if anyone bought into her explanation, she told them she had a migraine so debilitating it had affected her vision. Stress sometimes brought them on, but until that moment, never in a courtroom situation. She had simply panicked.
“Oh, come on, Ms. Hill,” one reporter provoked. “I saw how you ran out of there. Looked as if something scared you pretty bad.”
“And it wasn’t the judge,” another chimed in.
Nervous laughter.
Lauren refused to comment and deflected all questions. Like it or not, that was her recollection of the incident. That was all she was going to say about it. Nothing further was asked. The media saw she wasn’t about to reveal anything different.
“Maze—Maze! This is for Maze. Outbursts today. Can you elaborate on them? Do you have faith in your attorney?”
Maze was noticeably camera-shy but leaned toward the microphones to speak. Lauren jumped in to save him from embarrassment.
“It isn’t easy for a blameless man to remain silent in the face of wrongful persecution.”
“Then why doesn’t he just testify?” a TV 6 reporter said, shoving a handheld tape recorder in her face.
Maze leaned in. “I want—”
Lauren cut him off. “It’s not incumbent on Mr. Maze to defend his innocence, but for the prosecution to prove his guilt. We’ll take one more question.”
“Ms. Hill, are you worried at all that the state has made a compelling case?”
Lauren laughed. “Firing spitballs at a fortified battleship, that’s all they’re actually doing, firing spitballs at a battleship. They have nothing.”
The three of them started walking away as Prosecutor Bradley and his team descended the steps for their turn at the microphones. Bradley looked at them with a twinkle in his eye. Lauren kept walking with hardly a glance upward.
“Hey, what did Judge Howell say?” Ryan inquired.
Lauren knew her assistant was fishing for information about any repercussions for her earlier erratic behavior, but she told him only that she and Bradley were given three hours each for closing arguments and the prosecution an hour and a half for rebuttal.
“I’m having nightmares again,” Maze blurted out.
“Then don’t sleep,” Lauren said, sharply, as she turned to listen to Bradley’s conference.
“Mr. Bradley, do you know what was happening with the defense today, the strange behavior?” a reporter asked.
Osterman and a few reporters chuckled. Bradley turned to his young attorney, giving him a disapproving look. Then, turning back to the microphones, he said, “Strange? In what way?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “Look, we’re all under a great deal of pressure here. To be honest, no, I didn’t notice anything too much out of the ordinary.”
Ryan, turning to Maze, showed a burst of compassion. “I’ll see if I can’t get you something over the counter.”
Rolling her eyes, Lauren leaned toward Ryan. “We should have requested a ball gag order.”
“You mean just a gag ord—”
“I mean,” she interrupted, “A good penis checker.” Lauren made a hard, chopping motion in the air.
In spite of the enormous pressure, Ryan and Maze laughed. It was exactly what was needed to break the thick ice. Both men seemed to relax more.
Bradley flagged another question, and Lauren perked up.
“What makes you so sure Maze murdered his wife and that she didn’t take her own life?”
“This, coming from a woman who’s appeared on Nancy Grace three times,” Ryan said disapprovingly.
“Four,” Lauren corrected. “Oh, I wish the windbag would just shut up for once.”
“I believe the evidence speaks loud and clear for itself,” Bradley answered. “Some things are just obvious.”
Lauren checked her watch.
Maze, head down, caught her attention as he started to ramble. “But it’s hard, you know, harder than it was before. I find myself living that night, again and again, only it’s different in my memory. It’s dark, very, very dark. These focused freeze-frames, so vivid, in sharp detail, detail that you could never see with the naked eye. Each word we said to one another echoes as they didn’t, then. And the regrets, the regrets, so minor, but so deep.” He raised his head and continued. “Then I come here, day after day; I listen to them try to paint the picture, the picture that didn’t exist, and connect dots that were never there. I feel guilty, even if I’m not, I still feel guilty.”
“Hey, Maze,” Ryan offered. “It’s just how the prosecution framed their argument. We’ve shown that not only do the dots not connect, they never existed in the first place.”
“I know you’ve done your best, but I can’t help wondering ‘what if.’”
“There are no ‘what ifs,’” Lauren replied.
“No, ‘what ifs?’ Well, what if it is a hung jury? I have to relive it all, again.”
Lauren looked directly into Maze’s weepy eyes. “Listen to me. If you are not guilty—and you are not guilty—then you win. No compunction. No shame. Win.” Lauren checked her watch and looked up at Bradley.
He was answering another question. “This is obviously a court of law. It’s not about winning or even punishment. It’s about justice being served.”
“Look, I’ve gotta run. Preparing for closing arguments, tomorrow.” Lauren leaned into Ryan. “Keep an eye on our boy for me.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lauren was weaving her way through downtown Los Angeles traffic. She was preoccupied and narrowly escaped accident and injury, twice. Each would have been her fault, so to save face, she slammed on the horn and screamed through air-conditioned space at the opposing driver.
How could she not be distracted? The visions, if that was what she could call them, replayed over and over again in her mind. It was dangerous for her to be behind the wheel in this state, but no one was allowed to drive her vehicle, not her co
lleagues and certainly not her useless husband. Let him drive the wagon. Besides, where she was going, he could never be allowed to find out. No one could. It would mean more than just her career, but never practicing law again. However, she wasn’t the least bit nervous. When it came to infidelity, just as in the courtroom, Lauren was clever.
Her mind a distant elsewhere, Lauren ran a red light. She came to a screeching halt just inches from a six-figure Maserati. That would have made the old insurance premiums skyrocket. Fortunately for her, the Maserati’s owner only yelled a few choice obscenities before speeding up the ramp to the 405 Freeway. It was unlike her to be so inattentive, and she had just been behind the wheel fifteen minutes.
Get your shit together, woman! Lauren scolded herself.
Today was decidedly the weirdest, most disconcerting day in court she had ever had. Lauren had always prided herself on being nothing less than on her A-game at all times. What had happened today? It had started like any other, but then quickly soured once she arrived at court. Running out of the courtroom in near hysterics wasn’t the last image she had planned on leaving with the impressionable jury.
At least there were a few shining moments to be proud of, especially how she’d manipulated Bradley’s last witness. What possessed Dillon to use that creep? she wondered. Not only that, there was the consolation of closing arguments that would hopefully set everything to rights, provided she could get enough sleep to prevent a second mental breakdown.
True, God had tried to assure her she was not going insane, but when your hallucination is the one telling you that you aren’t crazy, maybe you are. She felt she was teetering on a precipice, dangerously close to toppling over into spending the rest of her days at some group home with bars on the windows for the mentally disturbed. Nor did she now believe that the personage conveniently popping in and out of her life during a good portion of the day was, in fact, The Almighty. The subconscious mind could play awful tricks on a person.
Lauren whipped her smoky gray Lexus into the hotel parking lot and jumped out. As fast as her flashy high heels would allow, she sprinted to the door and paid for the room. She was in control and had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of paying. The attendant handed her the keycard and Lauren walked briskly to the elevator, texting as she went without ever missing a beat.
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