Never Goodbye

by Adam Mitzner

  “How’d the meeting go?”

  For a moment I’m worried that Stuart can read my thoughts, or is having me followed. I didn’t tell him that LeMarcus and I were meeting with Ella Broden and Gabriel Velasquez today. Then I realize that his question doesn’t refer to them. He doesn’t know about that meeting. He’s just asking his usual question about my day with LeMarcus.

  “Fine.” Then I shrug. “I don’t know how anything is going anymore, to tell you the truth.”

  He nods in solidarity. He believes we’re still allies in the fight for my freedom.

  What would he do if he knew otherwise? Would he kill me?

  Stuart committed murder to protect our marriage, and yet I’m far from certain that he wouldn’t kill me to save himself.

  “Is Jacob in his room?” I ask.

  “No. He was at a playdate with Ross today, and Ross’s mother asked if he could have dinner at their house.”

  I’m sorry that my son isn’t home, especially when I’m now cognizant of how little time I might still have with him. Then again, I need to be alone with Stuart tonight. I wonder if he sensed that somehow too.

  “Come into the living room,” I say. “I need to discuss something with you.”

  He follows me obediently. I stop at our sofa, and he sits beside me.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “I haven’t wanted to talk about Lauren’s murder, but there’s one thing that we need to discuss. And I want you to tell me the truth, okay?”

  “Of course. I’m happy to discuss it. The only reason I didn’t was because you said you didn’t want to.”

  “Well, I need to talk about it now.”

  He looks at me, waiting.

  Having gone this far, I know I need to finish the journey, but I’m frozen in place. I realize the living room might not have been the best venue for this discussion, as it places me twenty feet away from the front door. Stuart could easily get there before me. As I imagine being brutally murdered by my husband, Stuart waits patiently for me to tell him what I’m struggling with. Most likely so that after I tell him, he can provide the solution to this conundrum that has eluded me.

  “I have to assume that you never expected that Lauren wouldn’t have brought her phone to the park. Please tell me that’s what happened. It would be too much for me to bear that you wanted me to be punished this severely for having an affair. I guess what I’m saying is that I understand why you killed Lauren, but I’m just asking you to tell me that you didn’t also intend to frame me for her murder.”

  My husband, the man with whom I share a child and have built a life, doesn’t respond. At least thirty seconds pass in silence, which feels like an eternity.

  I reflexively look to the kitchen, the most likely place for him to grab a weapon. But rather than get up, he scoots closer to me, until our thighs are touching.

  “I swear on Jacob’s life that I didn’t want you to be blamed for this,” he says. “I looked for her phone so I could take it with me. And when I realized the phone wasn’t there . . . I threw the gun away near their house. My hope was that Richard would take the blame, not you. I killed her precisely because I couldn’t fathom life without you. That means that the very last thing I’d ever want in this world is for you to go to jail. How could you even think that I’d want that?”

  He’s begun to cry. At first slowly, and then a rush of sobbing. I’m not completely certain, but I think the cause of his anguish is not that he murdered Lauren but that I’ve questioned his love for me. His head is pushed against my arm, but I can’t summon the will to comfort him with an embrace.

  He straightens up and wipes his eyes. He’s staring at me. I feel myself welling up too.

  I didn’t know my affair would end with Lauren’s murder. But it’s cold comfort to say that, in a strictly legal sense, I am innocent of that crime. I did know that my infidelity would have far-reaching consequences. Even if I never imagined that death would result, I always knew that suffering would almost certainly occur. It always does when you disregard your sense of morality. And while I’ve seen plenty of wives blame themselves for their spouse’s crime—and always felt anger at their pathos—I understand now why they felt that way. At the same time, though, I feel the judgment I heaped on those women fall squarely upon me.

  57.

  ELLA BRODEN

  The Fifth Amendment of the United States Constitution contains a host of provisions. The most famous is the right against self-incrimination, which states that no person may be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself. But elsewhere in the amendment is the clause “nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb.”

  The so-called double-jeopardy clause prohibits anyone from being tried twice for the same crime. Double jeopardy attaches as soon as the jury is seated; therefore, this is the one and only time Dana Goodwin can be held accountable for the murder of Lauren Wright. Dismissing the charges would mean that Dana Goodwin could confess to me on the way out of the courtroom that she actually acted alone, and there would be nothing I or anyone else could do about it. Worse still, if we brought Stuart Goodwin to trial for Lauren’s murder, nothing would stop Dana from testifying that she committed the crime. As a practical matter, therefore, unless Dana Goodwin was a witness against her husband, letting her go free means that Lauren’s murder will go unpunished.

  And Dana refused to cooperate with us.

  But the simple fact is that Stuart Goodwin, or at least someone looking a lot like Stuart Goodwin trying not to be photographed, was captured by the security cameras in front of the Sherry-Netherland Hotel, on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-Ninth Street, at 12:31 a.m. on the night of Lauren’s murder. The N subway line, which has a stop in Astoria, has an aboveground exit directly in front of the Sherry-Netherland.

  We found Franklin Pearse at the shelter on Lexington and hoped that he would settle the question for us. After providing him with another roast beef sandwich, he repeated what he’d been saying from the beginning: that he only saw the guy from behind, so he didn’t know if the person he saw in the black hoodie was the same person as in the photograph we showed him. And, as I suspected, Stuart Goodwin’s phone was turned off all night, so we could not place him in Central Park that way.

  Stuart Goodwin will claim it isn’t him. Or, at the very least, that no one can be certain beyond a reasonable doubt that it’s his face on the surveillance footage. Gabriel said he was sure, but I think he was seeing what he wanted to see. I’m not certain. But the one thing I do know for sure is that I now have reasonable doubt that Dana murdered Lauren.

  “All rise,” the court clerk bellows.

  Everyone in the courtroom stands to watch Judge Gold walk in. When he’s seated, he commands that we all do the same. Then the same ritual is observed when the jury enters, but this time I remain upright.

  “Your Honor, before we begin today, I would like to be heard,” I say.

  He tilts his head slightly. “We’re all ears, Ms. Broden.”

  I can feel the eyes on me. It reminds me of how I feel before the music starts at Lava. Now, as when I prepare to sing, I allow myself a moment alone and shut my eyes. Charlotte is there, and Lauren too. They both approve of what I’m going to do. I’m certain of that.

  “The People move to dismiss the indictment against Dana L. Goodwin.”

  The gallery erupts. Aside from Kayla, Gabriel, and Richard Trofino, no one knew that I was about to utter those words. Actually, my conversation about it with Richard was one of the calmer talks we’ve had. I explained my reasoning, and he said that he understood and was in no position to question my judgment. “Nothing is going to bring Lauren back,” he said, “and as much as I want justice for her, it’s got to be the kind of justice she believed in for it to matter. I know this sounds terrible, but it’s easier for me to accept that Dana’s husband killed Lauren, and not someone she loved.”

  Drake McKenney was not given a heads
-up because I knew he’d try to talk me out of it. I didn’t even tell LeMarcus, not out of any sense of drama, but because I wanted to leave myself the option to proceed with the case to verdict until I was certain. But my brief moment of solitude has brought me home.

  Judge Gold gavels twice. Although his judicial temperament usually keeps him poised, he looks shocked.

  “Care to share your reasons, Ms. Broden?”

  “The People have recently come into evidence that casts doubt on Ms. Goodwin’s guilt.”

  The judge nods and smiles at me. It might be the first time this trial he has.

  “I am a staunch believer in the wisdom of the great William Blackstone, who said that it is better that ten guilty go free than that one innocent suffer,” Judge Gold says. “That sentiment, erring always on the side of preventing even the smallest injustice, is found throughout all civilized codes of law. And so let me be the first to say, Ms. Broden, that you have acted in the interest of justice today.”

  I nod to accept the judge’s thanks. I’m certain Drake McKenney will not agree. If I had brought Dana Goodwin to a guilty verdict, the Special Vics bureau chief position would have been mine. Now, earning a living as a singer will likely be my only career option. Unless I want to go back to work for my father, which I most certainly do not.

  “Ms. Goodwin,” Judge Gold says. “I hereby dismiss all charges against you. In the eyes of the law, you are not guilty. Therefore, I wish you Godspeed.”

  Two more gavel strikes follow, but they do nothing to silence the din of the gallery. Judge Gold dismisses the jury and, after they leave the courtroom, he exits to his chambers. It’s only when the door shuts behind him that I turn to Dana Goodwin and see that she’s embracing LeMarcus Burrows.

  Having made his way to the well of the court, Gabriel puts his arm around me. “I’m so proud of you, Ella.”

  LeMarcus Burrows interrupts. “Excuse me,” he says. “But I just wanted to say, on behalf of my client, thank you.”

  I acknowledge his praise but don’t offer the usual response that he’s welcome. Dana Goodwin doesn’t owe me her thanks. I didn’t do this for her, after all. I did it for Lauren.

  LeMarcus must pick up on my reasons because then he adds, “Not every ADA would have done it, Ella. Though everyone should. That’s what I’m thanking you for. For making certain that justice has been served.”

  Over my shoulder, I again spy the defense table. Dana Goodwin is receiving an embrace from her husband. I hope to God that I’ve done the right thing.

  58.

  DANA GOODWIN

  My first thought as a free woman is about Jacob, of course. My sweet angel boy.

  Then I feel Stuart’s arms coming over my shoulders from behind. “It’s all over, Dana. I never doubted for a second that you’d be set free. And now . . . now we can begin the rest of our lives together. You, me, and Jacob.”

  I don’t respond to his fantasy about living happily ever after. Instead, I pull away from his embrace and cross the six feet to the prosecution table. Ella Broden is surrounded by her second seat, LeMarcus, and Gabriel. The trio parts to allow my approach.

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  As a prosecutor, it always frustrated me not to know precisely what happened during a crime. I never feared I had the wrong defendant, but not knowing exactly how it all unfolded always bothered me. Those elusive pieces and their sequence were forever secreted in the defendant’s mind.

  That was never the case with Lauren’s murder. I know how everything fit together, and have for some time.

  I didn’t think Stuart knew about my affair. When Lauren was killed, like everyone else, I believed that Richard was guilty. I had assumed that despite my plea to her in the park on our last night together, she did exactly what she said she would—went home and told Richard everything. And knowing Richard, or at least thinking I did, it seemed more than possible that he would have killed her for her infractions.

  But when the gun was found and traced back to Gregory Papamichael, I realized that it had to have been Stuart. Gregory gave me the Glock 19 shortly after Jacob was born, right after the case we worked together ended, when Stuart insisted we keep a firearm in the house. When I handed Papamichael’s old service weapon to Stuart, I told him that I never wanted to see it again.

  And then, whatever doubt I clung to that it might all be some type of mistake—that maybe Papamichael had given a weapon to Lauren too—was erased when the text messages Lauren received were shown to have come from my phone. Richard couldn’t have sent them. My iPhone—the one used to lure Lauren to Central Park—was passcode protected. Richard, of course, did not know my passcode was Jacob’s middle name: Benjamin. But Stuart did.

  “I didn’t kill Lauren,” I tell Ella. “I loved her.”

  Ella looks at me skeptically. I’m uncertain which part of my statement she finds false: that I didn’t kill Lauren or that I loved her.

  “Do you think Lauren would forgive me?” I ask.

  I suspect my question has surprised Ella. I’m certain that she gave considerable thought to how Lauren would have reacted to her decision to dismiss the charges against me, but I’m equally certain that she has not considered at all what our boss would think about my failure to turn on my husband.

  At least twenty seconds pass. I’m content to wait for as long as necessary for Ella to respond.

  “I think she might understand, but forgive . . . I just don’t know,” she finally says.

  This is a generous response. I’m not sure Lauren would understand. She dedicated her professional life to helping women find the courage to testify against their abusers. I’m certain that she’d wonder why I haven’t done everything I could to make my husband pay for his crime.

  I lower my voice, move a little closer to Ella. “If it were only about me . . . but I have a little boy to think about.”

  Ella nods as if she understands.

  Of course she doesn’t. How could she?

  “Don’t stay with him,” she says.

  With that, she begins to back away, to return to her people. I reach for her arm and hold her in place for a moment more. I step forward, closing the gap between us so I can be certain that only she can hear what I’m about to say.

  “Hold on to Gabriel, Ella,” I whisper into her ear. “You might think I’m the very last person on earth to take relationship advice from, but this is something I do know about. There’s nothing more important than being with someone you truly love.”

  She reflexively turns around to look at Gabriel, who’s watching us. He nods at me and favors me with a smile.

  I stood trial for a crime I didn’t commit for one reason: self-preservation. Simply put, accusing Stuart of killing Lauren would not have served my case well. Spouses pointing at one another is one of the oldest defense ploys in the book, and such claims are almost always rejected by juries. That would have certainly been true for me. I lacked any evidence of Stuart’s guilt, and the only result I could have achieved by implicating him was my own conviction. If I admitted that Papamichael gave me the gun, then I’d be putting the murder weapon in my own hands, something the prosecution could not otherwise prove. More importantly, Stuart was my alibi; if I had told the police he committed the crime, I couldn’t have taken the stand to say that we were both home, together, that night.

  Perhaps, if I had asked him to take the blame he would have, but I doubt it. His loyalty to me was a product of the belief that we’d always be together. Once he realized one of us had to go to jail, I strongly suspect he would not have sacrificed his life for mine.

  I could have worn a wire, and that way obtained the proof of Stuart’s guilt. But I didn’t know he would confess so readily, and I feared that if he figured out that I was turning against him, he would turn on me. That was a price I was unwilling to pay. Me in prison, and Stuart full of hate. He could have erased my very existence from Jacob’s mind. At five, my son is still young enough to be fooled that way. Within a ye
ar, probably less, he’d believe that I’d left him at birth and never once read him Mike Mulligan.

  “I told you we would live happily ever after,” Stuart says as he moves over to me again.

  “That’s not going to happen, Stuart. You need to find somewhere else to stay tonight. I never want to see you again.”

  “No . . .” he says, looking confused. He actually reaches for my hand, not in an aggressive way, but as if we’re still a couple.

  “Don’t make me scream,” I snarl. “There are a dozen cops who would like nothing more than to shoot you. And I swear, if I see you anywhere near the house, I’ll shoot you myself.”

  He relaxes his grip and smiles at me, his expression totally out of sync with reality.

  “I understand,” he says. “This must be incredibly emotional for you. Take some time to be alone with Jacob. You’ve earned it. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

  I watch him leave the courtroom. It’s not until he fades from view that I’m able to breathe again. I’m going to take Jacob away—tonight. Somewhere I can start again.

  59.

  ELLA BRODEN

  Dana Goodwin’s words still ring in my ears when I turn to face Gabriel again. She was right about one thing: she is the very last person on earth from whom I should take relationship advice. Then again, I think she’s also right. Nothing is more important than being with someone you love.

  My father has come through the railing separating the spectators from the participants. He came to watch what he assumed would be the closing arguments.

  “I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” he says.

  It occurs to me that this will be his first time meeting Gabriel. At least as my boyfriend. They met during the investigation into Charlotte’s murder, but never since then. Even on Thanksgiving, we agreed to go to our separate families. My thinking at the time was that it was too soon after Charlotte’s death to subject my father to guests; Gabriel had said that he understood, even though I could tell he feared that I still didn’t view him as meet-the-father material.