Claim of Innocence

by Laura Caldwell

  Maggie hung up, and I thought more about my talk with Valerie, about the way she was twisting her wedding ring and the things she’d said about her husband.

  I stood and walked to the dresser in my bedroom. I opened the bottom drawer and dug past some scarves and workout clothes until I found the small navy blue box at the back.

  I took the box from the drawer and stared at it a second, then sat down on my bed. Inhaling deeply, I opened it and a tiny moan escaped my lips. There it was. That antique, art deco ring with an emerald-cut diamond, surrounded by other small, square diamonds. The ring Sam and I had seen in a little store on Jewelers Row. He had put it on my finger in a room of the James Hotel, where we were playing hooky from work, pretending we were rock stars. And that day, we were. We had everything we wanted—drinks and food and sex and most of all, each other. Sam and Izzy. Izzy McNeil and Sam Hollings. Mr. and Mrs. Hollings. The possibilities had seemed limitless.

  I found my cell phone and called Sam.

  He didn’t answer until the fourth ring, and then he was laughing, saying something like, “No, I think we have to take a left,” to someone in the background.

  I knew that laugh. It was Sam’s carefree chuckle, the one Sam only made when he was happy, truly unburdened by life. I heard the laughs of other people, too.

  “Sam?”

  “Yeah. Izzy?” He sounded surprised. “Hold on a sec.” Silence grew on his end, the laughter dying away, then, “Hi, I’m back,” he said, his voice more quiet, as if he were trying not to let anyone hear. “Sorry. I was on the other line when you called, and I clicked over and I thought… Anyway.”

  You didn’t know it was me. You wouldn’t have picked it up if you had. Ouch. “I just wanted to say hi.”

  “I’m glad. How are you?”

  “Well, uh, I’m a little messed up, I guess.”

  A pause. “Me, too. I should have called you after the other night, but I kept wondering if you walking out of the restaurant that day was the right thing to do. And if maybe I should leave it at that.”

  “Sam, you can’t saunter back into my life, saying things, and then drop out again.”

  “I know.” He said nothing else. An uncomfortable moment ruled.

  Through the phone, I heard the tinkle of laughter again, sounding like Alyssa and some other woman.

  “What are you up to?” I asked.

  “Uh, we’re going on a boat. Seeing some of our friends.”

  I noticed the use of we and our. “I’ll let you go.”

  “Don’t say that.” His words were fast, as if he’d rushed to get them out of his mouth before he’d thought about them. “Hey, guys, I’ll be right there,” he called away from the phone. After a moment, he continued. “I mean, Iz…” He breathed hard. “Don’t say that yet.”

  “What do you want me to say? What do you want from me, Sam?”

  “I want to be able to explain to you what I’ve been thinking, why I’m having problems with…”

  “With being engaged?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Figure it out, Sam.” My words came out with a gulp at the end. I was, I realized, tearing up. “Or let it go.”

  I hung up.

  It was morbid, but I slipped the engagement ring out of the box and onto my left hand. I stared at it. In my mind was an image of Sam putting the ring on my finger, and then an image of Sam with Alyssa and their friends. Friends I didn’t know, even though I used to know everyone in his life, everything about him.

  I pulled off the ring then and pushed it into the box so that the diamonds barely stood above the navy puff inside. Instead of putting the box back in the drawer, I found the safe in my office closet. I opened the safe, lifted my passport, the deed to my condo, my grandmother’s pearl earrings, until I found the bottom. And there I stowed the box. Out of sight.

  27

  “Champagne, sir?”

  “Oh,” Sam said, startled. He blinked and saw the waitress as if she’d just materialized in front of him. How long had he been standing there, thinking about Izzy? “No, thank you,” he said.

  The waitress smiled. “They’re making a toast.” She held the tray a little closer to him. “You’re the groom, right? You’d better get up there.” She nudged her head toward the front of the ship.

  Sam felt a swirling in his stomach, remorse and guilt picking up steam, moving deeper inside him. He faked a smile, thanked the waitress and took a glass.

  He walked from the stern to the bow, toward the sound of upbeat jazz music, toward the group of thirty or so people who’d gathered here on the boat for him and Alyssa. It wasn’t even a boat; it was a yacht. A fifty-foot Azimut yacht with three bedrooms, a salon, a full-time captain and staff of three. The ship was owned by Alyssa’s boss, who’d taken a liking to her since she’d moved to Chicago to perform research for his company.

  Right then, Sam saw Alyssa. She wore a yellow dress and diamond earrings, and a huge smile that made everyone at the party—their engagement party—grin back at her. He wanted to smile at her, too. He wanted to make her happy, the way he’d wanted to make Izzy happy. But for some reason, Alyssa—and his attempt to give her what she wanted and deserved—was not making him happy, something he had been forced to acknowledge recently. And now, nothing could overpower the realization—not the August sun, not the glittering diamonds on Alyssa’s engagement ring.

  She turned and saw him. Her face beamed even more, and that made his heart feel ripped apart. God, he didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t. Was that what he was doing to Izzy, too? Was he just making a disaster of everyone’s life?

  It was a question he’d been asking and asking, and that question was forcing him to consider his options. There was one in particular, an option he’d never had considered himself capable of, that was appearing more appealing. In part because it would give him some power in his life. And maybe that would help him make sense of everything.

  Alyssa raised her arm and gestured at him while a group of women surrounding her turned to look at him. They all waved. “Come here!” one called. “It’s time for the toast.”

  He was hurting all of those people, he knew—or he would eventually if he kept on this course—because they loved Alyssa and if he caused their friend pain, they would hurt for her. That’s how it worked. If you were lucky. Izzy was like that. She’d had people who loved her and rallied around her. Was he pulling Alyssa and Izzy and their families into his confused world?

  Was it time to take himself out? To take advantage of this opportunity that had presented itself? Because that’s what it was—an opportunity, not just an option.

  He raised his hand and gave Alyssa and her friends a one minute gesture. Putting the champagne glass on a nearby ledge, he took the piece of paper from his pocket. He’d been carrying it with him ever since he’d gotten it, as if he was afraid that without viewing it often, the opportunity would disappear, too.

  He unfolded the paper, deeply creased now. He read the document again. He could take advantage of this, he knew. Was it time to do so?

  28

  Lucy took a liking to Theo’s friend C.R. He had eyes like dark blue denim and a golden tan. We were at the Matchbox, a teeny bar wedged at the corner of Milwaukee and Ogden.

  “What does C.R. stand for?” Lucy asked him.

  “Nothing really. Somebody just started calling me that.”

  “Oh.” Lucy blinked.

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Lucy shot me a look to be quiet, so I erased the smile from my face. Theo was at the bar with his business partner, Eric, getting beers.

  Lucy wasn’t deterred. “What do you do for a living, C.R.?”

  “I work with horses.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing.” Lucy shot me a look like, See, these young guys are great.

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “I’m from Connecticut. I used to ride.” Lucy put a hand on her chest. “Do you do dressage?”

  “Dre-what? No, I drive. You know, buggies.
We’re supposed to call them carriages.”

  “Oh.” Still determined, she said, “You must be a great rider, though, right? To do that kind of work?”

  “Nah. Kind of fell into it.”

  And that, apparently, was that. C.R. stared blankly across the room.

  Lucy nodded lamely and pointedly didn’t look at me. She tried again to start a different conversation with C.R.

  As she did, I thought about earlier today, after Valerie had taken off so quickly. What had she been about to tell her friends? What was she about to tell me? I had followed Valerie to the door, but she couldn’t be stopped. I’d called her on her cell phone a number of times, but she never picked up.

  Lucy appeared stumped, apparently from another dead-end conversational attempt with C.R. I figured she was probably realizing right then that Mayburn had every thing she wanted, everything she needed—stability, money, a good job. Most of all, he was someone she loved. All things I used to think about Sam.

  But like a fighter who was almost down for the count but wouldn’t give up, Lucy took a breath and actually clapped her hand against her drink glass. “That’s great you fell into that kind of work with horses,” she said. “How interesting.”

  “Yeah. Ya think?”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  C.R. turned his body to face Lucy. “What do you do?”

  Lucy stalled, and I thought I knew why. I took a sip of my wine, pretended to pay attention to Theo and Eric, who were making their way toward us. If Lucy said she was a mom of two, there would be the inevitable back-of-the-mind question—how old was she? The answer to which was about fifteen years older than C.R.

  “So what kind of horses?” she said, galloping over his question.

  God love her, Lucy kept trying, and with an infusion of a large slug of beer, C.R. finally started contributing to the conversation.

  Theo and Eric reached us, and Eric gave me a smile. He seemed like a nice guy, clearly highly intelligent, someone who seemed to be observant of everything but who remained quiet most of the time. He had black hair cut close to his head. His hairline was inching back—he’d be one of those guys who lost his hair early—but he had keen green eyes and a chiseled-looking face with prominent cheekbones, making him also look like the kind of guy who would be handsome for a long time.

  “What are you doing for the Labor Day weekend?” Eric asked Theo and me. “Want to see the Sharpies?” The Sharpies were a band Theo and Eric both liked. I was sure they’d already had this talk or that they could easily have it in the office, since Labor Day was still a few weeks away, but Eric was clearly trying to give C.R. and Lucy room to chat. That he was sensitive to other people like that made me like him.

  “Dude, maybe we should take everybody to the show?” Theo said. “It’d be good to get ’em out of the office.”

  “You want to take all of them?” Eric replied. He meant their employees. Theo had been saying that he wanted to do something to reward their group for working hard all summer. I had been impressed that someone as young as Theo would have the management wherewithal to realize that positive reinforcement for employees was important. I thought of Sam, who’d been so happy when he was in charge of staff members at the wealth management firm where he used to work. Now, he was on the trading side of the business and didn’t like it.

  “Yeah,” Theo said to Eric, “let’s take ’em all.”

  Eric looked at the ceiling and muttered a few numbers under his breath. “That’ll cost a lot.”

  They started talking about the ticket prices, about providing food and drink. They spoke in shorthand and truly listened to each other. I understood a little better now how they’d been successful together, both of them talented designers and programmers, with Theo’s charisma combining with Eric’s business sense. Sam used to be like that with the people at his firm, too. I knew it was something he missed.

  Enough about Sam! I said to myself. All I’d been doing for the past few days was comparing Theo to Sam, Sam to Theo, on everything from work styles to sex styles. Theo was winning on the latter, I had to admit, but then I was quite sure no one would ever be able to compare to Theo on the sexual front. And could I ever give that up? Even for a deeper relationship, something I had with Sam? I’d never have thought I’d choose sex over a deep connection, but until Theo, I’d never known what was possible.

  Lucy and C.R. turned to us, apparently having used up all their conversational potential.

  “Ready to head out?” Lucy said.

  C.R. seemed to assume the question was being put to him. “Your place?”

  Lucy was taken aback, but I wasn’t. The quick hookup was how things worked at their age. Hell, it was how things had worked with Theo and me when we met.

  “Umm,” she said. “No, I can’t, I’ve got…people at my house.”

  “My place, then,” C.R. said.

  Lucy sent me a help look, but I only shrugged. She wanted the young guys? She was going to have to deal with the fact that most were looking for a nightcap. A personal one.

  Lucy pulled out her phone and made C.R. do the same. “Let me just get your number,” she said. “I have a really early morning tomorrow.” They exchanged numbers, and she promised to call him and make plans for next week.

  Before she took off, Lucy whispered to me, “It’s like they’re from a different planet.”

  “See, I told you.” Now she would be back to Mayburn, I thought.

  But she only said, “I love it,” squeezed my arm and left.

  29

  On Sunday morning, I picked up my Vespa from Maggie’s and drove it to her grandfather’s place to talk about the trial. Martin was out of the hospital and feeling better, but his doctor had strictly said he wasn’t allowed to try Valerie’s case this week.

  The Bristols had lived in Bridgeport while they raised their five children and while Martin built his criminal defense practice. But they’d moved recently to a place on the newer near-south side, a penthouse that took up the entire floor of a high-rise on a historic street called Prairie Avenue. Normally, each floor held a minimum of eight apartments, Maggie told me, but the highest floor had been made into a single one for Martin and his wife and the masses of kids and grandkids that were always around. From the penthouse, Martin loved to point out landmarks to the kids, things like the Shedd Aquarium, the Museum of Natural History, Soldier Field. And he could take them out the door to the symphony or the Art Institute.

  Maggie’s grandmother answered the door when I arrived. She was as tiny as Maggie and just as alive.

  She embraced me, standing on her toes the way Maggie did. “How are you, Isabel? I haven’t seen you since… Well, I suppose since you were on TV.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Usually, it was awkward to run into someone I hadn’t seen in a while, especially people who knew that last year my fiancé had disappeared and I had been suspected in a friend’s murder. Hence the TV stuff. But Margaret Bristol, after whom Maggie was named, didn’t look uncomfortable at all. I suppose when your husband has put away a few mass murderers and represented a few others, you get used to running across the occasional awkward situation.

  “He’ll be glad you’re here,” Mrs. Bristol said. “You know he likes you very much, Iz. And he’s grateful for your help with the trial.”

  “Well, I’m grateful for the work.” I put a hand on her arm. “How is he?”

  She looked down the hall then back at me. “Impossible,” her grandmother said. “We took him to the hospital, and they said it was stress, exhaustion, dehydration. I’m practically shoving fluids down his throat. Trying to make him eat. Mostly, I think it’s emotional. He’s clearly having a hard time dealing with something. He’s always gotten distant at the beginning of a trial, but this is different.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged one shoulder. “But I suppose that’s how life is. Even after fifty years of knowing someone, you still never know everything ab
out them.”

  “I understand that.” I didn’t know everything about Sam. And yet I liked that.

  Mrs. Bristol smiled and pointed a finger down a marble hallway. “They’re in the sun room.”

  The room at the end of the hall was small, filled with white-and-blue couches all facing toward a few tables, and beyond that, massive windows overlooked the museum campus and the currently teal-colored Lake Michigan.

  It was hot in the room. The sun streamed through blinds, which were halfway down the window, and yet Martin Bristol wore flannel pajamas and a matching robe. Maggie, wearing white jeans that came to her knees and a blue tank top, sat at his feet and held a huge trial notebook as she ran down questions for upcoming witnesses.

  “Hi, Iz,” Maggie said.

  Martin echoed, “Hello, Isabel!” We shook hands.

  I couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, out the window again. “Great view, Mr. Bristol.”

  Martin followed my gaze toward the museum campus. “Most of that wasn’t here when I was a child.” he said. “It grows up around you, like kids grow around you.” His gaze dropped to Maggie. “Just like grandkids…” He sounded rather bleak.

  “Marty, don’t get all sentimental,” Maggie said.

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, let’s talk about the trial.” His kind, keen eyes met mine. “Are you ready, Isabel?”

  For a moment, I was at a loss for words. How could anyone be ready for a major trial that, a few days before, they didn’t know was coming? But as Martin’s replacement, I didn’t want to scare him.

  “I’m taking it a day at a time,” I said. “Tomorrow is Detective Vaughn.”

  “I hear you have some history with him,” Martin said.

  “Oh, yes.” I gave a single nod and an angry glare escaped my eyes.

  “Good,” Martin said. “Take that emotion into the courtroom and take him down.”

  “That’s the plan.” I didn’t say that I knew Vaughn would probably be an excellent witness. Our showdown had the makings of a bloody battle.