We all paused a moment, letting all the information sink in.
“What does Layla think happened with Amanda?” I asked.
“She thinks it was an accident. A real accident where no one was trying to kill anyone. She won’t believe anything bad about Zavy and she won’t believe anything bad about me.”
“Did you know she continued to see him? After Amanda’s death?”
“I suspected. And then I realized during the trial that they definitely were still together. I just wanted the trial to be finished so I could deal with her and this…relationship,” she said with disgust.
She covered her eyes with her hand, and we sat in quiet.
My cell phone buzzed, telling me I had a text. “It’s my dad.”
Outside Valerie’s house, the message said. Need to talk about case.
I read it out loud to Maggie and Valerie. Maggie stood from her chair. “I’ll get him.”
When he walked in the room behind Maggie, he didn’t wait for pleasantries or to be invited to sit down.
“There’s an old warrant out for Zavy’s arrest,” he said. “He was convicted of one of those underage sex offenses years ago, but he disappeared before the State of Louisiana could take him into custody.”
“What should we do?” I asked.
We heard the front door open again.
81
Layla’s voice rang through the apartment. “Mom, I’m back! I got the sopa, and they had those tamalitos you like. And…”
Tall, beautiful Layla walked into the room and saw us. She took a few more steps and dropped the bags of food on the coffee table, her eyes searching us for clues. “Is the jury back?”
“Yes,” her mom said. “Yes. The verdict was not guilty.”
Layla burst into tears and ran to her mother, falling to her knees and burying her face in her mother’s lap. Valerie stroked her daughter’s hair.
“Maybe we should go,” my father said.
“No,” Valerie said. “Layla needs to hear what you told me about Zavy.”
At that, Layla raised her head, quickly looking at Valerie and then all of us. “Mom…” she said, in a warning tone, telling her mother to be quiet.
“They know,” Valerie said.
Layla’s face flashed with anger at her mother.
I spoke up. “Layla, I was at the bar last night, the one that has the weekly trivia. I saw you with Zavy. And then I saw you again in the courtroom today.”
Layla’s face was wary. “What do you mean? We’ve been in the courtroom all week.”
“The courtroom on the third floor,” I said. “The empty one.”
Layla’s eyes closed for a second. Then she raised her gaze. “I’m not embarrassed about it. You can’t embarrass me.” Her words were tough, but her face was a mixture of hurt and fear.
I scooted forward on the couch to look at her, still curled up at her mother’s feet like a girl much younger. “I would never want to embarrass you, Layla,” I said. “In fact, I’m not embarrassed for you at all.”
“You think I should break up with him,” Layla said. “You think it’s something bad, but it’s not.” She shook her head fiercely. “Love doesn’t care about age.” The last sentence came out slightly awkward, yet forceful. It sounded like something she’d heard from someone else.
“I understand that,” I said. “I’m dating someone who’s almost ten years younger than me, closer to your age than to mine. I don’t think you have to be the same age to be in love.”
Had I just said that …in love? I glanced at Maggie, who made a Whoa kind of face at me.
Meanwhile, Valerie was sending me a warning stare.
I tried to close my mouth, but I couldn’t help but speak again. “But Layla, you should know that Zavy isn’t a good guy.”
She got to her feet and looked down at us, angry. “Don’t say that. He’s an amazing person. And what we have together is unique. We’re special.” Again, they sounded like someone else’s words.
None of us said anything. I didn’t want to hurt the girl any more than she had been already. But my father, the emotionally ruthless one, spoke up. “You should know that Zavy has been involved with other young women besides yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Miller was convicted of having sex with minors when he lived in New Orleans.”
“He never lived in New Orleans. I know everything about him.”
“He did live there. His name then was Xavier Jennings.” My father reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, extracting a sheath of papers. He peeled off the top one, showing it to us, then extended it to Layla. “Here is his mug shot.” He looked younger, his hair fuller, but there was no doubt it was Zavy.
My father continued. “He was arrested twice for having sex with girls who were fifteen and sixteen. In both cases, he had rather long relationships with them. One lasted about seven months, one for almost a year. One of the cases was dropped because the young woman refused to testify. In the other one, he was convicted. There’s a warrant out for his arrest now.”
Layla’s face was alive with shock and bewilderment. “That isn’t true. It can’t be.”
My father stepped forward again and silently handed her another piece of paper. “Here’s his rap sheet.” He pointed to different parts of the sheet, explaining to Layla the dates of his arrest, the status of the warrant, which was very much active.
Distraught, Layla looked at the sheet. A moment went by, then a moment longer. When she spoke, her voice was strangled. “He’s told me about everyone he’s been involved with.”
Somewhere in the room, the sound of a clock I hadn’t noticed before—tick, tick, tick.
If I had thought waiting for the verdict was intense, this moment was more so—packed full of chaotic energy. And I felt certain then that despite that chaos, or maybe because of it, Layla needed to know everything. “Your mom and Amanda were convinced he was waiting for Tess and Brit to get older.”
“That’s bullshit!” Layla said.
“It’s not,” Valerie said. Her voice sounded strong, clear. She told Layla what she and Amanda had pieced together from Zavy’s behavior over the years. She told her about the dinner that night that they’d planned.
“That’s not true about Tess and Brit,” Layla said. “And he never lived in New Orleans. I would know. I know everything about him.” She moaned a little as if in pain. “He fell in love with me because of me. He’d never been involved with anyone much younger than him until me. Amanda was two years younger than him, and he said that was the youngest woman he’d dated. Until me. He said he couldn’t believe it when he realized he was attracted to me, but he couldn’t fight it.”
No one said anything.
Layla stared at the rap sheet. “But if this is all true…” She looked at my father.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but it is true. It’s been verified. He clearly has a history of relationships with younger women. Did he ever come on to you when you were younger?”
“No,” she said hurriedly. “I’d known him forever.” She glanced over his shoulder at Valerie, who was watching and listening. “We became friends, though, when I was fourteen or fifteen. I realized how cool he was. But nothing ever happened until I was seventeen.”
“How long after you turned seventeen?” Maggie asked.
Layla opened her mouth, closed it. Her eyes looked foggy for a second. “I don’t know…I guess about…about a week.”
My heart broke for the girl.
“But it wasn’t anything physical then,” she said. “It was…I don’t know…flirty. Adult kind of flirty, I thought. And then when I started at DePaul, then we…” Her voice died.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” my father said, “but he was just waiting for you to be of age, and then to be out of your mother’s house. He knew better than to get involved with you earlier than that, because he’d been arrested for this twice before.”
“He’s doing the sam
e thing now with Tessa and Brit,” Valerie said. “Waiting.”
“No, he’s not!” Layla’s voice was loud and raw, but then something washed over her. Her body went limp, like she might faint.
“Layla, sit,” Valerie said gently. She stood from the chair and pulled Layla into it, mother and daughter squeezed together, Valerie’s arm tight around Layla’s shoulders.
“No,” Layla said. “No…” Her eyes stared far away. “Oh, my God.” She looked at her mom, some kind of recognition on her face. “He told me about the presents he’s been buying for the girls. He can’t wait for them to come home from Amanda’s sister’s house.” Her hands flew to her face, her hair hanging in sheets. “Now I’m thinking of all these things he said,” she mumbled through her hands. “He can’t wait until Tessa can go away to college. Since Amanda died, he’s been saying he and Brit will probably have to move because she’s going to go out of state for some kind of scholarship. Oh, my God, maybe you’re right. He’ll wait until they’re older, but then he’ll…”
Layla began to cry again, tears of heartbreak. Her mother tried to console her, hugging her tighter.
Maggie stood. I did, too. “We’ll leave you alone.”
But Layla shook her head, wiping her tears away with her fingers. Something had changed about her expression; some kind of determination had entered. “Mr. McNeil, can I see that again?” She pointed to the rap sheet.
He handed it to her.
She studied it, exhaling hard a few times, then she pointed toward the top of the sheet. “Is this the number for the New Orleans Police Department, or whoever is supposed to take care of this warrant, or whatever it’s called?”
My father looked at her for a moment. “Yes.”
“I want to call them.”
“If you’re serious,” I said, “we could call the police here in Chicago. I know someone. They have authority to arrest him, too.”
Layla lifted her cell phone. Sniffling, tears still trickling down her cheeks. “Okay. Okay. I’ll tell them about the warrant in New Orleans, and that I know where he is.”
“What about his other crime, Layla?” I asked.
Valerie looked at me, eyes wide.
“What other crime?”
“What he did to Amanda.”
“He didn’t…” But then she stopped, her brows furrowed as if she was thinking over everything. “I know you didn’t kill Amanda,” she said, looking at Valerie now. “You loved her and wouldn’t want Zavy to be free to be with me.”
“That’s right,” Valerie said.
“I couldn’t believe Zavy would kill anyone. But I didn’t know about New Orleans, either. I didn’t know he’d lied to me.”
“Layla, stop,” Valerie said. “I’ve been cleared and Zavy will go away for a little while.”
Layla’s face nearly crumpled. “And then he’ll be out again. I won’t have anything to do with him, but what about Tessa and Brit?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t leave him out there to just…prey on them.”
Valerie stood. “But then everything I fought for will be in vain. Everyone will find out about you and Zavy.”
She hugged her mom. “It’s okay.”
Valerie began to cry.
“It really is okay, Mom. I loved him. And I’m not ashamed of that.”
82
The doorbell rang, and Zavy stopped his pacing.
He’d been doing that—looping around and around the house—since his conversation with the prosecutor.
Disappointment had filled him, filled the room, the house, when he’d learned Valerie was acquitted. He could drown in it. He had felt the pull, the same way he had in New Orleans, when everything went wrong. When he had made a mistake in the eyes of the law.
But no. He told himself that the universe would right itself again. He knew that. At least Tessa and Brit would be coming home now. But what of Layla? What would happen with them now that Valerie wasn’t going away? He felt his heart clench. He loved Layla so much. So much. So much. But he had always known that what he had with Layla would end. It was why he had been preparing Tessa and Brit, preparing himself for when they changed into women. When, in the eyes of the law, they could choose him.
So no, he wouldn’t give in to the despair. He wouldn’t fall apart. Because the universe would right itself again. It would. He kept pacing, planning.
But now the doorbell. Who was it? Probably the press, he realized. He thought about it. He would play the aggrieved widower, he decided. He would say something that Tess and Brit could look back on and respect him for, love him for. We have to trust the justice system, he would say to the media. He wouldn’t look happy about it, but he would add, I just want my daughters to move forward, to get back to a normal life.
Valerie wasn’t about to tell anyone about his predilections toward Tess and Brit. She had no proof, for one thing. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone about him and Layla. She’d already shown how far she would go to hide that.
The doorbell rang again, this time someone hitting it repeatedly—bang, bang, bang.
Zavy strode confidently toward the door. He composed a tired, pained, but courageous expression and opened the door, ready for the onslaught of media.
But there were only three men there. Two of them cops. The guy that stood in front of him was about his age. He reached in his pocket and raised a black wallet. He opened it, briefly showing some kind of identification, but Zavy couldn’t read it before the guy put the wallet back in his pocket.
A smile lifted the corner of the man’s mouth, then disappeared. “I’m Detective Damon Vaughn,” the guy said. “Xavier Jennings, you are under arrest.”
83
Three months later
“We’re here in the studio today with the subjects of a new Chicago Tribune story that broke this morning.” The radio host, Tom Easting, looked around the studio at us. His low, inquisitive voice was more familiar to me than his face. “We’re joined by Martin Bristol, one of Chicago’s most well-known criminal defense lawyers, his granddaughter and law partner, Maggie Bristol, and their associate, Isabel McNeil.”
Tom leaned forward on the desk. “As some of you might recall, the Bristols’ law firm, along with Ms. McNeil, successfully represented Valerie Solara, a woman who was accused of killing her friend Amanda Miller.” He held up his hands, as if an audience could actually see him. “Now, full disclosure here—one of our producers, Charlie McNeil, is related to Izzy McNeil.” The host smiled at me. “Is that right?”
I leaned toward the microphone. “Absolutely right. He’s my brother.” I glanced at Charlie who was in the producers’ booth, behind the wall of glass. He grinned and gave me a thumbs-up.
How odd and wonderful it was to see Charlie in his work environment. Earlier, he had shown us to the green room, pointing out different pictures on the wall of famous people who had sat in the same room before going on the air. He introduced us to the program director, the sales-people, the weather and sports guys.
“Charlie is our best producer,” the program director had said when we met before the interview.
I had to stop myself from saying, Really? Not because I didn’t think Charlie could excel in a job, but I didn’t think he would ever want to. I had hugged Charlie tight around his middle when the program director left, swelling with pride. I was so happy that I was spending more time with my family. Valerie’s trial, Sam’s reappearance and my new job had temporarily put me into work mode. But now I was emerging again, growing confident about my professional skills and spending lots of time at my mom’s house, seeing her and Spence and Charlie. And Theo was with me most times now. He’s family, Spence had declared last week.
I tuned back in to the host now, who was also saying flattering things about Charlie. Then he looked at me. “So there was a lot of media coverage surrounding the Solara trial, and it wasn’t just because of the case. The media seemed to really like you, Izzy.”
“Is that what you’d call it?
” I said it with a joking tone, and everyone laughed.
Tom asked Maggie and me more questions about the case.
“We should mention,” Tom said into his mike, “that Xavier Miller, the husband of the victim, has since been arrested for that murder. He is in custody awaiting trial, and the State of Louisiana wants to extradite him on statutory rape charges.”
“That’s right,” Maggie answered.
Valerie hadn’t wanted Layla to turn in Zavy for murder, sure that it would ruin Layla’s life if the story of her relationship went public. But Layla had grown up in that moment in her mother’s apartment, as she heard the allegations about her lover. She was still in college now and she’d also gotten a modeling agent. She was busy on “go-sees” in her free time.
Since Valerie couldn’t be charged with murder again or even attempted murder—that would have been double jeopardy—Valerie was free, finally. I’d seen Valerie and Layla a number of times recently. They seemed to have become closer. But Layla had told me that Valerie didn’t leave the house much because of the press. She hated every one knowing she had tried to kill Zavy.
I assured Layla that the pressure would die down, people would forget. In the meantime, we had told the radio host, and any reporter or broadcaster who interviewed us on the story, that we wouldn’t discuss Valerie, Layla or Zavy in depth.
So the host turned to his left now, adjusted something on a board that was brightly lit, then turned back to his microphone. “Okay, let’s get back to the news today,” he said. “The Chicago Tribune broke a story this morning about Martin Bristol and an old murder case in Chicago. Martin, do you want to tell us about it?”
Marty leaned forward. “I went to the Trib because I was ready to admit that I believe I was involved in a wrongful conviction early in my career as an assistant state’s attorney.”
He explained about Javier Solara, how at the time there wasn’t enough evidence beyond a bad feeling, but how it had bothered him his whole life. He talked about how he took on Valerie’s case because of her father. “Now, with the help of two innocence projects—the Center on Wrongful Convictions here in Chicago and the Innocence Project in New York—we have proven through DNA evidence that Javier Solara is entirely innocent.”
Claim of Innocence Page 33