He opens his portfolio and pulls out a pad of legal paper. “She’s fine. Shaken and tired and a bit shocky, but she’s a tough one.”
“Don’t I know it.” My chest swells. I’m pretty sure I can hear the chambers of my heart expanding with love for her.
“She gave her statement—”
“Which you were there for, yeah?” I cut in again, having insisted that Abelman act as Maggie’s counsel before turning his attention to me. I have about six dozen things to worry about, but damned if I’ll let Maggie getting charged with anything (like being an accessory to a crime) be one of them.
“Yes.” Abelman nods briskly. “I was there for her through it all. The police have released her pending further questioning after they’ve had the chance to interviewyou.”
I sit back as far as my cuffed arm will allow and squeeze my eyes closed.
Maggie’s out. She’s free.
The knots in my shoulders loosen.
When I open my eyes again, I drink in the pale, golden light shining like flashlight beams through the bars of the lone window placed high on the wall at Abelman’s back. The sun is up. The world is turning. Life goes on.
There’s comfort in that.
Beside my lawyer, a paper cup of coffee sends delicate wisps of steam into the air. Abelman sees the direction of my gaze and pushes the coffee my way.
“It’s all yours,” he says, and I don’t turn down his offer.
Taking a quick swallow, I welcome the warmth and the kick of caffeine that livens up my bloodstream. I’ve spent plenty of nights in uncomfortable spots. The time I got lost in the bayou and had to sleep in the bottom of my pirogue with the skeeters doing their best to eat me alive comes to mind. As does the time Cash and I got cut off from our unit and had to spend a night huddled together in a mountain cave with the icy wind blowing in and cutting us clean in half. But nothing compares to a jail cell.
I don’t know if it’s the hard surfaces, or the oppressive sense that comes with a lack of freedom, but I didn’t get a wink of sleep.
Of course, most of that was on account of my worry for Maggie. As the hours ticked by, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she was going through inside some airless interrogation room. And I almost convinced myself that everything would have been so much better if she’d stayed in the city instead of coming to visit me last night.
I sayalmost convinced,because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make myself regret that kiss. It was…everything. All I’ve ever dreamed.
And more.
“Let’s talk about you.” Abelman flips to a fresh sheet of paper and clicks a ballpoint pen. “Evidence has been collected from the scene. The body. Both weapons. The bullet in the side of your house. The GSR on Sullivan’s hand as well as the GSR on yours. Given all of that, along with Miss Carter’s corroborating statements, it’s going to be difficult for any prosecutor to find a way to bring charges against you.”
He goes on to say, “The current self-defense laws in our great state of Louisiana clearly establish that deadly force can be legally used against any person who is threatening to kill you or do great bodily harm to you. Add that to the castle laws that allow you to protect your property and the stand-your-ground laws that don’t obligate you to retreat when you’re threatened, and this should be an open-and-shut case.”
“Shouldbe?” I pin him with a searching look.
His frown is sour. “This is the superintendant of the New Orleans Police Department we’re talking about. And the case is being investigated by his own rank and file.”
And there it is. My biggest worry voiced aloud.
“I don’t know about you,” I tell him, “but my confidence in ’em giving me a fair shake is about as thin as an eggshell.”
“Which is why I’ve filed a motion to have all the evidence sent to an outside lab where it will be examined by a neutral third party.”
“You think you’ll get the green light for that?”
“I know I will. The judge I filed with is unassailable, ethical and as fair-minded as they come. He hasn’t let me down yet.”
I grunt, reassured by my choice in attorneys.
“But that doesn’t mean the boys in blue won’t still try to throw up every roadblock they can,” he cautions me. “If they can’t pin Sullivan’s death on you, they might try to come after you for not reporting Dean’s death ten years ago. Although, technically, in our state, failing to report a death isn’t a crime. Or, they might try to say that keeping what you knew of his death a secret when you were questioned by the police all those years ago somehow skews into the area of obstructing justice. But again, that’s a stretch.”
I nod. After so long, it’s a relief to hear Dean’s death talked about in such open and honest terms. To have the truth out there once and for all. My daddy always said that, like a big ol’ bayou gator, you don’t have to defend the truth. Let it loose, and it’ll defend itself.
If I’d been brave enough to take his advice when I was eighteen, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Or maybe Sullivan would’ve manipulated the evidence and who knows what would’ve become of me and Maggie?
