I shake my head. Now is not the time to go into specifics. I whispered most of it to her, and with the loud beeping from these stupid machines, if anyone’s listening, they didn’t get the details. “We’ll talk about it later.”
Tears glimmer in her eyes. I keep forgetting how smart she is. Obviously, she’s put together exactly what happened. She reaches out and slides her hand into mine, providing more comfort than she’ll ever realize.
“Visiting hours are probably about over,” I say. “I want Garik with you for the rest of the weekend—until I get out on bail.” I won’t consider the possibility that a judge might refuse bail.
Rosalie scoots forward and rests her head next to mine. “I think I’ll stay here with you for a little while.”
Simple words. Soft words. But they hit me harder than a freight train. She might not fully understand it yet, but she’s always going to stay with me.
THIRTY-FOUR
Rosalie
On Monday morning, I find myself dressed in my best navy-blue skirt suit, arguing passionately for Alexei to be released on his own recognizance. He stands beside me in new clothing I brought him, black slacks, a salmon-colored shirt, and a black jacket.
He glances at the shirt a couple of times and then at me. I shrug. It was in with all of his other new clothing, and I thought he liked it. He seems to like the old-fashioned black and white look. But I felt like messing with him a little bit.
The prosecuting attorney, a middle-aged woman with very pretty gray and blondish hair piled up on her head, impatiently taps her pencil on the desk.
For some reason, the sound is bugging me. Once in a while a noise other than a mouth or nose sound will feel like a spur beneath my skin.
She keeps tapping. “Your Honor. With all due respect, Mr. Sokolov’s prints were found on the letter opener, which was still embedded in his half brother’s throat. He was the last one to see the deceased, and there’s no love lost in this family. They completely abandoned the defendant when he was convicted of murder seven years ago.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Falsely convicted.” I slam my fist on the table. I want to grab that pencil from her. “The verdict has been overturned, and we have evidentiary proof that he was set up. I submitted a copy of the video showing Hendrix Sokolov actually planting evidence at the original crime scene.”
“Exactly my point, Your Honor,” the prosecutor says. “We don’t know where Hendrix obtained the knife used to murder David Fairfax seven years ago. Perhaps he got it from his brother. Or perhaps he killed David. Either way, Hendrix threw that knife in the pond, and Alexei went to prison for seven years. No doubt Alexei wanted revenge.”
I think her name is Vicky Sloth or something like that. I wasn’t really listening when she introduced herself, because my mind has been spinning all day.
She keeps tapping that damn pencil. “The defendant has an excellent motive for killing his half brother. Can you imagine spending seven years in prison for a crime because your own brother ensured the murder weapon would be found?” She looks at Alexei on my other side as she hints that he still murdered the victim. “I’d be angry, Judge.”
“So would I,” the judge agrees. She’s an older woman with long white hair named Valerie Flanders. “But motive is irrelevant in a criminal case, as you know. Well, legally it’s irrelevant, but a jury always likes to know what it is.”
“He has the means and the opportunity to have killed his half brother, as well, Your Honor,” the prosecuting attorney says, slapping the pencil on the table. It rolls an inch my way.
Alexei smoothly steps behind me, leans over, and grabs the prosecutor’s pencil.
She jerks.
He quickly steps back into place and leans down to scribble on a notebook.
“Mr. Sokolov,” the judge snaps.
He pauses and looks up. “Yes, Judge?”
She blinks. “What did you just do?”
Alexei has the grace to appear surprised. “I thought the pencils were for everybody, and we don’t have one.” He leans around my front to face the prosecutor. “Sorry about that. I thought you were finished with this one.”
How had he known the tapping was killing me? I completely kept my cool. Does he know me that well? “Your Honor,” I say, trying to keep all emotion out of my voice.
The idea that Alexei could have been killed the other day sticks with me and forces me to make several harsh realizations. The first is that somehow I’ve completely fallen for the guy. The second is that he’s in danger all the time. And the third is that this murder charge is real. He does have an excellent motive to kill Hendrix for setting him up years ago. Or just to regain ownership and control of Hologrid Hub now. Alexei’s prints are on the letter opener, of course, as are mine.
I clear my throat and try again. “For some reason, Mr. Sokolov was sent from the jail to await a bail hearing, to prison, a place he barely escaped and was immediately attacked.”
The judge looks at the prosecuting attorney. “I agree with a concern there. Why in the world was Mr. Sokolov removed from the local jail and taken back to prison?”
