“Think carefully about what’s best for your client,” she said. “And think carefully about what’s best for yourself. Some stones are better left unturned.”
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
I stood frozen, my heart hammering against my ribs. I sankback into my chair, my hands shaking.
The plea deal sat on my desk like a fucking bomb.
Eight to twelve years.
Possibility of parole after six.
Simon wouldn’t survive that. He was strong, but gay men in prison weren’t protected. They were used. They were hurt.
I stared at the folder; the words blurred together.
Rosalind was right about one thing: without evidence of Alan’s abuse, the self-defense strategy was a gamble.
A gamble I might lose.
And if I lost, Simon would spend the rest of his life in prison.
I was still staring at the folder when another knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” I said, my voice rough.
Nav walked in, a thick manila envelope in his hand. He found something. Something important. Normally he would have called me in. The fact that he was here in my office made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
I gestured to the chair across from me. “What did you find?”
Nav sat down and opened the envelope, pulling out a stack of documents. He spread them across my desk, pushing aside the case files I’d been reviewing.
“Alan Sanders,” he said. “I dug deeper into his history. Found some things you’re going to want to see.”
I leaned forward, scanning the pages. Court documents. Police reports. Restraining orders.
“What am I looking at?”
“A pattern.” Nav tapped one of the documents. “Alan had at least four previous relationships before Sadie. All of them ended badly. All of them involved abuse.”
My pulse quickened. “Go on.”
“First victim: Emily Hartman. Dated Alan for eight months in Kansas. Filed a restraining order after he broke her arm. Police reports document escalating violence, verbal abuse, isolation from friends and family, physical assault.”
Nav pulled out another document.
“Second victim: Rachel Nguyen. Dated Alan for nine months in Missouri. Filed a restraining order after he threatened to kill her. Police reports show a similar pattern of control, then violence.”
He kept going, laying out document after document.
“Third victim: Jennifer Cole. Dated Alan for six months in Iowa. Restraining order filed after he put her in the hospital. Broken ribs, concussion, internal bleeding.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered.
“Fourth victim: Savannah Reed. Dated Alan for eleven months in Nebraska.” I looked up at him. “Rock County. Restraining order filed after he strangled her. She almost died.”
Nav sat back, his expression grim. “Every single one of them describes the same cycle. Witness statements all say the same thing. He’d start out charming, attentive, perfect. Then he’d isolate them from their support systems. Then came the control. What they wore, who they talked to, where they went. Continuing with abuse until it escalated into physical violence. And it always escalated.”
I stared at the documents, my mind racing.
