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“Speaking.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you. This is Detective Roy Dennison, from Benton County.”
“Yes. I know. I’m so sorry. I know I promised to come down and look at photographs…”
Sylvie’s warnings about going to the police came back into my head. I should have just dropped the whole thing. Things never worked out for me. No one ever believed me. Even tonight. My own brother. His support was half-hearted. Filled with doubt.
I bet they believed Mina Sobel. She looked so smart. So important. So confident. People respected her. They would listen to what she had to say. What would it be like to have someone like her on your side? She mattered. They ignored me. Dismissed me. Looked down on me.
“Corrine,” Dennison’s tone became stern. “There’s no soft way to tell you this, so forgive me if it’s upsetting. We have a suspect in one of the cases we’ve been working on. I can’t give you specifics on anything that’s not directly related to your case. Do you think you could meet me in Ann Arbor?”
“Ann Arbor?” That was nowhere near me or Lasalle Harbor.
“I need you to take a look at a lineup.”
My pulse jackhammered. A lineup? With real people. Not just photos.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. I can meet you there.”
“In person? I thought you said I just had to look at pictures.”
“Things have changed. Will it be a problem?”
I swallowed hard. I’d have to call off work. Sylvie would throw a fit. I’d tell her I was sick.
“Do you… you think you’ve caught the guy?” No. Not yet. I wasn’t ready. It was too soon.
“Right now, I’m just asking you to take a look at the lineup.”
“This lineup. They won’t see me? The people you bring in won’t know I’m there?”
“No,” he said. “It’s perfectly safe. I promise. I’ll be there. If you’d like to bring someone with you, that’s totally okay.”
“No,” I said quickly. I didn’t want Sylvie or PJ involved. I’d had enough of their looks of pity. “But… will Ms. Sobel be there?”
THIRTEEN
MINA
“You don’t have it.”
Vic Jaffe was a fossil, having been admitted to the Michigan bar in the mid-eighties. Since then, his various wives had thrown him three retirement parties. Rather than letting go of his law license, he let go of the wives. Now, he stood outside of Judge Clarke’s courtroom making arguments that bordered on offensive.
“I’m not interested in fiction, Vic.” I slid my cell phone into my briefcase. “Joan Cummings is looking at six months in a rehab facility learning how to tie her shoes again. Maddie Cummings is going to need intensive psychotherapy. She’ll be an eighteen-year-old kid taking care of her disabled mother.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I? Oh wait… that’s right… Shawn Cummings can’t get anywhere near Joan in order to see for himself.”
We were drawing a crowd. I had half a mind to let the rest of the county bar see what an arrogant prick Vic was. But they already knew. So, in the interest of discretion, we walked into the open jury room and shut the door.
“Simple assault,” he said. “A horrible accident. Joan doesn’t want this.”
I shook my head. “Simple assault? That’s a ninety-day misdemeanor. This isn’t a negotiation. There’s no plea deal on the table. I don’t care what Joan wants. Her daughter is a credible eyewitness who watched her father push her mother down a full flight of stairs. She’s had enough. She doesn’t care if Joan cuts her out of her life. At least she’ll have a life.”
“Have you thought about how much this will hurt your own interests, Mina?”
