Blood Sugar(64)

This was an absolute lie. Jesula was there for both deaths. There to see and know that I had the exact same coping mechanism of getting rid of anything that physically reminded me of my dearly departed. She crossed all lines to sabotage me and make sure I seemed guilty of murdering Jason. Simply, if all the prosecutor had before was straws, Jesula was the straw that broke the camel’s back. And as Roman predicted, after three weeks of testimony and one day of deliberation, I was indicted for murdering Jason.





CHAPTER 43


    CUFFS



Gabrielle was very angry with me. I could see it all over her pale face. She was sitting on the merlot love seat, scowling. Because my suggestion that she track down the friends and family of the man who saved her life turned out to be a very bad one. It seemed there was no record of a Derrick Roberts anywhere. The shooting was reported by the Miami Herald, his name was printed, but no funeral information was given, and there were no follow-up articles. The perpetrator apparently was never caught. Derrick had no Facebook page, no Twitter, no Instagram, no online presence at all.

I asked, “Did you check LinkedIn? Even people who never even sign up seem to be on it.”

I could see her frustration. She barked, “You think I didn’t already think of that? He’s not even on LinkedIn!”

Gabrielle told me she dug and dug and couldn’t find a record of him anywhere. No driver’s license, no birth certificate, no high school transcripts, no insurance. She could never even get to any of his kin or cohorts because it’s like he was a ghost before he was a ghost. She asked, desperately, “Did he even exist at all? Was I hallucinating the whole thing? Was he an angel? Am I crazy? Now I’m more obsessed than ever.”

This was painful to watch. Our many inroads were being covered up by a blizzard of doubt and lack of facts. She was sliding back to the days when I first met her. I took stock of the situation. We had a lot of work ahead of us, but I knew we could get there. I knew I could help her not feel crazy. Because she wasn’t crazy. I was about to say all this when we heard a hostile knock knock knock on my office door. The loud noise made her jump a little since usually this space was serene; the only sound was the occasional whirr of the air conditioner clicking on and off to maintain a perfect seventy-three degrees.

I said to her quietly, “Sorry about this.” Then I turned my head toward the door and yelled, “I’m in session!” But I knew who was knocking. No one else would have marched through the waiting room. And I was not sure why I was delaying the inevitable. Knock knock knock again. I was delaying the inevitable because I was scared.

A booming voice came from behind the thin wood door. “Open up or we kick it in.”

I wanted to assure Gabrielle that everything would be okay. I wanted to do my job. But I couldn’t in this moment. I could only stand and open the door. Two uniformed cops and Detective Jackson walked in. Detective Jackson did the talking.

“Ruby Simon, you are under arrest for the murder of Jason Hollander.”

Gabrielle was horrified. She looked at me, confused, then hurt, like I had somehow betrayed her. I could see in her eyes that the mere fact that I was being arrested made her immediately believe I might actually be guilty of the crime.

Her reaction brought my worst fears to the surface. Would anyone believe me when I said I didn’t do it? And if I said it confidently and calmly, would I seem more innocent? Or just cold and sociopathic? Should I frantically scream, “I’m innocent!”? Would people believe me then? I knew so much about human behavior, yet I was so used to covering up my lies that I didn’t know how to convince everyone around me that this time I was actually telling the truth.

Detective Jackson could easily have arrested me at my house. But he had already turned my neighbors against me. By coming to my office, while I was working, he could also destroy my career. The shorter of the two cops cuffed my hands behind my back. I turned to Gabrielle. Her giant eyes stared at me and tried to dart away at the same time. I needed to speak up. I forced my mouth to work.

“Please, Gabrielle. Call the number on the first page of my notebook by my chair. Roman Miller. Tell him I’m being arrested.” She opened her mouth to say something like, “How could you?” Or, “No. I refuse to get involved.” But I stopped her. “Please,” I repeated. “Please.”





CHAPTER 44


    JAIL



I didn’t say a word during the drive to the police station. I rode with the uniformed officers, not with Detective Jackson. The back of the police car smelled like human sweat and strawberry bubble gum. The seat looked old and worn, but clean. The impotent door handle was scratched up, probably by passengers refusing to believe they were locked in. This was the first time I had ever been in a police car.

When we arrived at the police station, I was handed off to many different people in slightly different apparel, each with a different job. I was patted down thoroughly but not aggressively. My personal effects were placed into a bag. My mugshot was taken. It happened so fast I couldn’t think about what expression to make. I ended up looking numb. Then my fingerprints were taken. I knew they were already on file somewhere since I had to have them taken before I worked at the juvenile detention center. I thought about this redundancy in the massive bureaucratic justice system as I gave in and relaxed each digit, and watched all ten be placed in ink and rolled onto paper. I was sure that some departments had laser scanners, but this station felt old-school.