A Good Marriage(3)

“That’s understandable,” I said, and it was.

“Anybody there could have seen how upset I was,” he went on. “They should have given me a minute.”

“They should have.”

The fact that the police hadn’t was surely a harbinger of bad things to come. They must have already suspected he was responsible for his wife’s death. What better way to keep track of a potential suspect than to lock him away in jail on a lesser charge?

“I really need your help, Lizzie,” Zach said. “I need a good—a great lawyer.”

This was not the first time a former law school classmate had called for help with a criminal issue. It wasn’t easy to find top-flight criminal defense lawyers, and few Penn Law School graduates practiced criminal law. But people usually wanted help with small matters—DUIs or petty drug possession charges, occasionally white-collar offenses—and always for a family member or friend. They were never calling for themselves, and certainly not from Rikers.

“I can help with that, for sure. I have connections to some of the best criminal defense lawyers in—”

“Connections? No, no. I want you.”

Fuck. Hang up. Right now.

“Oh, I am not remotely the right lawyer for you.” And, thankfully, that was the absolute truth. “I only started working as a defense attorney a few months ago, and all my criminal experience is in white-collar—”

“Please, Lizzie.” Zach’s voice was awfully desperate. But he was a multimillionaire, with countless lawyers at his disposal, surely. Why me? Now that I’d thought about it, Zach and I had drifted apart long before graduation. “You and I both know what’s happening here—I’m probably going to end up fighting for my life. Don’t they always end up blaming the husband? I can’t have some slick suit standing next to me. I need someone who gets it—who knows where I came from. Someone who will do what it takes, whatever it takes. Lizzie, I need you.”

Fine, I felt a flush of pride. Being singularly driven had always been my defining characteristic. I certainly wasn’t the smartest student at Stuyvesant High School or undergrad at Cornell or law student at Penn. But no one was more focused. My parents had taught me the virtue of raw determination. My dad especially, it was true. And our diligence had served us similarly: it was the rope we used to pull ourselves up—and also to hang ourselves by.

I still wasn’t taking Zach’s case.

“I appreciate the compliment, Zach. I do. But you need someone with homicide experience and the right connections at the Brooklyn DA’s office. I don’t have either.” True, all of it. “But I can get someone amazing for you. They can be down to see you first thing in the morning, before your arraignment.”

“Too late,” Zach said. “I was already arraigned. They denied bail.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s, um, surprising on an assault charge.”

“Not if they think I killed Amanda,” Zach said. “That’s got to be where this is headed, right?”

“Sounds plausible,” I agreed.

“Obviously, I should have called you before the arraignment. But I was so … in shock after everything happened, I guess. They gave me a public defender,” he said. “He was a nice enough guy, seemed reasonably competent. Earnest, definitely. But if I’m completely honest, I was kind of checked out during the actual proceeding. Like if I pretended the whole thing wasn’t happening, it wouldn’t be. That makes me sound like a moron, I know.”

And now was the moment I could have pressed for details—when was he arrested exactly? What was the precise sequence of events that night? All the questions Zach’s lawyer would ask. Except I wasn’t his lawyer, and the last thing I wanted was to be drawn deeper in.

“Checking out is a totally human response,” I offered instead. And in my experience, being accused of a crime did do something to even the most rational people. And being falsely accused? That was something else entirely.

“I need to get out of this place, Lizzie.” Zach sounded scared. “Like, immediately.”

“Don’t worry. No matter what the prosecution’s strategy, they can’t keep you in Rikers on an assault charge, not under these circumstances. We’ll get you the right lawyer, and they’ll appeal the denial of bail.”

“Lizzie,” Zach pleaded. “You are the right lawyer.”

I was not. I was the wrong kind of lawyer, without the right connections. It also wasn’t an accident that I’d never worked a homicide case, and I planned to keep it that way. But even taking that whole issue aside, my life was already out of control: the last thing I needed was to get mixed up in some old friend’s shitshow. And, if nothing else, Zach’s situation sounded like exactly that.

“Zach, I’m sorry, but I—”

“Lizzie, please,” he whispered, sounding frantic now. “I’ll be honest, I am fucking terrified. Could you maybe come down and see me at least? We could talk about it?”

Damn it. I was not representing Zach, no matter what. But his wife was dead, and we were old friends. Maybe I could go see him. It might even be easier for Zach to accept why I couldn’t be his lawyer if I told him face-to-face.

“Okay,” I said finally.

“Great,” Zach said, sounding way too relieved. “Tonight? Visiting hours are until nine p.m.”