A Good Marriage(65)

Brazil? What the fuck, Zach?

“Your Honor,” I interjected. “Obviously, Mr. Grayson would happily surrender his passport. Further, the Graysons’ son, Case, was already at a long-planned summer camp well before his mother died. He wasn’t ‘sent’ to California after the fact. And with regard to international plane tickets, Mr. Grayson often travels for work.”

“Yes, about that work. Mr. Grayson probably has enough money to pay for a private jet and an excellent fake passport. He certainly has good reason to, given that he’ll be facing a life sentence for murdering his wife,” Wendy Wallace said. Her justifiable confidence was terrible. “He has the means to flee, and, resolved or not, that outstanding warrant tells us one thing about Zach Grayson: he believes he’s above the law.”

Judge Yu was quiet for a moment, considering. “Ms. Wallace, I do not approve of your end run around due process in this case.” She held up a hand when Wendy Wallace leaned in to protest. “But the access to the funds and the son already out of the area are problematic.”

“Your Honor, if my client’s son was brought back to New York, it’s not clear who he would even stay with. My client and his wife only recently moved to the area. He shouldn’t be penalized for wanting what’s best for his son. And right now that means staying with family friends in California.”

Foster care. That would be the likely upshot if Case was brought back. It might even be the upshot if Zach was convicted—unless Ashe’s parents were willing to make taking care of Case a more permanent solution.

“I understand. But it presents an issue, and not the only one,” Judge Yu said. She nodded then, her mind made up. She turned to the court reporter. “Please note for the record that the defendant must be given credit for all time served before and after the amending of the indictment. The defendant, Zach Grayson, will continue to be held over without bail.”

And with that, Judge Yu struck her gavel down, rose to her feet, and swept back into chambers.

“That was never going to go any other way,” Paul said as we watched Judge Yu disappear. “You did well with what you had.”

Wendy sauntered over, leaned her fingertips down against our table, then thrust her face into Paul’s. Her eyes were ablaze. Paul did an impressive job of staying perfectly still. Didn’t even blink.

“Fuck. You. Paul.”

“Nice to see you, too, Wendy.”

And with that, she turned on a sharp lizard heel and click-clacked down the aisle and out of the courtroom.

“She’s been sleeping with that ADA Lewis for months,” Paul said, his jaw muscle flexing. “Guy’s a prick. He’s also like twenty-five years younger, and reports to her. Anyway, I’m sure they were in bed together when she got a call letting her know they had something press-worthy. She definitely told Lewis to go down and see if it would be a good case to insert herself into. Wendy’s always been that way: strategic, even in who she’s screwing.” He finally rose from the table. “Anyway, she knows that I told you about her boyfriend.”

“So now what?” I asked as I shoved my papers back into my bag. This was a rhetorical question.

“I’ll tell you this much: Wendy is one hell of a storyteller. It’s her trademark. Her case will be light on facts, but it’ll be flashy, and it’ll flow, and the jury will be riveted. You’ll need a story of your own, and it had better be a goddamn good one.”

I nodded. “You get what you wanted out of being here?”

Paul frowned. “She’ll probably end up calling me,” he said. “The more important question is whether I’ll answer.”

“Will you?” I asked.

Paul smirked. “What do you think?”

I walked a few blocks out of the bustling chaos surrounding Brooklyn Criminal Court to the quiet tree-lined area surrounding the more regal Kings County Supreme Court. I sat down on a bench to the side, out of the worst of the harried lunchtime foot traffic. Despite the already hot July sun, it was surprisingly cool in the shade.

Prepare for trial. That was the obvious next step. And, aggravating or not, Paul was right: if we had a hope of prevailing, we’d need a far more compelling story. The prosecution’s version—a distant marriage, a controlling husband, a sex party that ended in violence—was a narrative a jury would be able to sink its teeth into. I’d need a similarly appealing one to grab their attention back. Better yet would be an alternate suspect that the jury could punish. Amanda’s stalker was my best candidate, if I could find out who he was. Somebody from Amanda’s troubled past seemed like the strongest possibility—her dad, Christopher, maybe even Carolyn. To know for sure, I needed to finish the rest of Amanda’s final journal, and pray that she identified him, or her, there.

My phone rang. I was expecting Sam, hoping for Millie, though it was too soon for anything definitive from the lab. “Vic,” my caller ID read instead. I was about to send the call to voice mail when it struck me that maybe what I really needed at that moment was a friend.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hi!” Victoria exclaimed, taking my call off speakerphone. “I can’t believe I got you! How’s big-firm life?”

“Strange,” I said without hesitation. It was the most honest thing I’d said in weeks.