The Night Shift(46)

That isn’t necessarily true. If a defendant confesses to the crime, it constrains the defense. A lawyer can’t knowingly suborn perjury.

As if reading Chris’s mind, Henry adds, “And just so you understand the rules, we can never tell anyone what you say to us. But if you confess to something, we can’t claim innocence as a defense.” He all but winks at her as he says this. “We’ve got only a couple hours, so let’s make good use of our time.”

For the first time, Jesse Duvall speaks. “I’ll tell what happened.”

Henry looks hopeful now.

“Not to you,” Jesse adds.

Henry suppresses a frown. He gestures to Chris and Julia: “I’d be happy for you to talk to—”

“You’re not getting it,” she says, holding Henry’s gaze. “I’ll only talk to Ella Monroe.”

Henry cocks his head; clearly, he doesn’t recognize the name.

Julia shakes her head; she doesn’t know either.

Before Chris opens his mouth, Jesse speaks again: “She’s a survivor … like me.”





CHAPTER 40





In the courthouse hallway, Henry convenes with Chris and Julia. They plan to track down Ella Monroe, but before leaving, they’ll take another run at getting their client to talk. Henry asks Julia to go back into the room by herself. Jesse might be more comfortable talking to a female. But it takes only a few minutes before Julia sheepishly exits the interview room.

Henry checks his watch, frustration showing on his face. “Your turn,” he says to Chris in an exasperated tone. “Maybe a pretty boy is what she needs to talk.”

Nice.

Chris rises from the hard bench and Julia takes his seat.

“I’ll give it a shot.”

As he walks into the room, Jesse’s mouth tugs to one side, a lazy smirk. “I’ve heard of Good Cop/Bad Cop,” she says. “But Dad Cop/Girl Cop’s a new one. What are you, Dumb Cop?”

Chris can’t hold back a smile. He decides to try something different—to not treat her like a kid. She sure as hell doesn’t act like one.

“You think this is a joke?” he says.

She makes no reply.

“The prosecution’s about to go on a speaking tour. The subject? A monster named Jesse Duvall. They’ll tell anyone who’ll listen that you belong in prison for the rest of your life, and if you don’t talk to us—give your defense team a chance to help you—that’s going to be the narrative.”

Jesse remains quiet.

“We’re the ones—and let me tell you, maybe the only ones—who are one thousand percent on your team. We’re required by law to try to save you. So you might want to quit screwing around. And talk to us.”

Jesse slouches in her chair. “Nice speech.”

Chris sighs and shakes his head. “Tonight, when you hear the clank of your cell door slam at juvie, when you hear the wails of the damaged souls in there with you, remember: those are just kids. When they move you to the adult system—and rest assured, they will—juvie’ll be a picnic by comparison. I’m not saying this to scare you. I’m saying it because you need to take this seriously, like your life depends on talking to us. Because it does.”

For the first time Jesse’s face doesn’t look amused. There’s a trace of concern now. He’s reaching her. Jesse’s about to speak.

Chris prepares to summon Henry and Julia into the room so they can get past this bullshit, and start building their defense.

“I said I’ll talk with Ella Monroe.”

“Really?” Chris shakes his head. “You’re not stupid, Jesse. I know that much. Please, talk to us.”

She stays low in her chair, holding Chris’s eyes. “I know something too,” she says.

“Oh? What’s that?’

“You tell me, Chris Ford. Or should I say, Chris Whitaker?”





CHAPTER 41


ELLA





Ella checks into the Roadside Inn just off Edgar Road. It’s tired in every way imaginable. Tired desk clerk. Tired fake flowers in the lobby. Tired elevator scuffed from years of tired suitcases banging around. Tired room with tired drapes.

She’s starting to regret having words with her mother. She could be having Charles bring her dinner rather than contemplating a takeout order from the fast-food place across the street.

She separates the drapes and cracks the windows as far as they’ll open to let in some air. She yanks the bedspread so it rests on the floor at the foot of the bed. Never sit on the bedspreads.

There’s a mini fridge, and she nearly cheers when she sees the miniature bottles inside. They’ll be outlandishly priced, but she downs two Tito’s in two seconds. She pulls out one more and sits on the sheets.

She thinks about the last thirty-six hours. Jesse hugging her knees on that hospital room floor. The girl howling into the night at the rail yard. The shrewd-beyond-her-years girl at the Starbucks who’s done a deep dive into Ella’s background. The hard girl in the firelight being told to leave by the homeless kids. The girl who stood by her when Phyllis had pushed Ella to the brink. Then she imagines the teen in her teacher’s bed—naked, if Chad Parke’s to be believed—Fatal Attraction–style.