Things We Do in the Dark(15)
The two women shake hands, and Hazel hands Paris the bag. “I couldn’t go into your house to get you anything from your closet, but your friend Henry gave me your sizes. You should find everything you need to freshen up in here.”
Elsie fingers a lock of Paris’s hair and grimaces. “Did you bring her a hair elastic, too?” she asks Hazel.
“Oh, I didn’t think—”
“Give her the one in your hair.”
The young associate takes out her bun and hands over the elastic without argument. The officer escorts Paris to a nearby bathroom. Once alone, she carefully peels off the bloodstained butterfly bandage from her forehead, then rinses her face and brushes her teeth. In the bag, she finds a hairbrush with the price tag still on it, and does her best to comb out the tangles in her hair before securing it in a loose bun with Hazel’s elastic. She then locks herself in a stall and sprays her armpits generously with deodorant before putting on her new outfit. Hazel has great taste. The conservative knee-length dress is dove gray and a perfect fit. The modest heels are less comfortable for someone who spends most of her day barefoot, but they’ll do. At the bottom of the bag, she finds a brand-new lipstick. She has the same one at home. The shade is called “Orgasm,” a bold name for a universally flattering color. She swipes it on her lips and then, impulsively, dabs a little on her cheeks.
When she comes back out of the bathroom, Elsie nods her approval. With Hazel in tow, they make their way over to the assigned courtroom, where the lawyer pauses just outside the double doors.
“Whatever happens in there, do not react.” Elsie’s voice is low and firm. “You are quiet, you are serious, you are well-mannered, and you are sad because your husband just died. Got it?”
Paris nods. She doesn’t have to pretend, because she is all those things.
The security guard opens the door. The courtroom is packed, every seat in the spectator area full. It doesn’t look anything like the fictional New York City courtrooms Paris sees on TV, which always appear so opulent, with ornately carved wood and high ceilings. This courtroom is modern and understated, with mid-toned paneling and natural light.
All eyes are on her as she heads down the aisle with Elsie, who keeps a hand on her elbow until the three of them reach the table on the left side of the courtroom. On the other side is the prosecutor’s table, where a man in a well-tailored suit glances over with an expression of mild interest. Quiet conversations hum from all different directions behind them.
Elsie leans in to talk to Paris. “There’s been a new development that the prosecutor believes will cement their argument for probable cause. They won’t tell me what it is, but if there’s anything at all you haven’t told me yet, now is the time.”
There’s a lot Paris hasn’t told Elsie, but now is definitely not the time. “You already know everything.”
“Good.” Elsie squeezes her arm.
Paris and Hazel sit quietly while Elsie reads over her notes. The judge isn’t here yet, so Paris turns around for a quick scan of the courtroom. She has no idea who all these people are, but their conversations pause briefly at the sight of her face. She spots Detective Kellogg at the very back. A few rows away, she sees Henry and waves. The sight of her friend and business partner helps loosen the knot in her stomach, but it tightens again when she catches a glimpse of frizzy brown hair that could only belong to Zoe Moffatt. She and Jimmy’s assistant make eye contact briefly before the other woman averts her gaze.
“All rise.” The bailiff’s voice projects through the wall-mounted speakers.
The room falls silent, and everyone stands as the judge enters. Paris works to settle herself. She can’t let her mind disconnect today. The prosecutor is about to publicly accuse her of murdering her husband, and everyone sitting behind her is here for the show.
The judge’s robes are black and flowy, which does resemble what she’s seen on TV. Paris can’t help but think that this would make a perfect ripped-from-the-headlines episode of Law & Order: SVU. Ice-T and Mariska Hargitay are sitting in the back of the courtroom, waiting to see if the dead celebrity’s trophy wife will be officially charged with murder. Diane Keaton could guest star as Elsie. Ed Harris could play Jimmy in flashbacks. And the role of Paris Peralta could be played by …
She feels a pinch on her elbow.
“Wherever you are,” her lawyer hisses, “come back to earth. Now.”
“Be seated,” the judge says tersely, and they all sit.
The judge speaks to her bailiff, one hand covering the thin microphone in front of her. Judge Eleanor Barker is in her early fifties with bright ginger hair, and she looks stern but not unkind. A full minute passes as she skims the folder the bailiff has given her. Finally, she turns her attention to the prosecutor’s table.
“You’re up,” the judge says.
The prosecutor stands, fastening the button on his suit jacket. “Nico Salazar for the prosecution, Your Honor.” He’s younger than Paris originally thought, a trim man with perfectly styled black hair. “We believe Paris Peralta should be charged with murder in the first degree for the death of her husband, James Peralta. The cause of death is exsanguination due to a laceration to the femoral artery. We believe his murder was made to look like a suicide, but Jimmy Peralta had no reason to end his own life. He just filmed two comedy specials where he earned fifteen million dollars each, and he was in contract negotiations for a third. We believe Paris Peralta murdered her husband for his money.”