When We Were Bright and Beautiful(36)
Haggerty’s primary questions were about Billy, obviously. “Tell me a story,” he said, just like my brothers at Hawkins Cove. “I’m open to anything.”
I hadn’t forgotten DeFiore’s instructions to keep quiet: Do not talk to anyone without a lawyer present. But I agreed to talk for two reasons. The first is personal. I wanted Haggerty to see my family’s complexity, our humanity, the day-to-day reality of our lives. The world has appalling misconceptions about the rich. But we’re no different from people with less money, or no money, not in the ways that matter. We fear our mothers’ disapproval. Our fathers mortify us. We forget their birthdays. Our impulsive decisions disappoint them. We form alliances, hold grudges. We behave childishly, indefensibly. But just as we reach the point of no return, there is kindness, forgiveness, flashes of grace. We are normal, everyday people; wealthy, sure; but otherwise just like anyone else, just like him.
If you want to know us so intimately, Detective, I told him, pull up a chair.
The other reason I spoke up is tactical. Team Billy is at an impasse. Lawrence has decided, unequivocally, that the risk of losing is too great; he and DeFiore are pushing Billy to take a plea. Eleanor and Nate refuse; they want to go to trial. Billy is too depressed to offer a meaningful opinion. And while I agree with Eleanor and Nate, no one cares what I think, not since I left town, essentially abandoning my family in their time of need. With Eleanor and Lawrence at odds, and questioning DeFiore’s every move, we don’t have a coherent defense. Time is ticking. If Billy takes the plea, he’ll end up in prison. If Billy goes to trial and loses, he’ll end up in prison. What could I do? What would anyone do?
DeFiore will be livid, but once I explain, he’ll get over it. He may even thank me. Someone had to advocate for Billy. So I gave Haggerty what he asked for, and set the record straight. Knowing he’d check and double-check, I stuck to the truth, even when it made us look bad. I’m not a lawyer, but I am a sister. I know my brother better than he knows himself. Who else but me can create a portrait of Billy that will convince a jury of his innocence? The story is so simple it’s stupid: Billy suffered. Billy stuttered. Billy triumphed. Billy has a heart of gold. Billy was an easy mark. Billy fell in love. Billy gave and gave. Billy got burned. Billy got railroaded. Not guilty, Your Honor.
I hear the front door open. “One more minute, Ms. Quinn,” Haggerty calls out.
“It’s Cassie,” I call back. “And no rush.” Like I said, fuck you, Haggerty.
It feels good to assert my independence, to tell the truth. I was smart to leave New York. New Haven brings out my clear, steady self. The fighter. The girl that won’t quit. The self that disappears when I’m home, with my family.
I brush my teeth, so I won’t reek. Unlike Billy and Nate, I’m old school when it comes to weed. I prefer the harsh burn of smoke, like my lungs are on fire.
My phone dings with a text. It’s Marcus, killing my mood: Can’t stop thinking about you. Remember that first kiss in the park? On the bench? The ducks? Christ, I wish you were here. xx
Oh yeah, fuck you, too, Marcus.
*
The first time Haggerty contacted me was back in late April, a few weeks after Billy’s arraignment. He said he was a cop, but DeFiore never mentioned his name, so I didn’t call back. Soon he was texting me like a possessive boyfriend, so I did some digging. Turned out Haggerty is from Manhattan, a detective in the 16th Precinct, Special Victims Unit. (It’s real? Who knew?) Knowing he was bad news, I told myself to stay away. And I did, for months—until today, when the doorman announced that a cop was here. Again, points to Haggerty for tenacity and strategic maneuvering.
Admittedly, I was curious. So I invited Haggerty up, welcomed him in, and before you could solve B I L L Y Q U I N N W A S F R A M E D, he and I were sitting at my farm table, sweating our balls off.
“Start from the beginning,” Haggerty instructed. “Don’t think, just talk.” Bossy, bossy, boom, boom.
I offered my most winning smile, but he stared back with those dead eyes. He’s a different animal than most men, neither feral nor submissive. Haggerty is negative space.
“Which beginning?” I asked. “It’s an epic story, goes back generations.”
“Any beginning, doesn’t matter.” He was watching me. Normally, I relish this, but the way he latched on was unnerving. “Pick a spot, any spot.”
I started with Nate’s phone call. Seemed as good a place as any. But soon Haggerty was steering the conversation away from Billy and peppering me with questions about CW and Rachel, Spence, Columbia, Yale—my whole life, basically.
“What do I have to do with Billy’s case?” I asked after a while.
“Maybe everything. Maybe nothing. Trying to decide which.” He sat back. “So, tell me again why you ran away from home.”
“I didn’t run away. I’m forging a path. Striking out on my own. Chasing a dream. All the clichés.”
“What about the family foundation?”
“I’ll work there eventually. It’s why I’m going to graduate school. I didn’t just pull political science out of the air, Detective. I’m interested in language and rhetoric. I plan to study how it’s used as a corrupting influence, particularly in rich countries that hijack and subvert messages. This way, when I do join the foundation, I can make a tangible difference. I don’t want to be another vacant, pampered rich girl ‘working for my dad’”—I make air quotes—“while I wait for a husband.”