The Ex(51)

I checked the screen. It was Jack. I shook my head as I opened my laptop. I knew Jack was convinced that Madeline could make his entire case go away.

I was relieved to see that not only had I sent the e-mail to Madeline, but that it was appropriately firm, edging on intimidating.

I clicked over to my in-box and was excited to see a new message with my own name in the subject line: From Olivia Randall, Esq. Ugh, I had actually referred to myself as Esquire.

I clicked on the message. Your message to the following e-mail address was rejected. The e-mail address wasn’t found at the destination domain. It might be misspelled or it might not exist any longer. Try retyping the address and resending the message.

I nudged the screen in Einer’s direction. “I sent a message last night to Jack’s missed-moment woman, and got this in response.”

“You’re sure you got the address right?”

I was fairly certain I had copied the address directly from one of Jack’s e-mails, but double-checked. “Yes. We didn’t get that message before when we tried contacting her, right? What does that mean?”

“I’m no lawyer, but I’d say someone’s going out of her way to make sure you don’t find her. Maybe that’s why Jack was calling.”

And just then, my phone rang once again.

I shepherded Einer to the front door as I answered Jack’s call. As I offered a vague apology for not picking up earlier, Einer mouthed the words “morning breath” at me before leaving me in peace.

“I was calling about Madeline,” Jack said.

No surprise. How could a person be smart enough to recite entire pages of William Faulkner from memory, casually mention the influence of The Canterbury Tales on everything from mystery novels to rap music, and publish three acclaimed best-selling books, but not realize that the DA wasn’t going to dismiss first-degree murder charges all on the say-so of some woman from an online flirtation?

“Look, I know you think that she can back you up by saying she’s the one who invited you to the football field, but your case is not getting dismissed. There’s still motive. And the gunshot residue. And the deposition.”

“What deposition?”

I shut my eyes and forced myself to concentrate. Right, I hadn’t asked him yesterday about the deposition because I wanted to make sure he signed the psych release. What deposition? he wanted to know. The one where Malcolm Neeley testified that he could be found at the football field every Wednesday morning like clockwork. The one Jack had kept a copy of in his file cabinet. I spelled it out for him now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you, I never even looked at that stuff. I was as shocked as anyone when the police told me that Neeley was at the football field that morning.”

There was silence on the line. “Oh my God, you think I did this. I heard it in your voice when I first got home. I told myself afterward I was being paranoid. Being in jail for three days can do that, I guess. But I was right. Do you seriously think I’m capable of something like this?”

“I’m just working through all the evidence, Jack. That’s my job.”

“I swear on my life, Olivia, I did not read that deposition. Call Buckley’s therapist if you don’t believe me. You can make her sign a medical release, too, I guess.”

“Just stop, Jack, I believe you.” Did I believe him? Maybe. Why did Madeline dump her e-mail address? If I were a prosecutor, I’d be able to get information from her e-mail provider about the defunct account in a matter of days, but as a defense attorney, the same task would take me months, if the company bothered to respond at all. “You called about Madeline.”

“Not just Madeline,” Jack said. “The basket. The prosecutor at the bail hearing knew about the picnic basket I took to meet up with Madeline. They said they have footage of me carrying it.”

“They do, both from the waterfront and your building elevator.”

“Right, but they don’t believe that it was all part of this stupid blind date. At the time, I just assumed that Madeline chickened out or something. But here’s the thing: the prosecutor at the bail hearing accused me of using the basket to carry a gun, like I couldn’t just stick it in my waistband.”

“They skew everything to fit their theory of the case.”

“That’s not my point, Olivia. Was the basket reported on the news? Because if so, if you were Madeline—you’d put two and two together and figure out that the police arrested the person you stood up. If you were the one who said you bring the basket—”

I immediately saw where Jack was going. She’d call the police. Or me. She’d come forward to say that the guy on the news didn’t do this, that the basket wasn’t to hide a gun. But no one had come forward.

“Hold on a second. I need to think.” I pulled a bottle of Tylenol from my kitchen drawer and swallowed three without water.

I was trying to figure out how Madeline fit into all the possible scenarios, but Jack’s fretting on the other end of the line was keeping me from thinking straight. “I’ll call you right back.”


THE WHOLE CASE STARTED BECAUSE the police were able to place Jack near the football field right before the time of the shooting. That was where I needed to start, too.

I forced myself to concentrate and started a list in my notepad: