The Ex(78)

“I didn’t make him do anything.” I stopped myself, knowing that he was manipulating me again. He’d been saving up this moment for when he really needed it. “You have no idea how much I’ve punished myself, but don’t try comparing that to what you’ve done.”

“It’s exactly the same, Olivia. Don’t you see that? You didn’t put Owen behind the wheel, but the circumstances you created—that all three of us created—did. I may have set all this in motion, but I didn’t pull the trigger. Todd followed Molly from the apartment that morning so he could expose my affair with Tracy. Knowing Molly, she didn’t believe him. She always thought the best of me, even when I didn’t deserve it. Todd must have moved on to Plan B and pulled out the guns. That’s why there was a pause after they spoke; he’d been trying to get her to see the truth about her husband. Molly died because of me—because I cheated on her with some screwed-up teenager, and she refused to believe it.”

I was not going to let him use Owen to keep lying to me. “There’s no way you were going to allow Tracy to tell the world this information.”

His expression shifted again. “Well, I definitely wasn’t going to let her shake me down.” His voice was stronger now, his fists tucked under his arms. I had never seen Jack this aggressive. This was the same guy who used to eat food he didn’t order rather than point out a waiter’s mistake. “I was terrified, but made it absolutely clear I’d rather be exposed as some adulterous creep than let her control me for the rest of our lives. I assume that’s why she was calling the Sentry Group—to tell Malcolm what she knew, for a price. When the prosecutor said her name at my arraignment, I literally felt like I was going to vomit. But I swear to God, Olivia, I have no idea who killed them.”

“It does work out very well for you that both of them are dead.”

“And that’s why I couldn’t tell you, don’t you see that? You never would have believed me.”

He was right. And I still didn’t.


I WAS HAILING A CAB at the corner when I heard someone call out my name. I turned to see Buckley walking toward me.

“Wait, don’t go,” she said as a taxi started to roll in my direction. I waved off the driver.

“What’s up, Buckley?”

“You have to help my dad. You promised.”

This was the last thing I needed to deal with right now. “You’re not supposed to eavesdrop on us. It’s attorney-client privilege. The prosecution could make you testify. Do you understand that?”

She flinched as my words got louder, as if she’d never been scolded before.

“I didn’t eavesdrop. I could just tell something was wrong after you left. Dad almost ran after you, and I had to remind him about the monitor.”

“Well, that’s good then. Go back home.”

“Are you going to be able to keep him out of jail?”

She couldn’t possibly believe I had an answer to that question. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked like she was about to cry. This was about more than sensing that “something was wrong.” She had definitely heard something.

“You’ve been following your father’s case. I know you’ve seen pictures of Tracy Frankel.” She’d been staring at Tracy’s mug shot on Charlotte’s iPad right before Jack came home on bail. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Buckley might think of herself as smart, but she was sixteen years old, and I’d learned a skill or two as a lawyer. I let my question sit between us. If my suspicions were wrong, it was a non sequitur. If not, she’d eventually reply.

“I—she just came up to me on the street. She asked me where she could find a WiFi connection.”

“Are you sure that’s all she said?”

“Yeah, she was some stranger on the street.” Buckley was looking at the sidewalk, tapping one foot nervously. She may have thought Tracy Frankel was a random woman last month, but she certainly knew more now. If I had to guess, she’d heard my entire conversation with Jack. “Did I screw up? I didn’t say anything about recognizing her because I thought it would look bad for my father. I was confused.”

Maybe some part of her had known all along that her father was guilty. I heard my cell phone chime in my purse. I held up an arm toward an approaching cab before she could argue.

“It’s fine, Buckley. Just go back home. I’ll see you at the bail hearing. Everything’s under control.”

I waited until she reached her lobby before climbing into the cab. The driver had already started the meter. “Are we going somewhere or not?”

If he hadn’t been so snarky, I might have ignored the buzz of my phone. Instead, I made a point of checking my screen before closing the door. It was a text from Einer: Jack’s medical records from the Silver Oaks Psychiatric Center had finally arrived. Einer was leaving them in my office.


I DROPPED MY BRIEFCASE IN one of the guest chairs and headed straight to the small box that had been added to the chaos of my conference table. I recognized Einer’s handwriting on the note dropped on top: Finally! Maybe something in here to help an EED claim?

Extreme emotional disturbance. Manslaughter instead of murder. Einer had picked up some legal knowledge over the years.

I grabbed the letter opener from my desk and used it to cut through the tape around the box’s edge. I pulled out a three-inch stack of files and placed them in front of me. As I did a cursory flip through the pages, I saw references to all the grief Jack had suffered in just a few years. His mother’s death when he was just a teenager. His father a few years later. Then Owen. I caught my own name a few times.