The Ex(83)

I was trapped. The truth about the laptop would be a problem for both Charlotte and Buckley, and wouldn’t do anything to help Jack. That IP address wasn’t going away.

“Let me talk to my client.” There was no way around it: Jack was going back into custody to be held pending trial, where he’d be convicted.


WE FOUND AN EMPTY JURY deliberation room at the end of the hall and closed the door. Don had shown up while I was in chambers, so didn’t know any more about this morning’s developments than Jack.

Jack’s eyes darted between us. “What’s going on? You guys were back there a long time.”

“And I just spoke with the prosecutor one-on-one as well. It’s not good, Jack. The judge is not going to let you remain at home pending trial.”

He winced. “Did they find out about me and Tracy?”

I shook my head. “That, I would have been prepared for. This, not so much. It’s an affidavit from Paperfree.” I handed him the copy Temple had given me. I pulled off the bandage in one fell swoop. “I might have been able to explain the WiFi connections in your neighborhood, but you logged into that e-mail account from your own IP address. Only once, but it’s the nail in your coffin, Jack.”

“My IP address?”

“Yes. From your apartment. And your wireless connection has a password, so it’s hard to argue that this is one more part of the conspiracy. A jury won’t buy it.”

His face went blank. It was the same unreadable expression he’d given Buckley when he heard Tracy Frankel’s name at arraignment, then again when he heard about the GSR evidence moments later. At the time, I thought he was worried about how his daughter was handling the hearing.

Now I understood that the facial expression I had seen was panic. He’d looked at Buckley to see if she recognized Tracy’s name. And he was surprised by the GSR because he had probably washed his hands after the shooting, but didn’t realize that residues could remain on his shirt.

This time, there was no recovering. He was caught.

“So what do I do?”

“You’ll be booked today.” Judge Amador hadn’t made a final ruling, but I was certain he’d already made up his mind. I had a plan, but it wasn’t going to change the facts. “We’ll withdraw as counsel. It will at least buy you some time before trial. I can say it was a conflict of interest to represent you in light of our previous relationship.”

“But it wasn’t,” Don said. “You even checked with the state bar. You don’t owe anyone your reputation, Olivia.”

“You’re the one who taught me it’s always about the client. Jack might get a better plea offer with another lawyer.” I didn’t think Temple would intentionally punish Jack because of decisions I had made, but sometimes prosecutors act unconsciously.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here!” Jack was gripping the edge of the table in front of him. “If I start all over again with another lawyer, that will just give the DA more time, too, right? And with more time, they might find out about Tracy.”

He was right. As of now, Temple still thought Jack was a widower obsessed with the man he blamed for his beloved wife’s death. If he had only killed Malcolm Neeley, Jack would be a hero in some people’s eyes. But if the police found out about his affair with Tracy Frankel, any possible sympathy would be gone. “It’s definitely a risk,” I said.

“And I’m going to be convicted anyway, aren’t I?”

I looked at Don. We were both on the same page. “Yes. Your best shot is to go for manslaughter based on what the law calls extreme emotional disturbance. We’d present all the Penn Station evidence—”

Jack was already shaking his head. “No, I don’t want that, not when I know the truth. If I hadn’t been involved with Tracy, Todd never would have followed Molly to the train station. Or if I hadn’t duped her—if she had actually believed Todd when he told her about my affair—all those people . . .” His voice trailed off.

“It’s your only chance, Jack.”

“Well, then I don’t have a chance. I want to change my plea. Go tell the prosecutor.”

“I can ask for an offer, Jack, but you’re rushing things.” Yesterday, I had wanted to lock him in a cell myself. Now the desire to help him felt surprisingly natural. “Is this just about them finding out about Tracy? I think Buckley already knows—”

“It’s not about that, okay? Don’t you get it? I did it. I did every single thing that prosecutor said. Why do you think I kept telling you to find the woman in the grass?” As if startled by the volume of his own voice, Jack stopped talking and took a seat in one of the chairs around the deliberation table. When he spoke again, it was with control—confident and clinical, like a doctor reporting a diagnosis. “I knew there’d be video footage of her. I knew, because I told her exactly where to sit. And I told Charlotte how seeing that woman had me opening my heart again, knowing it would send her off on some online search for romance. I even told everyone who would listen that I loved Eight Days to Die, all because—guess what?—it had a scene set at the football field.”

As Jack continued to document his plan’s ingenuity, I felt like I was inside a bubble, hearing him through a filter. His voice was clear, but in my head, the world was silent, as if I could hear my own heartbeat.