The Ex(85)

BY COURT:

I’d say that’s quite complete. Mr. Temple?

BY MR. TEMPLE:

That’s fine.

BY COURT:

The change of plea is accepted, and I understand that we are proceeding straight to sentencing. Is there anything either party would like to add before I reach a decision?

BY MS. RANDALL:

Just that you follow the joint sentencing recommendation, Your Honor.

BY COURT:

Very well. Mr. Harris, I am accepting your change of plea, and you are hereby convicted of three counts of second-degree murder. It is the judgment of this court that the defendant is hereby committed to the custody of the New York State Commission of Correction for twenty-five years to life.





Chapter 23


JACK’S FRONT DOOR was propped open by a stack of books. I managed to weave a path through the clutter to find Charlotte in the back hallway, yelling at someone in Buckley’s bedroom not to “linger on the panties. Don’t think I didn’t see you.”

“Movers are all ex-felons,” she muttered.

I was pretty sure that wasn’t true, but Charlotte needed something to yell about today. Jack had been sentenced two weeks ago, and she was already breaking down his home.

“Not wasting any time, are you?” Seeing Charlotte in the midst of open boxes and Styrofoam peanuts reminded me of the day she came to our apartment to pack Jack’s things.

“If it were up to me, I’d pay the maintenance for the next twenty-five years. But Buckley’s therapist says it’s for the best. As long as she’s running back and forth between here and my place, she’ll keep telling herself it’s temporary. Sounds like a crock of shit to me, but for once, I’m doing as told.” Charlotte’s voice mail summoning me to the apartment hadn’t explained the timing of the move. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to come.”

Charlotte’s message had also asked whether I wanted the old photographs of me and Jack, the ones he kept in his closet. It took me hours to decide that, yes, I did want them. I had no idea why, other than that the thought of them being thrown down the trash chute with coffee grounds and greasy takeout containers made me break down in tears in my office.

She went to the dining room and handed me an envelope. I tucked it into my briefcase and pulled out a much larger envelope for her. “Mostly I wanted to drop these off.” They were guardianship papers. Until Buckley reached the age of majority, Charlotte would be the legal equivalent of her parent.

She muttered a thank-you, and then I handed her something else, a black velvet box. She peeked inside and then closed it. She didn’t ask for an explanation. After all these years, I could finally return Owen’s watch to someone he really loved. I kept my necklace.

I started to leave, and then turned back. “Jack tells you everything. He always has.”

“Not this time. He confessed to you before me.”

“But you knew he was guilty. When you came to my office about Ross Connor, you made it sound like you’d support Jack one way or the other. But you already knew.”

“I had my suspicions when you first realized Tracy had been calling the Sentry Group. I never knew her name, but Jack told me he screwed up. Some high school girl he slept with years ago had turned up at the apartment trying to blackmail him. And remember how I said Tracy looked like a young version of you? With the exception of Molly, everyone Jack ever fell for looked like you. I even asked him about it. Tracy was the girl, all right, but he insisted he was innocent. I guess some things are just too horrible to admit, even to your best friend.”

Until the prosecution had dropped the IP evidence on us, Jack had said the same thing to me—admitting to the affair with Tracy but insisting that he was framed. I had never seen a defendant change his position so quickly.

Charlotte was pulling books off the office shelves and stacking them in boxes. “I’m the last person who should be doing this. I can’t throw anything out. I keep thinking that he’ll want it later. But there is no later.” She paused on one of the books. “Oh, man, what should we do with this? Save it or burn it in the street?”

She held up a copy of Eight Days to Die.

“I hate to tell you this, but there’s probably a market for that on eBay. They call it Murderabilia—sick f*cks who collect souvenirs from criminal cases.”

“I don’t think I can hold on to this,” she said. “Can you please take it? Don’t even tell me what you do with it. Give it to your sad little boy Einer, or something.”

“Sure.” She handed it to me, and then, for perhaps the first time since I’d known her, she hugged me with both arms. She was a good hugger.

“You did your best for him,” she said. “Thank you for that.”

I told her to take care of herself.


MELISSA WAVED AT ME FROM behind the bar. She somehow managed to see every corner of the restaurant simultaneously.

She reached for a martini shaker, but I asked for a glass of prosecco instead.

“Look at you getting all classy.” She hit the nasal hard for the word “classy.” “Seriously, Livvie, you look good.”

“Thanks.” I had finally been able to sleep through the night a few times in the last week. Yesterday, I had even gone to the gym for the first time in months.