The Wife Who Knew Too Much(69)
The judge pounded her gavel, glaring at my lawyer. “Silence. We’re conducting a hearing here, Counselor.”
Courtney blushed crimson. “I apologize, Your Honor, but I needed to speak to my client, so—”
“If you wanted to talk to your client, you should’ve asked the marshal to let you back to the holding cell. You don’t take up my time in my courtroom. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do it again, and I’ll sanction you. Now, sit down.”
My lawyer slunk away and took a seat in the back. I couldn’t help remembering Hagerty’s words in the car last night. Ask yourself, Tabitha—who will that lawyer work for? You? Or Connor? I had to face the facts. Connor was not here for me, and that was a bad sign. The lawyer he’d sent seemed barely qualified, and that was an even worse sign. I wouldn’t have the advice I needed to defend myself against the charges. For some reason, Connor didn’t want me to defend myself. Could he be washing his hands of me, because he believed I was guilty? Or—worse, to the point of being unthinkable—could he be guilty himself, and looking for me to take the blame in his place?
“That one’s out of her league,” the tattooed guy said under his breath. “You say they got you up on a murder charge?”
“That’s what they said when they arrested me last night. I can’t believe it. I’m completely innocent.”
He shook his head. “That’s some heavy shit, sister. And that lawyer you got is green as grass. Is she the best your husband could do?”
“I don’t know. He’s not here. I can’t believe he’s not here to support me.”
“That shit happens all the time. I’m lucky my girlfriend stuck by me. Plenty of guys get dumped the second they get locked up.”
He blew a kiss to a young woman sitting in the stands, who took the hand of the toddler sitting in her lap and waved it at my seatmate. I’d done just what he was talking about—dumped Derek when he was in jail. He deserved it. For lying to me, getting me arrested, being an abusive jerk. But in my weakened state, I started thinking this was karma, and my eyes misted over. I would never have a decent life. Connor wasn’t here for me. He’d abandoned me in my moment of need, possibly for nefarious reasons. Our marriage was over. My baby would be born in prison. Hysteria was building inside me. I felt like screaming or beating my head against the wall.
The older prisoner was staring at me. I raised my manacled hands to wipe away a tear.
“What are you looking at?” I said defiantly.
“I’m feeling sorry for you, young lady. You need to get yourself a better lawyer right away. This is a very serious predicament you’re in. It would be a huge mistake to rely on someone inexperienced in criminal law.”
“You’re right. But what can I do?”
“The public defender ain’t half bad,” the tattooed prisoner interjected.
The older man looked me up and down. My jewelry had been taken and catalogued when they booked me. But I still wore my street clothes from the plane, complete with the cashmere shawl from the duty free.
“I doubt she qualifies for free legal assistance,” the older man said.
“Not if they count my husband’s money, I don’t.”
“Then you can pay?”
“He can. But the fact that he sent this Levitt Global lawyer makes me wonder if he plans to.”
“Levitt Global. I’m familiar with that company. Who’s your husband?”
“His name is Connor Ford. He’s—”
The judge rapped her gavel again.
“Marshals, separate those prisoners immediately.”
Two guards marched up to the jury box. One of them grabbed my arm and hustled me into the back row. The other prodded the tattooed prisoner to move over several seats, then took the older man out of the box and brought him to the defense table up front. I’d already felt alone, but now my spirits plummeted. My jailhouse companions at least seemed to know what they were doing, and cared to help me, in contrast to the lawyer Connor had sent.
Slumped in my chair, with no windows in the courtroom, I lost track of time. Cases were heard, but I was lost in my misery, and barely paid attention. Eventually, the judge called a lunch break, though to me it already felt like ten o’clock at night. The older prisoner, escorted by two guards, passed by on his way to detention, and winked. Our conversation of an hour ago felt like it had happened in another century.
I was brought back to my solitary holding cell and given a second ham sandwich. I knew I needed to eat, but I took a bite and gagged. The thought of food was repugnant to me. I saw no way out of my predicament. I put the sandwich down, hung my head, and cried.
32
The clanging of the cell door opening awakened me from a fitful sleep. I sat up, my back and neck stiff from lying on the hard bench.
“Lawyer meeting,” the guard said.
She escorted me back up to the courtroom, and then to a holding cell behind it that I hadn’t seen before. I waited there for about ten minutes, until the guard admitted the Levitt Global lawyer, Courtney whatever-her-name-was, along with a second woman, whom I recognized from the courtroom as the older prisoner’s lawyer.
“Hey, Tabitha,” Courtney said. “Look, I know your husband asked me to represent you. And I’m happy to do that. But I was just speaking with Ms. Cohen here, who represents Howard Bishop. I don’t know if you know who he is, but he has a major hedge fund. Had, I should say. He’s in for embezzlement, and—”