Locust Lane(80)
He called Alice; they met in the darkness. It was so good, losing himself in her body. The way she moved almost weightlessly over him, the heat of her exposed skin. After she came and he came, they continued to embrace for a long time. He wanted to stay here forever, in this dark empty lot surrounded by shadows and trees. This place that was no place at all.
Then he was alone again. Sunday was endless, waiting for her to call with the news that she’d convinced Hannah to tell the truth. The cheap cell phone finally rang in the late afternoon, but it was Cantor. He was on his way to the house. Michel could hear bad news in his voice. His mind went through a terrible litany of possibilities in the twenty minutes it took for the lawyer to arrive. Christopher had been hurt in jail. Even more damning evidence had emerged.
“Did you talk to them?” Cantor asked as he stepped through the door.
“Who?”
“The paper, Michel. The Herald.”
“Why would I speak with them?”
“Tell me about Alice Hill.”
“What do they know?” Michel asked eventually.
“Everything. There’s a photo of the two of you locked in a steamy embrace.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, how about telling me how long you’ve been together?”
“Three months.”
“And she was behind that Twitter thread?”
“Yes.”
“What else has she been doing?”
“Trying to get Hannah to confess.”
“Confess what?”
“That she’s lying about Jack being in her room all night.”
“Yeah, well, something’s telling me that’s no longer in the cards.” The lawyer sighed. “Listen, Michel, first of all, I’m not opposed to any of this. In theory. If we could get concrete evidence that Hannah and Jack are lying to the police, that’s a money shot for us. But we have to be smart. If you’re going to make a run at Oliver Parrish’s boy, you gotta do it right. And sleeping with Hannah’s mom ain’t right.”
“That thought has occurred to me.”
“So, what, this is an irresistible compulsion?”
“I love her.”
“Same difference.”
“So what happens now?”
“You need to stop seeing Alice Hill. If she attempts to contact you with any other information pertaining to your son’s case, have her call me. No exceptions.”
“I understand.”
“I should fire you,” Cantor said.
“Can you do that?”
“This is America. Anybody can get fired.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
Cantor nodded, though the friendliness was gone now and Michel doubted it would be coming back.
“I’ll tell you one thing. We can forget about bail.”
“But it’s me who did wrong, not him.”
“Yes, Michel. It is you. And you’re the responsible adult into whose care we are asking the court to place an accused killer. You’re supposed to be the man who won’t do something rash like spirit your son out of the country. It’s going to be hard to convince the judge that’s you.”
Michel buried his head in his hands.
“So what happens now?”
“I’m going to have some conversations with people in the morning and then we’ll see where we are.”
“What can I do?”
“Nothing. You think you can manage that?”
The reporters returned in the middle of the night. They knew the article was coming. By morning the street was clogged. It was worse than before. The old rules no longer applied. They came right up to the house; they shouted his name.
“Come on, Michel. Talk to us. We need a comment. Michel…”
A police cruiser was parked outside but the officer made no effort to intervene. Just after dawn, somebody pushed a copy of the Herald through the letterbox. Michel looked at the front-page photo and then he read the article. The arrests, the couple in New Mexico, Celia’s pained words. He didn’t know this woman at all. Her body, yes. But nothing more.
Cantor arrived later Monday morning, accompanied by shouts from the reporters in the street. He looked even more grim than he had last night. He started talking before Michel was able to offer him coffee.
“The judge had postponed the bail hearing, as expected. Which is probably a good thing. You do not want to step into that courtroom anytime soon. He just tore me a new asshole and evidently he’s really pissed at you.”
“And?”
“I think it’s time we start to talk about a plea.”
“What? No.”
“It would be remiss of me not to at least explore this with you.”
Michel nodded glumly.
“Okay, here’s how it would work. Anybody with half a brain can see that they’ve overcharged your son. Proving Christopher intended to kill Eden Perry is a very long shot. My feeling is we can probably get manslaughter. That means five, six years if he behaves himself.”
“Is there no other way?”
“Sure. We go to trial. But I think we can assume that neither Jack nor Hannah is going to be changing their story. And we also now know that Hannah’s father is saying the kid never left the house and that he can back it up with security footage. The forensics are solid and they’re against us and evidently there’s more coming. I’m not sure yet how your entanglement with Alice Hill plays into this, but I doubt it will be in our favor. I’m a pretty good lawyer, Michel, but I don’t see what my play is here.”