A bitter smile twisted his lips as he moved to the door. “Ain’t no getting rid of me, baby girl, until I say so.”
Samantha White sat in the visitor’s waiting area of the regional jail waiting for Charlotte Wellington. Like her, the other prisoners sat on benches mounted to three-by-five tables constructed of a thick worn plastic that was as gray and lifeless as the walls and tiled ceiling. The furnishings, like the women, looked haggard and worn down and the entire place had a sick-sweet smell that she would never forget.
At the table to her right sat a tall buxom woman with thinning black hair and rotting teeth. A meth addict accused of robbery, she leaned forward whispering to a guy who was just as thin as weary as she. At another table a heavyset black woman with corn rows and full cheeks spoke to a woman who wore her graying hair in a neat bun and lace around her collar. The older woman held a Bible in her hand as she listened to the inmate, shook her head, and whispered, “Help her, Jesus.” And at still another table sat a mother smiling anxiously at her teen children. The oldest of the children, a girl, kept her body stiff and rigid whereas her little brother’s body danced with excitement.
Samantha’s handcuffs clinked as she knitted her fingers together and dropped her gaze to the table. When she’d first been arrested, her mother had offered to bring the children to visit, but Samantha had refused. She didn’t want her children seeing her locked up.
“It wouldn’t be forever,” she’d told her mother. “And I don’t want the memory of their mother in handcuffs burned in their brain.”
“They miss you,” her mother had said.
“I miss them.”
“They miss their father.”
Samantha had dropped her head, pain and bitterness eating at her stomach. “It’s not their fault.”
“I should tell them what he did.”
“No. Not now.”
Samantha had not seen her children in thirteen months. She conjured the photo image of the girls she kept in her cell. How much had they changed? What moments had she missed that would be lost to her forever? Did they even think about her anymore?
A sadness rose up inside her as it had so many times since the night her husband died. Despite it all, she missed not only the girls but Stan as well. They’d had a good life, and she still couldn’t quite accept that he’d wanted to kill her and the girls. That last desperate moment they shared felt like a nightmare and not reality.
She raised her gaze toward the clock. Ms. Wellington was five minutes late. Worry burrowed deeper into her brain. Ms. Wellington had called the prison for an appointment yesterday, but had not been given a visitation time until today. Had the jury come back?
Since the trial had begun, she’d questioned every glance, every word that was spoken and unspoken. Did the jury believe her story? Did the judge appear angry with her? Did the guards know if the jury had returned with the verdict? The guessing was driving her insane.
A shift in the guard’s attention had her sitting straighter, and she watched as the matron beckoned someone forward. Samantha moistened her lips and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear.
To her relief, Charlotte Wellington appeared, and when the guards buzzed her in, she walked into the room with such bearing everyone noticed. Ms. Wellington scanned the room only once before spotting Samantha.
She offered a smile that she hoped conveyed gratitude without hinting of arrogance. Stan had hated that kind of look. “Ms. Wellington.”
Ms. Wellington smiled. “How are you doing, Samantha?”
She wanted to rise, but the rules didn’t allow it. She nodded. “I’m doing well, Ms. Wellington.”
The attorney wore a dark tailored suit that hugged a slim figure and accentuated long legs. A bright blue silk top added a pop of color to skin that might have looked washed out if she’d chosen a less bold color. Auburn hair was swept up into a neat bun that showed off her high slash of cheekbones.
There’d been a time when Samantha had dressed well. Days spent shopping casually and recklessly were now a distant memory in a life that had died with her husband.
“You’re holding up well?” Ms. Wellington pulled files and a yellow legal notepad from her sleek black briefcase.
“I’m fine. I haven’t heard from my mother in a few days. I’m worried about the children.”
“I spoke to your mother this morning when she called the office to see if the jury has returned. She’s taking the kids out of town. They’re spending the next few days at the beach. They’ll be back by the weekend.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
She glanced from side to side before saying, “I’ve been receiving letters. Some are quite hateful.”
Ms. Wellington sighed. “Your case got a lot of media attention, which can pull out the crazies.”
“Mom hasn’t mentioned any trouble?”
“None. She just thought the beach would be a nice change for the kids.”
“You’d let me know if there was a problem?”
Ms. Wellington arched a brow. “If you haven’t noticed, I am brutally honest.”
Samantha rubbed the strained muscles in her forehead. “I know, I know. I’m just worried. My kids feel like they are slipping away.”
Her expression softened. “They haven’t forgotten you. They love you.”
“How do you know that? Have you seen them?”
“It’s been a month.”
She closed her eyes. “I’ve forgotten what it feels like to hold them. I can’t remember how good they smelled after a bath. I’m losing them.”
Uncharacteristic emotion softened her attorney’s gaze. “You’re not losing them.”
Ms. Wellington’s hourly billable rates rivaled the best in the city. When Samantha had written to Angie Carlson asking for help, it had never occurred to her that Carlson’s high-powered associate would take the case.
“Why did you take my case?” Samantha said.
The question shifted Ms. Wellington’s attention temporarily away from whatever thoughts she’d been ruminating on. “My partner showed me your letter. She knew with her new baby she couldn’t give you the defense you deserved, so she asked me.”
“But why take me on? You could have said no.”
“The case appealed to me.”
“Why?”
Green eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter.” Ms.
Wellington unscrewed the top of her gold pen. “The prosecutor offered you another deal yesterday. Manslaughter two. Eight years.”
“Eight years is a lifetime. The last year has put so much distance between my children and me. In eight years, they will have forgotten me.”
“If the jury comes back with a guilty verdict, then it could mean life behind bars.”
“I’d also be admitting that I planned to kill my husband.” She shook her head. “I was defending my kids. Myself.”
Ms. Wellington sat back, staring at her with eyes so keen she nearly squirmed. “So you are rejecting the offer?”
“I don’t want any deals.”
“It’s a good deal, Mrs. White. Mr. Kane won’t make a better offer.”
Samantha shook her head. “I saw the way the jury was looking at you on Tuesday. You had their full attention. They were mesmerized.”
“I’m good at what I do but I’ve lost cases before. If I lose this one, then you go to jail for twenty-plus years.”
She risked never seeing her kids again, versus them hating her. “Do you think we’ll lose?”
“I don’t know.”
She leaned forward. “If you had to guess. What do you think they’ll say?”
“I felt good about my summation on Tuesday. We have jury members who must be on our side. And we don’t have to convince them all. Just a few. But that doesn’t mean their minds can’t be swayed by the others.”
“There’s been no noise from the jury?”
“None.”
“That’s a good thing
, right?”
“It means they’ve got some reasonable doubt.”
“Which works in my favor?”
“Yes.”
Samantha dropped her gaze to her handcuffs and nervously picked at the lock. “I’m going to take my chances.”
“You are sure?”
She met Ms. Wellington’s questioning gaze. “Yes.”
Ms. Wellington put away her notebook and closed up her portfolio case. “Okay. I’ll relay that to the prosecutor.”
Chapter 8
Thursday, October 21, 5 a.m.
Rokov had worked until past 2 a.m., sifting through witness statements and tracking down the waitresses from O’Malley’s. The waitresses had been too busy to notice much more than their overcrowded sections.