The Victim (21 page)

“
Oh, he’s fucked. He’s completely fucked. They got DNA, videotape, and his baby momma testifying against him. Police union’s been present for every single court hearing. Not to mention he was involved in a shootout a few years ago where a seven-year-old girl died. A trial in his case is like a slow guilty plea.” He slugged down half his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “An exercise in futility. Honestly, if he could roll up his bed sheet real tight and hang himself in his cell he’d get a better result than what he’s got coming.”

Her head reeled back in laughter. “So blunt. I love it.”

“
Nah, I’m just desensitized.” He felt the weightlessness of a good buzz. “Been doing this so long.”

“
You’re still young.”

He nodded in agreement. “Theoretically, yes. But in seven years I’ve tried fifty-six cases to verdict including homicides and sexual batteries, prosecuted and represented the scum of the earth. Thousands of cases. Seen and heard things they don’t prepare you for in law school. I dunno.”

She leaned back, folded one leg over the other, studying him quizzically. “You don’t relax enough.”

He downed the last of his drink. He swirled his glass and loosened up the ice. “How can I?” An ice cube crunched between his teeth. “I got a business to run, a family to take care of, a nine-month-old that doesn’t like to sleep. It’s exhausting.”

He looked down, sensing her hand on his knee.

He looked up, trying to gauge her intent but she met him face-to-face, pressing her lips to his. He tasted the sting of vodka.

The strange sensation of kissing another woman was liberating.

His inner caveman spoke up. Pangs of guilt were replaced by reassurance. Wasn’t he deserving of these things? He had worked so hard, self-employed no less. Not a guaranteed paycheck in sight; yet he toiled in the trenches every day, earning his money and building the reputation that would one day consistently command Bryan Avery-sized fees. In exchange for the breadwinning and diaper-changing and non-sexual hugs when his wife needed them, was he not due a little physical affection from time to time? He was a man, after all, and don’t men have needs? Is it not purely biological?

The voice comforted him, in a sense angered him, too. Gina—cold, sexless Gina—deprived him nightly, the constant source of tongue-biting frustration.

He kissed her harder. She bit his lip, forcefully jammed her tongue deep into his mouth. It was the furious kiss of a revved-up woman, insatiable, as if she could devour him.

Beyond the obvious visceral benefits, though, part of him just wanted to hold Daniella. Nothing more. To take her in his arms, to feel her tiny hands on his chest. To protect her. To assure her, with nothing more than an embrace, that nobody would ever hurt her again.

They pulled away, noses an inch apart. Close enough to feel each other’s hot breath. Just enough space to let the other know they were hesitant.

Hesitation waned as they fell into each other. She stood and offered her hand. He took it and followed as she walked backwards, lunging in for another kiss, through the open bedroom door.

***

“
God.” He sighed, rolling onto his back. His chest rose and fell in quick rhythm as he caught his breath. “I wish we could do this every week.”

She smiled, lying on her stomach, her head on his chest. She traced little circles around his belly button. She got up onto her hands and knees and reached across him to the nightstand. She pulled the drawer open and fished around inside, searching for something amid the clanging of clutter.

She found it, tossed it on the rumpled comforter.

A half-melted red Bic lighter sealed in a ZipLoc bag.

“
And I wish you hadn’t killed my sister.”

PART TWO

Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.

Benjamin Franklin

CHAPTER 22

His first reaction was disbelief, almost a survival mechanism. An out-of-body sense that reality had somehow been distorted. He had only felt that way one time before.

His head spun as he sat up on the bed, naked, his thighs sticky, his erection withering like a dying rose. He felt shamed by his nakedness. He scurried off the bed and slipped on his boxers, speed walking out of the bedroom and across the living room floor, collecting his clothes in his arms.

“
Where are you going?” she called from inside the bedroom.

He struggled to button his shirt, his fingertips numb and unable to muster up enough dexterity to properly do the job. He cinched his belt and pulled up his socks.

“
I’m leaving,” he said, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. The sting of tears welled in his eyes.

She hopped off the bed, strutting naked across the floor. She leaned against the doorway, folded her arms in front of her bare breasts, her lips tightly content.

“
You
really
thought everything would just go away?”

He ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair, crouched and scrambled around the coffee table, looking for his remaining shoe. His heart jackhammered in his chest.

“
Answer my question, Anton! I’ve waited almost eleven years to hear you admit that you killed Kelsie McEvoy and Evan Rangel.”

He bolted upright, jammed a finger in her direction. “Listen! I don’t know who the fuck you are or what this whole charade is about. But this was a huge mistake.”

He got down on his hands and knees, reaching underneath the sofa for his shoe. Still tied, he jammed his heel in. He grabbed his briefcase and started for the door, although he had no idea what he was going to do or where he was going to go once he got outside.

“
Anton!”

He did an about-face.
“What?”

She stormed out of the doorway, taking long aggressive strides across the marble floor, unbothered by her nudity, somewhat empowered by it. She stopped a foot from his face.

“
I know it was you! Don’t lie anymore. You’ve built your entire life around it. I found the lighter on the side of the road. The fire department, the state troopers…They all missed it. But I found it. The fire would have destroyed any physical evidence, which was, of course, your intent in starting it.

“
But I saw you on the news! I saw your face.” She pointed a finger at his nose.

He jerked his body and leaned back, disgusted by even the slightest physical contact.

“
Your nose. That little bump right on the bridge? You broke your nose when the airbag hit it. According to the police report, you told them that you ran into a tree the night of the retreat up in Payson when you were drunk. Nobody else saw you do it but everyone said that your nose was swollen and bruised the next morning. Bullshit story! But since the cars were burned up there was no physical evidence. No eyewitnesses. Even though the RV was rented in
your
name and
you
were the one with the injury, there wasn’t enough evidence to arrest. What did the police conclude? There had been reports of drifters in the area? Perhaps one of them stole the RV.”

Anton placed his free hand on the wall, bracing himself. His knees felt like they could give out any second. “What…what is this about? What do you want from me?”

“
I want you to understand that you’re outmatched. I can see the gears turning in your head. You have very telltale expressions, you know. You’d make a shitty poker player. Even that little clip on the news of you walking out of the police station, even with those douchebag sunglasses on, you still had that look on your face. Like you had something to hide.”

“
Look—”

She held up a finger. “Uh uh, don’t try to talk your way out of this. I’ve had over ten years to prepare for this and you’re not going to be able to conjure up a response in a matter of minutes.”

Anton lost his grasp on his briefcase, the smooth leather handle slipping from his clammy hand. His back fell against the door. “If you’d just let me explain.”

“
There’s nothing to explain. I know about everything. You see, I took that lighter to a guy who tests DNA. I followed you to get a sample so he could make a comparison. You and those frat guys you used to hang out with. I watched you on the ASU campus. It was only a few weeks after it all happened, and I swear you looked like you didn’t have a care in the world.”

She continued, “It was a warm spring morning and you were drinking a Red Bull. When you threw it away, I collected it and brought it to be tested. Something like, I dunno…” She gazed up at the ceiling. “A one in several billion match.
Sooooo
, I got a lighter on the side of the road with your DNA on it, a fucking lighter. Nothing else. All the reports say the fuel line was severed. That maybe a spark from the battery started the fire. No way.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I don’t buy it for a second. What I see standing before me is a selfish, coldhearted motherfucker who plowed into two kids ’cause he was dead drunk, and in a move that considered only your well-being, you lit a fire because you knew you’d get caught otherwise.”

She wasn’t finished. “And guess what? Up until ten minutes ago it worked just fine. You graduated. Chose a law school as far from from Arizona as you could. Made a career. Met a girl. Had a baby. Built a life. You know, accidents happen. We’ve all driven after we’ve had a few, but for the grace of God, we made it home without killing anyone. They were alive, Anton! They were alive. They could have been saved had you done the right thing and called for help. It may have cost you your future career and the lifestyle you’d eventually create for yourself, but you could’ve saved two lives.”

His legs and arms trembled. He forced enough breath to utter, “What can I do at this point?” His face was slack with defeat, his posture bowed and defensive like a boxer against the ropes. “I’m serious. What can I do now?”

She refolded her arms, pressing her breasts into her wrists. “Tell the truth.”

“
Huh?”

“
Tell the truth, Anton. And so will I. We’ll come clean together. It’ll be very cathartic.”

“
What?”

“
Look. I’ve had a DNA match on that lighter for almost eleven years. Even if I went to the cops it’s likely not enough to charge you. Sure, they might poke and prod and make things uncomfortable for you, but without your confession, traditional justice isn’t likely. Then I had to ask myself, is traditional justice what I really want? Nah, not so much. I want to compel you to dig deep and do something selfless for the first time in your life. There’s something very enlightening about that, the human experience. And getting to watch your moral gears churn? Wow! That’s quite a thrill.”

“
What the hell are you trying to say?”

“
I’m saying that your client, my husband? He’s innocent. I made the whole thing up.”

CHAPTER 23

“
Things are different these days,” she said, sauntering away from the door, her buttocks jouncing in rhythm with her step. She disappeared into her bedroom. “You can’t get away with anything anymore,” she shouted through the open door. He could hear her rustling though the closet. “Back in 2003, you could get a little media attention, search engines would archive the news articles, and in a few months they’d disappear. I bet your law school, the Florida Bar, your former employer, your wife…all know nothing about this. Am I right?” She stepped out from the bedroom doorway, lashing the tie on her terrycloth robe. “You pull this shit today and it would be all over Facebook and Twitter, then the mainstream media.”

Anton asked, “Did you lie to the police?”

“
Sure.” She grabbed her drink off the coffee table and took a long sip. She smacked her lips. “But so did you.”