questions about a conviction that’s been overruled.
I barely had a hand in the case. I gave my opinion and that was all.
“Anyone who helps a man do that to children, to little girls who were dead the moment he set their sights on them… a man who helps and does nothing to stop them deserves to rot in hell.”
Needless to say, I didn’t get my coffee. So I’m stuck here with Aaron’s choice of brew. Which is too hot to drink still and every second that passes, the headache gets worse.
My statement plays back in my head followed by the ticking of the incessant clock.
And then suddenly there’s a loud bang at my door. The knock, knock, knock hardly registers before the door is swung open.
“You said, ‘rot in hell.’” Claire Eastings mocks my tone as she swings the door closed behind her with a hard thump from the bottom of one of her flats. She stands taller than me without heels, and that’s saying something. Six feet tall and sixty years old, she towers over my desk with a scowl. Another thing Auntie Lindie used to say, your face will get stuck like that. … Yeah, well, Claire’s face is in a constant scowl. Despite her resting bitch face and all, she’s damn good at what she does. So when she repeats, “rot in hell,” drawing out the words with her dark brown eyes wide and full of disbelief, one hand on her wide hip with the other gripping a piece of paper so tight that she’s creased and crinkled it, my stomach drops.
My fingers nervously pick at the edge of the case file as I meet her gaze. I have a lot to learn. I’ll be the first to admit it. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said it.”
“No,” she agrees then throws her head back and when she does I close my eyes, wishing the ground would swallow me up. I don’t react well to being scolded and especially not by someone I admire. Claire paved the way for women in this career, simply by being the best of the best. Today isn’t just a bad day, I think as I swallow the knot in my throat, it’s an awful day.
I know what I did. I know I messed up. Just tell me whether or not I’m going to have to sit out on cases and file paperwork as punishment. I have shit to do.
With my jaw clenched tight, I keep the words there at the back of my throat and give Claire’s rant the full attention she wants.
Her pencil skirt isn’t fitted and it rides up, bunching around her hips as she paces. “Are you kidding me?” she questions, her head tilted and her eyes narrowed at me. When she does that, the wrinkles around her eyes and her pursed lips deepen.
“First the mess that happened two days ago and now this? Are you—” She continues her tyrannical rage and I cut her off.
“What happened two days ago didn’t come out of my mouth.” Jill earns another dart thrown at her in my imaginary poster of her on the wall in my head. “That was a reporter trying to stay relevant.”
“Well, this morning, ‘rot in hell’ certainly came out of yours.”
“I apologize,” I say and my sincerity is there when I meet her gaze, refusing to break it even though I’m burning up inside.
“Is it because of what was said? Is it because Jill said you’re becoming infamous for serial murder cases going cold? Is that why you had to give your two cents this morning about Ross Brass?”
“You and I both know he did it.” As I speak, the emotion that creeps into my voice, cracking it, is something I didn’t count on. I know Claire hired me over seasoned lawyers well worth their weight because I’m hard; I keep my emotions in check. That’s what she said. I have a hard edge and the emotion rarely gets to me. It’s evidence and precedence and getting to the point.
Emotion is a weakness to be exploited and preyed upon in this business. I don’t know if it’s my family issues or the case from five years ago, but today is hard. I’m struggling to remain unaffected.
“He played a part in four girls dying and he got off on a technicality.” I answer her as best I can without letting my voice crack again. It would be easy if all of this really was as simple as dogs