Page 21 of Fifty-Fifty

‘I won’t. I might go out later. I’ll wear a cap and hoodie. Keep my head down.

Thanks, Mr. Flynn.’

‘Call me Eddie,’ I said as I left the apartment. I answered the phone.

‘Mr. Flynn?’ said a female voice.

‘Yes, if it’s about those parking tickets—’

‘Excuse me? Um, no, it’s not.’

I knew it wasn’t about parking tickets, but it’s impossible for me not to play with prosecutors. I couldn’t help myself. As a defense attorney I spend a lot of my time chasing prosecutors to discuss my cases. They only called me when there was a serious issue, in a serious case.

The voice on the other end of the line cleared their throat and said, ‘I’m Mr.

Dreyer’s secretary, he’d like to see you tomorrow about the Avellino case.’

‘What about the Avellino case, specifically?’

‘He has an offer he wants to discuss with you.’

SEVEN

SHE

After her arraignment, she had posted bail. So had Sister dear.

The rest of that day proved busy.

Very busy.

Every effort had to be made to cover her tracks, and frame her sister. When she eventually flopped into bed at one a.m., exhausted, she realized she had eaten very little the previous day.

She had slept fitfully. Waking at five a.m., she made a peanut butter sandwich, ate it with a glass of milk and then went back to bed. She dozed and woke a few times. Her broken sleep was not due to any worry, or concern. The thought of returning to a cell for the rest of her life didn’t hold any fear.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Not a chance.

The interruption to her sleep was largely due to excitement. She was finally going to be free. Freedom meant money. All of her father’s money. If her sister was convicted, she couldn’t inherit her share of father’s estate because of the Son of Sam laws. She would get everything. Money meant freedom and power.

She had thought about killing her sister, and then Father – but two deaths leaving a sole beneficiary to a large fortune looked too suspicious. It would forever tarnish her with the uncertainty of facing a trial for their deaths at some point in her life. This way was better. This was clean. Father dead. Sister in jail for the murder. No loose ends. No suspicion falling on her.

She would be free.

She got out of bed around ten in the morning. In the shower, she scrubbed her skin with a rough, cosmetic stone. The ridges of that stone were a wonder to her.

If she did not pay attention, she could spend half an hour touching it, exploring every line on its surface.

She dried herself and tied up her hair. Before completing her task last night, she had done some shopping. Food and essential items – some tools for the job

in hand. There were still three shopping bags from a medical supply store and a hardware store by the front door. She was too tired to unpack just yet.

She dressed, blow-dried her hair and the rest of that day she spent on the couch, eating potato chips and watching a string of old movies – Casablanca, The 39 Steps, and finally Rear Window. An outfit lay on the bed, waiting for her.

Black Lycra leggings, and an Underarmor top. She dressed, put on her running shoes and tucked her hair into the black Nike ballcap. Before leaving her apartment, she stretched her legs, back, arms, and shoulders.

On the street, she broke into a light jog to warm her muscles, find a rhythm, adjust her breathing. After Mother died, she and her sister had been placed into separate boarding schools. Both in Virginia, a hundred miles apart. It had been in boarding school when she had found her love of running. A year after Mother died, she turned thirteen. Neither sister went home for weekends. Her gym teacher had been a cross-country champion in her youth, and had given the bug