Page 17
“Really?”
The way she looked up at me almost made me grin. The magnetism between young lovers (even when they’re old) is the gravity of the soul; undeniable, unquestionable, and, sooner or later, unwanted.
“Only once,” she said. “When Stuart had another case to attend to and I was recording Manny’s deposition. I—I respect Marin. She’s the mother of their child, but because they aren’t legally married they won’t even let her visit except behind a Plexiglas barrier.… He needed somebody.”
“Johanna Mudd has really disappeared?”
“Yes.”
“And Braun has pulled back on the case?”
“He shredded the files,” she claimed. “He said that they were all lies.”
“So the evidence is gone?”
She reached over, putting her hand on the roller bag.
“When I got the job working for Mr. Braun, my college adviser, Sharon Mittleman, told me that I should always make copies in case something went missing. Mr. Braun didn’t want the files stored electronically. He said that hackers could get into any memory device. So I’d come in at night to use the copy machine.”
“How much do you have?” I asked, my respect for the prospective client rising with each word.
“Thirty-three hundred and seventeen two-sided sheets.”
“Six thousand pages?”
“Closer to seven.”
Seven thousand pages. Suddenly I was scared. Any evidence is a detective’s friend, but I imagined reading through the pages while some shadow crept up behind me with a loaded pistol in its all-too-solid hand.
“You know I can’t do work pro bono like Braun,” I said, flailing around for an exit strategy.
She put the briefcase on the table and opened it, revealing stacks and stacks of paper-slip-bound fifty-dollar bills.
“Almost nineteen thousand dollars,” she said. “It’s half of an inheritance I got from my grandmother. I know we can’t go to the police and also we can’t have any connection between us. I’ve been taking money out of the account a thousand dollars at a time. I want you to prove Manny innocent and get him released from prison.”
“What if he wants to go back to Marin?” I asked.
“If you love someone you set them free,” she said with all the force of the pop song.
Looking at the pretty young woman with the sad, sad face I thought about the last twenty-four hours and how much I had changed. Between Congressman Acres and Beatrice Summers I was on the verge of becoming someone, something new.
On the verge but not quite across the line.
“Hold on to that money for another day,” I said.
“Why?”
“I’m going to look over these papers and make up my mind then.”
“Everything I’m saying is true.”
“That may be, but still, I have to convince myself.”
“But you’re my only hope, Manny’s only hope.”
“Why do you even think you can trust me?” I asked, the divine words leaping from my lips like Athena from Zeus’s brow.
“Jacob Storell.”
