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“You can send all your clients to me after they collect their huge windfalls.”
He slumped in his seat. “After this case, I’m not sure I’ll be working anymore.”
The waitress brought our breakfast, refilled our coffee, and disappeared.
I grabbed the grape jelly and slathered it on my toast. “What’s happening on that front?”
He pushed around his eggs, then set his fork down. “I’m in some shit I don’t want to be in.”
I cocked my head to the side and studied him. He’d yet to take a bite of his food. “You defended a man, and won by the way, who killed his wife, three kids, and two dogs. What could possibly be worse than that?”
He scowled. “I had evidence he couldn’t have been at the scene of the crime.” Then he shoved his plate away and said something I couldn’t understand.
“I won’t help you, but I will listen if you need to talk about it,” I said, nudging his plate back toward him.
“I don’t even like to think about it. Meeting with my client is hell.”
“I’ve never seen you like this about a case.” I scooped potatoes into my mouth as he continued to ignore his food.
He looked around and leaned in close, lowering his voice. “He used his wife as a sex slave.”
I shot away from him, my spine hitting the back of the booth. Now I understood why he couldn’t eat. “That’s fucked up.” I tried and failed to come to grips with what he’d told me.
“Exactly.”
“This stuff is in the news more often than it should be, but it’s still hard to believe people really do this kind of thing. What kind of man could turn his wife into a sex slave?” I shook my head and reached for my glass of water.
“You should meet this guy. I’ve looked at the evidence, but when I left the prison, I found myself wondering if it was possible that he was capable of locking his wife in a basement. He was clean cut. And really damn nice. Not the fake kind where something feels a little off. I know if I met him in the real world and we’d struck up a conversation, we’d probably become friends. That’s scary as hell.” Patrick ran his hands through his hair, yanking on his dark locks.
“Makes you think, right?”
We both glanced around the restaurant. Anyone here could be a psychopath, and we’d be none the wiser.
“Yeah.” Patrick hooked his finger in the handle of his coffee cup but didn’t pick it up. “When he talked about his wife, it’s like they still have the perfect marriage. Uh, no—” He paused, appearing appalled at what he’d said. “See what I mean? He’s very convincing when talking about what he believes to be true.”
“You’ll be able to use that with the jury.” I cursed as soon as I’d made the suggestion. I didn’t want to do anything to help that guy’s cause.
Patrick perked up ever so slightly. “That’s why I wanted you on board. I’m so stuck in the middle of things, I can’t see any way out.”
“First off, I’m not on board. At all.” I folded my arms over my chest.
“Your big brain. That’s what I need,” Patrick corrected, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“You can’t have it. Not for this.”
“I can work with what you’ve given me. Use his likeability to his advantage.” The wheels were turning in his head. Patrick had shifted fully into super-lawyer mode.
“You’d better hope his wife doesn’t testify or is miserable on the stand.”
“I haven’t found her yet.”
I frowned. “Did he kill her? Or sell her?”
Patrick’s lips thinned. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “And none of the johns are around either.”
“Then how do you know he did what he’s been accused of? No victim. No witnesses.”
“The police were tipped off to check out the house. There was evidence in the basement.” Patrick swallowed hard.
