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I crossed my ankle over my knee. “I’ll file a motion this afternoon to request more time, but if I’m being perfectly frank, don’t count on it.”
“The system has already convicted him. I thought the judicial system was supposed to help the innocent.”
He wasn’t wrong, but I’d proved over and over again it helped the guilty too.
“I know it feels like they’re against him, but he needs you to remain calm.”
“I’m desperate.” He gripped his knees, and I understood that desperation, connected with it even.
I was getting soft. I’d been successful by keeping any sort of emotion out of my work. Out of anything in my life, if I were honest. Since what had happened with Trish, Ifelt. All the time. And it was mostly guilt.
“Do you also live next door to the girl?”
“No. Abraham worked hard to buy that house. He’d lived there about eight months when the girl disappeared.” There was pride and disappointment in his tone. I guessed it wasn’t disappointment with his son, butforhim.
“How old is she?”
“Nine.”
Oh shit.
I nodded. Resigned to see this through. “I need to speak with your son. I’ll schedule a visit.”
“I can tell you the details now.”
“I appreciate that. And I will want to hear what you know. But I need Abraham’s version first.”
Buzz.Click.
I followed the bailiff through the security door, briefcase in hand.
“Haven’t seen you around lately,” he said over his shoulder.
“I’m flattered you missed me.”
“This one’s right up your alley. My money’s on the prosecution. No way he didn’t kill that little girl.”
“Haven’t you learned by now not to bet against me?”
“Should have. We doing the usual, where I come get you in an hour?”
I nodded. When clients felt there were time constraints, they were more likely to talk.
He unlocked the metal door, a square window near the top.
“Thanks.”
“See you on the other side.”
A beast of a man sat behind the table, arms braced on the smooth wooden surface, shaved head bowed. He didn’t move when the door clicked shut. I placed my briefcase on the table and took the seat next to him.
“Would you like the cuffs removed?”
Nothing. Not a glance or a word.
I pulled out a legal pad and pen. “I’m Patrick Whitley. If you’ll let me, I’m here to help you.”
More silence.
