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“Paul had to go downstairs and sign some paperwork. As soon as that is done, you’ll be free to go.”
“Can I go sit with Mama? She looks terrible.”
Keith patted my shoulder. “It’ll just be a few more minutes, Jackie. You can’t leave this area of the courtroom until Paul’s work is done.”
In other words, I was still a prisoner.
“Will you go and sit with her, then? She looks so lost and scared.”
“Sure.”
And then I was alone, watching the next defendants as they were brought in to stand quaking before the judge, but my thoughts were on Paul. He had schemed, saved, begged, and borrowed to purchase that house. It was his pride and joy, but he had put it up on the block for me. No one except Mama had ever trusted or loved me that much, and I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming from my eyes.
It took close to an hour for the paperwork to go through and my personal belongings found and returned to me, but finally, I was free.
As I hugged Mama, who clutched me like she would never let go, I was extremely sensitive to the fact that I smelled like jail. Paul and Keith stood off to the side, smiling at us, until I was able to pry Mama’s arms away.
Paul gave me a hug and whispered, “It’s really good to see you, Jackie,” into my ear.
“I don’t know how to thank you, Paul,” I whispered back.
“We’ll talk later,” he murmured.
The four of us locked arms and walked out onto Centre Street, where reporters converged on us like a pack of wild dogs.
“Did you kill your boss, Jackie?”
“Hey Jackie, look this way!”
“Who is paying for Keith Williams?”
“Is that your boyfriend, Jackie? Is he standing by you?”
“Why’d you do it, Jackie? What was the motive?”
“Are you in love with Craig Murray?”
“Who is the old lady? Is that your mother?”
“Who killed Annabelle Murray?”
Keith had been prepared for this scene. Two rows of police officers held the journalists and their flashbulb-popping news crews away from us as Keith, his mouth tight, pushed us toward his waiting limousine.
Jamal Hunt was standing next to the car. He pushed past Keith and hugged me. The cameras flashed away. “Jackie, I know you’re not guilty and I’m praying for you!” he yelled.
I whispered my thanks and climbed into the limo. As the car pulled away from the curb, I saw the reporters rush toward Jamal, who promptly held a hardcover book above his head so the cover would appear in all the papers. Using my predicament to promote his current novel was a tasteless, selfish, and totally unforgivable act and, for just a second, I was glad that I’d lost my job so I wouldn’t have to deal with him.
Mama leaned back against the plush upholstery. Her face looked ashen.
It would have been stupid to ask if she were all right, so I just held her hand and said nothing. The air suddenly filled up with the briny scent of stale piss, but no one mentioned it.
“Let’s get out of here. I need to go home and change clothes.”
“You can’t go home,” Keith told me. “The police tore the place up, looking for evidence. Besides, the media knows where you live now and they’ll be camped outside until the trial is over.”
I couldn’t take any more. “Where am I supposed to live, for God’s sake?” It was a scream.
Mama patted my hand. “Shush, baby. Put your stuff in storage and come stay with me.”
