DEFENSE (12 page)

Katie

It was just my luck that the prosecutor assigned to Harrison’s case was Mark, a guy I’d briefly dated many years ago. We’d come up against each other in several cases, but this one especially grated on me. The last thing I wanted to see was his smarmy face and greasy black hair. It was guaranteed to irk me, and since I’d gotten so close to Harrison, the chances of me losing my cool were pretty high.

He shook my hand cordially. “Miss Scott.”

I forced a smile onto my face. “Mr. Pickering.”

After Mark and Galiema had shaken hands, we all settled down, ready to begin negotiations.

“We have a plea deal for you,” Mark said, like some kind of used car salesman about to make a dodgy deal. “Fifteen years, chance of parole.”

I scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

Galiema rested her hand on my arm in warning—one that told me we weren’t in as good a position as I may have thought.

I tried to calm my emotions. “We have character witnesses for Shantelle who will argue away every single one of the points you have. Every wound, every scratch, can be accounted for and attributed to innocent causes. We can call on witnesses; we have a list as long as your arm, and they’re all more than happy to get their fifteen minutes in the spotlight.”

A thin smile appeared on Mark’s lips. “Except you really don’t want this to go to court, do you? If Mr. Wrexler goes through the courts, he’ll never work again.”

“If he takes your fifteen years he won’t, either,” I countered. “At least the jury will give him a chance.”

“You’re right,” Mark said, clearly enjoying riling me up. “Maybe I’ve been too generous. Twenty. And you can forget about the parole. Final offer.”

“You’ve increased it!” I cried. “Are you losing your mind or something?”

It was Galiema’s turn to interject. She could see this was getting out of hand.

“Can you please explain your rationale for such a heavy sentence?” she asked diplomatically.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “It’s hardly heavy. Any sane judge would give the creep life. He should count his lucky stars he didn’t murder that woman while he was in Texas, or he’d be facing the death penalty.”

“Harrison didn’t murder anyone,” I shot back, slamming my fist onto the table.

Galiema was looking worried beside me, clearly not understanding what the cause of my emotional outburst was.

“We’re quite aware of the different punishments of the states,” Galiema said, “so there’s no need to threaten us with that. What we need to know is what you think you have in here,” she tapped the file on the table, “that would warrant such a measly deal.”

Mark was practically grinning from ear to ear. “How about this?” he said, offering up a folder.

“What is it?” I asked as Galiema leafed through it.

“A toxicology report,” she said. “Where did you get this? It wasn’t part of the autopsy findings.”

“You’re right, Ms. Rook, it wasn’t. We had another expert examine Miss Leeson. We had reason to believe the initial autopsy wasn’t thorough enough. There are some drugs that a common autopsy wouldn’t reveal, drugs our investigators thought it imperative to look for.”

“What is he talking about?” I said, panic fluttering in my chest. “What drugs?”

All the usual illegal substances would show up during routine testing. It was true that some were harder to detect than others, particularly if the body had processed them before death, but I couldn’t think of what Mark was getting at.

“All I can see here are harmless prescription drugs,” Galiema said. “How does Miss Leeson’s use of SSRIs and benzodiazepines affect your case in any way?”

All at once, everything around me went cold. The colors of the office seemed blur, turning to the same muted gray. My memory was dredging up something Harrison had told me about Catherine, about how she’d died of a prescription drug overdose. SSRIs were used to treat depression, benzodiazepines for antianxiety.

“What else is in there?” I demanded, ripping the notes from Galiema’s hands.

I scanned the page quickly, desperate not to see the name of the drug I was fearing I may read. But there it was, stark black against the white of the paper, printed as clear as day for all to see. Zolpidem. A sedative for insomnia. Shantelle had died with the same drug combination in her system as the one that had killed Catherine.

My hands trembled as I placed the paper back on the table.

“Well?” Galiema was saying, completely oblivious as to what this concoction of drugs in Shantelle’s system actually meant for Harrison.

“Well,” Mark said calmly. “The thing is, Mr. Wrexler was previously implicated in the death of his wife. The coroner ruled an accidental death caused by a prescription drug overdose, and the charges against Mr. Wrexler were dropped and swiftly swept under the carpet. But the combination of drugs that killed his late wife were benzodiazepines, SSRIs, and zolpidem.” He paused for effect before adding, “Just like Miss Leeson.”

Galiema sat back, stunned by the revelation. But no one was as stunned as me. I
knew
Harrison Wrexler intimately, thoroughly. He wasn’t capable of murder. Not Shantelle’s, and not Catherine’s. Certainly not Catherine’s. He’d loved her with every fiber of his being. That much was evident in the way he spoke about her. This was pure coincidence. But I was going to have a hell of a job proving it.

“Those are three of the most common drugs prescribed to people with mental health difficulties and insomnia,” I said to Mark. “Are you really insinuating our client drugged this woman?”

“I’m not insinuating it,” Mark said. “I’m downright stating it. Miss Leeson wasn’t on prescription drugs, Katie. She didn’t have any mental health difficulties or sleeping problems at all. The only thing her doctor told us that made even the smallest blemish on her health records was her binge drinking tendency.”

“Where’s your evidence?” I asked, knowing Mark well enough to know he would say absolutely anything to wrangle me.

“Right here,” he replied, slamming another pile of documents on the table.

How had we missed this? We’d sent investigators out to dig up the dirt on Shantelle’s past. It hadn’t occurred to us to look into her medical history.

As I leafed through the notes, my conviction began to falter. Mark was right. Shantelle hadn’t been prescribed any of the drugs that were found in her system. So where had she gotten them from? My whole body prickled with ice.

“You see,” Mark added, “my suspicion is that your whole case hinges on the jury concluding that Harrison Wrexler didn’t push Shantelle, that it was just an accident, and that she tripped and fell. Well, now it doesn’t matter whether you make them believe your story or not. With this amount of drugs, mixed with the alcohol your client admitted to having purchased for her in the bar the night of her death, Miss Leeson falling off the balcony was next to inevitable. All
your
client had to do was lead her out there.”

He sat back, looking smug. I couldn’t believe I’d let that smarmy creep put his dick inside of me. But if I’d been so wrong about Mark, could I also have been wrong about Harrison?

I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing, but the facts were staring me in the face. Was Harrison really a cold-blooded killer?

“So, in my honest opinion, you ought to tell your client to take the plea,” Mark continued. “Since we’re setting the wheels in motion to charge Mr. Wrexler with the murder of his late wife, Catherine...”

It felt like the whole world had dropped away beneath my feet.

Galiema had heard enough. She folded up her report and stood abruptly. “We’ll take the deal back to our client,” she said tersely. “You’ll have your answer in twenty-four hours.”

“Actually,” Mark said, “in light of the new charges we’ll be bringing to your client, the judge is looking for his immediate re-arrest. It’s insane you managed to bail Wrexler in the first place. I guess they really needed that one hundred K down payment. Anyway, he’s more than happy to recant that now that it’s evident how dangerous your client really is. He’s not just a murderer; he’s a serial killer, with a very specific, recognizable MO and a certain type of victim.”

I could hardly breathe. This was too much to take in, too much to process. They were going to arrest Harrison again, take him back to prison and the men who would beat him. He was going to have to stand trial, face a jury, have his story plastered all over the papers.

Galiema stood there fuming. Mark just smiled.

“I’d hurry back to your client if I were you,” he said, consulting his watch. “The warrant for his arrest has been approved. The police have had something of a head start on you.”

I shot up to standing, my mind a whirl of confusion, and swept out of the room, avoiding Mark’s outstretched hand. Galiema was hot on my heels, following me out, already calling the office on her cell.

“Fuck,” she said as she raced down the steps. “How the hell did we miss that extra evidence?”

I was trembling so hard I could barely get the words out. I needed to speak to Harrison, to warn him that the police were on their way to re-arrest him. But even if he knew, what could he do? The second he set foot outside of the office his ankle bracelet would alert the police anyway. Either way, he was screwed.

Galiema started speaking rapidly to whoever had answered the call at the Newland & Rook offices. I hailed an approaching cab, and we both bundled into the back.

“I’ve told them to refuse entry to the police until we get there,” Galiema said.

“Mark said they have a warrant,” I mumbled. “They’ll just batter down the door.”

I slumped against the seat, feeling defeated. This was like a nightmare.

“That will buy us a minute or two at the least,” Galiema replied. She leaned forward to the cab driver. “Can you step on it? We’re in a rush.” Then she turned to me. “We have to get there before Brent Johnson finds out. He’s going to flip.”

“Who cares about Brent Johnson?” I cried. “Harrison’s the one who’s facing trial! Who’s going to prison!”

Galiema gave me a look. “Katie, you heard Mark. You saw the evidence. Harrison Wrexler is as guilty as sin. Our orders were to keep it out of the media’s eyes. The only way to avoid a high-profile court case is by urging Mr. Wrexler to take the plea deal.”

“But he’s not guilty,” I cried. “He can’t be. He just can’t.”

The conviction in my voice was failing me. Tears were starting to creep into my eyes.

Galiema narrowed her eyes at me. There was a look of suspicion in them, like she suspected that my feelings for Harrison extended beyond the usual client-lawyer boundaries.

I looked away, trying to calm my welling emotions. But it was all too much. I couldn’t lose the love of my life. I couldn’t have Harrison sent back to prison to be beaten up by those inmates all over again, knowing he’d have to endure twenty years of it.

The cab rounded the corner onto the street our office was located. A police van was parked right outside. There were paps all over the place.

“We’re too late!” I cried.

We pulled up and leapt onto the sidewalk. Galiema rushed right over to the paparazzi.

“Get these cameras out of here!” she barked. “We have an injunction out against you filming our client.”

One of the paps smirked. “I think your injunction covers us following him in relation to the Shantelle Leeson murder charge. There’s nothing covering your ass for the charges against him killing his wife. We have every right to be here.”

“I’m going to sue every last one of you,” Galiema hissed.

I shoved past them all and into the foyer. They couldn’t follow us inside private property, but the second Harrison set foot outside he would be fair game.

The elevator was taking too long. My whole body was buzzing with adrenaline and fear. I needed to see Harrison before it was too late. I needed to look in his eyes and see whether he was the man I thought he was, the man I thought I’d fallen in love with.

Harrison

I was a bag of nerves all morning. I’d hardly slept at all. I kept staring at the door to my room, waiting for someone to come in and announce something.

The Newland & Rook offices were abuzz with people. On weekdays it was like a completely different place. I’d gotten used to this being my and Katie’s love den. Everyone else felt like intruders.

It was midday when I heard a commotion. A thudding noise, like someone pounding on the door. I raced to the door of the office and poked my head out.

A huddle of lawyers were around the main doors. They’d been closed and bolted. Security stood on either side.

I paced out and walked past the room where I had convinced Katie to let me take her as a lover. It seemed so changed in the stark daylight. With Katie looking so withdrawn and small, it felt like a million years had passed since I’d first penetrated her on the tabletop.

“What’s going on?”

The receptionist looked at me with a concerned expression on her face. She was deliberating whether to tell me something. But in the end she didn’t need to. I could hear through the door clear as day.

“We have an arrest warrant for Mr. Wrexler! By not allowing us entrance to the premises you are obstructing the course of justice!”

The blood drained from my face. I staggered back as a cold sweat came over me.

What was happening? Where was Katie? How had the meeting at the DA’s office resulted in the police wanting to re-arrest me?

Everyone was looking back at me, like I was some kind of circus freak.

“You heard the man!” I cried, gesticulating with my arms. “Open the doors!”

The security guards did as I commanded. The doors burst open, and a stream of cops raced in. They saw me standing there and headed right for me.

I held my hands up in a truce position, but that didn’t stop them tackling me to the ground, pressing me facedown into the hardwood floors. I felt a knee jam into my back as a heavy police officer pinned me down.

“Harrison Wrexler, you’re under arrest for the murder of Catherine Wrexler.”

“What?” I cried.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the police officer continued.

I couldn’t believe what was happening. I glanced at the door where all the lawyers were crowded, watching the spectacle unfolding in front of them. All at once, I caught sight of Katie. She’d appeared at the main doors of Newland & Rook, looking like a beacon of light on a stormy day, and pushed herself through the crowd of whispering lawyers.

When she saw me facedown on the floor, my hands being roughly cuffed behind me, she stopped dead in her tracks and gasped. Her skin turned an even paler shade than usual, making her almost ghostlike.

She rushed forward. “Harrison, don’t say anything,” she said.

But how could I not? I was being arrested in front of the woman I had fallen in love with for the murder of my wife. Something had happened in the meeting with the prosecutors; some kind of damning evidence had been presented on me that warranted my immediate arrest and the retraction of my bail. Whatever it was, it must have been even more incriminating than all the evidence in the autopsy report had been. I just couldn’t bear the thought of Katie thinking I could be capable of killing Catherine.

“Katie,” I stammered. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.”

I was shaking my head. My whole body was trembling. The police hauled me roughly to my feet.

“Stop, Harrison,” Katie said. “Please. Don’t say anything else. I’ll meet you at the station. Just hush.”

“But I didn’t do it,” I said again urgently, willing her to trust me. “You know me, Katie. You know me.”

“Please,” she whispered, wiping a tear from her eye. “You need to be quiet now. Everything will be okay.”

But it was too late. The cops began yanking me away, tearing me away from the woman I wanted to be with, ripping me from my relevant freedom. They marched me quickly down the hallway, heading for the exit. Katie watched, her hands over her mouth, a horrified expression on her face.

“Katie!” I cried, before the door was shut and my view of her was extinguished.

The noise of Newland & Rook faded away as I was tugged into the elevator by the police. They didn’t speak. Everything felt like a dream. All I could do was remind myself to breathe.

We reached ground floor, and the doors opened into the foyer. A mad part of me got the sudden urge to run—I was taller and stronger than both the men flagging me—but I was too broken by what had happened to even attempt it.

I was led out through the main doors, and all at once lights began flashing in my face. The paparazzi must have been tipped off about my re-arrest. I bowed my head, trying to keep my face away from their probing lenses.

As I was guided into the back of a secure police van, I looked back up at the glass high-riser I’d just come from—the place that had brought me back to life over the last two days. There, in the window, her hand pressed against the glass, stood Katie.

Then the doors to the van shut tight, locking with a thud, and she was gone from sight.