Second Chance Love (27 page)

Chapter Forty-Five

Three hours later, a burly African American officer let a new arrival into the holding cell. Steve recognized Ben Carlton, Larson Industries’ attorney. Ben dressed like the successful corporate attorney he was: dark suit, white shirt and gold tie.

“Ben! How did you know I was here?”

“Hello, Steve. A little birdie wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Elizabeth?”

“She can be very persuasive when it comes to her fiancé.”

“I love that woman. What do we need to do to get this taken care of and get me out of here?”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s not that easy. I don’t know exactly what they’ve got on you, but the detective that I spoke to just now seems pretty smug. We’ll have to wait for the preliminary hearing to find out anything, but that won’t be until Monday morning, so you’re going to be here until then, at least.”

Steve nodded. “Well, then I guess I better pick out a bunk and make myself comfortable. Damn it. I’ve got too much going on right now. My offer on the house in The Vista was accepted, I just got approval on the financing, and I’m getting married on Christmas Eve.”

“I know. But, Steve, you know enough about law to know that we specialize. I know contracts and negotiations. We’ve got to get you a real criminal defense attorney, someone who knows the ropes.”

“Any suggestions? Remember, my budget isn't what it used to be.”

“I understand. I’m here pro bono, but I’m not the right man for the case.” He reached inside his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “This is my brother-in-law, Todd. He’s young, just getting established, but he’s cheap and he’s really sharp. I think we should bring him in.”

Steve took the card through the bars and nodded, bemused.
There was a time I had entire law firms on retainer. Now, I’m down to depending on a kid that graduated law school last week to keep me out of prison.

“Sounds great, Ben. Will you call him and ask him to represent me? My cell phone is locked up in a little box somewhere.”

“How are you surviving without your Suzi?”

Steve laughed a little. “Not good, I’ll tell you. I wanted to ask her who that guy is on TV over there, and I couldn’t.”

Ben glanced up at the television. The same gray-haired man was talking to a different couple.

“Him? That’s Maury Povich. Don’t you ever watch daytime television?”

“No, and this Maury Povich is showing me what I haven't been missing. One last question: will Elizabeth be able to visit me here?”

“No visiting hours on the weekend. Ask Todd when he meets you before your prelim hearing. He’ll know.”

“Thanks. Listen, Ben, thanks for coming down here late on a Saturday. You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it.”

“De nada,” Ben said. He snapped his attaché shut, nodded to Steve and was gone.

The other inmates looked at Steve with more interest.

What, you guys don't see attorneys in $2,000 suits every day here in the Hotel Prelim?

He did not say it aloud.

Chapter Forty-Six

Steve spent the remainder of the weekend mulling his predicament. Based on what Chelsea had said just before she attacked him, and the assault complaint, she was framing him. He couldn’t reason out why she wanted to do that, but that didn’t really matter.

By 8:00 AM, he was up, had been given access to the one shower provided to the holding cell, and had put on a clean orange jumpsuit.

At 9:02, a jailer with a pendulous abdomen and a nameplate that read 'JENKINS' appeared at the door. “Larson? Steven Larson? Front and center.”

"Here." Steve jumped off the edge of the bunk and went to the bars.

Officer Jenkins held a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around, stick your hands through the hole in the bars so I can cuff you.”

“Is that really necessary?”

Jenkins smiled the smile of one exercising power in the one place he possessed it. “Not at all. I’ll go let your lawyer know that you don’t want to meet with him.”

Steve sighed, exasperated, but turned and thrust both hands behind his back and through the hole in the door. Jenkins cuffed his wrists, tightening them an extra notch at the end. Steve winced, but turned around wearing his masked expression. Five minutes later, he was sitting in a small room that looked much like Detective Fitzgerald's interrogation room, missing only the ambience of the one-way window. The jailer guided him inside, then unlocked the cuffs and left. Steve winced and attempted to rub some circulation into his wrists. At the table sat a small, neat young man in a suit and polka-dot bow tie.

“You’ve got twenty minutes, then I’ve got orders to take him across the street to the courthouse,” Jenkins said.

“That’s fine,” the young man said, glancing at the welts already forming on Steve’s wrists. “Oh, and Officer Jenkins?”

The guard, halfway out of the room, turned back and said, “Yeah?”

“The next time you bring in one of my clients to a meeting, there’s no need to use the bracelets like an instrument of torture. I've been keeping track. Keep it up, and I'll have to report it.”

“Oh yeah?” Jenkins retorted. "Good luck with that, Junior." He snorted, then shut and locked the door.

“That guy's a jackass. Sorry you got stuck with him, Mr. Larson." The smaller man stuck his hand out. “Todd Billings, Mr. Larson. Ben said you could use a little help.”

Steve shook Todd's hand. “More than a little. I’ve been set up.”

Todd sat down and leaned back, considering Steve. “Well, that may be the case, but ‘I’ve been set up’ isn't usually a successful defense. I had a breakfast meeting with someone from the DA’s office this morning. When I told her I was representing you, she gave me condolences. I don’t know everything they’ve got on you, but based on what she shared off the record, it’s not pretty.”

Todd held up his left hand and began ticking off points. “One, they’ve got a statement from the victim, stating it was you. Two, Ms. Stanton also gave a statement that in addition to a bad past history together, you are also under financial distress, and that you stole something valuable from her.”

Steve’s stomach lurched and he closed his eyes. His mind went back to the small box that Chelsea had given him, which he had left sitting in his car.

Todd noticed the change in Steve’s expression, but continued on. “Three, she also claims that she wounded you while defending herself during the altercation.” His eyes flitted to the scratches on Steve’s face, now beginning to scab over. “Four, they’ve got statements from witnesses to a verbal altercation you had with Ms. Stanton at a social event several weeks ago. For the moment, that is more than enough to hold you. We’ll mount the best defense possible, of course, but combined with whatever they’re not telling me yet, that might be enough for a conviction as well. We might want to open a dialogue with the DA’s office about a deal.”

Steve made a visible effort to get himself under control. He ran his fingers through his hair, took a deep breath and looked levelly at the young attorney.

“No. We won’t be exploring any deal at any point. I didn’t do anything, aside from being stupid enough to allow myself to be set up.”

“Okay, you’re the boss, Mr. Larson.”

“Steve, please.”

“Okay, you’re the boss, Steve. Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me what happened from your perspective.”

Steve recounted some of his history with Chelsea, their disagreement at the Autumn Wonderland, and what happened at
La Boutique,
including her attack on the sidewalk. Todd took notes. When Steve finished, Todd squeezed his right eye mostly shut, the gesture of a man about to deliver bad news. “Here’s what I see. We’ve got a 'he said/she said' account of the attack. At best, that’s a wash.” He paused. “
At best
. We’ve got a past history with bad blood and a public disagreement. We’ve got an unwrapped box that we maintain is a wedding present, which Ms. Stanton maintains was stolen by you. Let me ask you this: when they impound your car and get a search warrant, are they going to find that box?”

Steve sighed. "Yes."

Chapter Forty-Seven

Elizabeth gazed out the bus window, eyes open, but not seeing the buildings, vehicles, and people rolling past.
The past few weeks have been about the worst of my life. First, I find out that my biological father is a scumbag. Then I learn that I have a half-sister who's just as bad. And when I think things are bad, the half-sister attacks Steve, blames him for it, and gets him thrown in jail. Without visitors
. She had spent the weekend worrying in her cold little apartment with Sebastian.

What a bizarre sentence: we’re supposed to be married in a few weeks, if Steve's out of jail by then. I feel like I am reliving my mother's life. Could it be true? Could he have done what they claim?

No way. I’ve known Steve for too long. I know his heart, I’ve seen him under pressure. He would never hurt anyone.

A brief image of Steve's verbal evisceration of Chelsea at the Autumn Wonderland event flitted across her mind.

That was Steve protecting me, even though I didn’t need it. That’s all it was.

When the detectives had taken Steve away, Elizabeth's first move had been to ask Max for the name and number of Steve’s attorney. She had phoned Ben Carlton and pleaded until he went to see Steve in the jail. After the meeting, Ben had called to tell her that Steve was doing as well as could be expected, and that he had referred him to a good defense attorney.

Now she was on the bus headed for the courthouse, where Steve was due to be arraigned.
And whether I get to talk to him or not, nothing short of the apocalypse will keep me away
.

Twenty minutes later, she got off the bus and walked through the drizzle to the courthouse. After the full security routine, she was allowed to find a seat in the courtroom. She had imagined that Steve’s arraignment would be the only thing on the docket, but it didn't look that way. The courtroom was large, built in a time when standard courtroom design meant immense space, liberal use of marble and hardwoods, and a desk that dominated the room. A dozen rows of benches stretched to the back of the room. Small clusters of people conversed in urgent whispers.

Steve was nowhere in sight. The schedule at the door had said that court would be in session from 10:00 AM to noon. It was 10:10.

At that moment, a door at the side of the room opened. A police officer escorted five orange-jumpsuited men through. The last man was Steve. He was not handcuffed.

Elizabeth was there to provide moral support, but the sight of him herded into the room like a criminal was too much. Tears brimmed up and spilled onto her cheeks. Steve scanned the room, spotted her, and waved. He mouthed,
it's going to be okay
.

Elizabeth tried to smile as she mouthed back:
I know. I love you
.

A guard directed the five men to take seats on a bench separate from the gallery. A door opened, and in walked an Asian woman perhaps in her mid-forties, with black hair pulled back in a severe bun. The bailiff, a tall, thin man with a waxed moustache, spoke in a rich baritone: “All rise. Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge Naomi Nakashimi presiding.”

The judge sat down. “Please be seated,” said Moustache Bailiff.

The next hour went by quickly. One at a time, Judge Nakashimi summoned each man, read the charges, asked for his plea, and ruled on bail. The cases were unsensational; a bench warrant for unpaid traffic tickets, non-payment of child support—but Elizabeth the mystery junkie found it fascinating.

If I’d known this was going on every day, I would have spent my days off from the bookstore here, instead of at home or at the park.

Steve's turn came just before lunch. “Next,” the judge intoned, “Steven Larson. Mr. Larson, please step forward.”

Steve rose and walked to a lectern in front of the judge. A young man in a dark suit with a bow tie moved from the gallery and stood beside Steve.
That can’t be Steve’s attorney! He’s not old enough! He looks like the boy on the Sunny Jim peanut butter jar. What is this, necessary for a Boy Scout merit badge?

Judge Nakashimi raised an eyebrow at the young man.

“Your Honor, Todd Billings for the defense.”

A flicker of amusement crossed Her Honor’s face, then disappeared. “Very well. Mr. Larson, you are charged with aggravated assault in the first degree, and grand theft. How do you plead?”

Todd reached out and put a hand on Steve’s arm, enjoining him from answering. “Your Honor, we understood that Mr. Larson was going to be charged only with second-degree assault.”

The judge glanced to the prosecution. A young, suited blonde woman said, “Your Honor, evidence has been uncovered to warrant more serious charges. The People have firm evidence of both the assault and theft, and we now believe a weapon was used.”

Todd glanced at the assistant district attorney, who did not meet his eye. The judge did, then looked at Steve. "Mr. Larson, how do you plead?”

Steve cleared his throat as quietly as he could. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

“Very well. Bail is set at $250,000.”

“Your Honor,” Todd began, “my client is an upstanding member of this community with no prior charges. He has been the CEO of a large business for twenty years. He is not a flight risk. Don’t you think that’s excessive?”

“That being the case, Counselor, he should be able to arrange bail. These are serious charges. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Court is dismissed.”

“All rise,” the bailiff said, and the judge was gone in a swirl of black robes.

Elizabeth rushed to the front in an effort to reach Steve, but the policeman hustled the prisoners back out the same side door. As Todd Billings was leaving, she approached him and introduced herself. Todd shook her hand. “I’m going to do everything I can to help Mr. Larson. He doesn’t strike me as the guilty type. I have to say, though, it looks like the deck is stacked against him.”

“Will the police keep investigating this?”

“I doubt it. They feel like they’ve got all the evidence they need, so they’re probably not going to spend a lot of man-hours looking for more.”

Elizabeth nodded. “That makes sense. All right, if the police aren’t going to exonerate Steve, I will. When will we get a chance to see the evidence they have?”

Todd gave her a doubtful look. "Ms...?"

"Elizabeth Coleman."

"Ms. Coleman, while you are not my client, I should advise you that when civilians get involved in police matters, the result is often a disaster. That said, the discovery phase starts now, but it can drag out. It could take months.”

“We don’t have months. I can’t stand to see Steve locked away for something he didn’t do. Is there anything you can do to speed things up?”

“Nothing that can really force their hand. I do have a pretty good connection in the DA’s office, though.” His eyes flitted to the table where the pretty blonde prosecutor was gathering up her paperwork. “I’ll see what I can do. Please be careful, Ms. Coleman. Here’s my card. Give me 48 hours to gather as much information as I can, then let’s meet."

Elizabeth glanced at the address on the card. It was only a few blocks from
The Prints and the Pauper
.

“Thank you, Todd. We appreciate your help.”

That afternoon, she finally wangled a visit with Steve. She went through a security routine similar to that at the courthouse, then was led into a depressing little hallway with three rotating steel chairs facing a glass partition. Elizabeth sat down in the far seat, hoping that anyone else who might come in would pick the nearest seat.

Two minutes later, a door opened and Steve ambled in.

“What do you think? Is orange my best color? I’ve never integrated it into my wardrobe before, but I’m thinking I might have to wear more of it.” The words were no more out of his mouth than he realized the ramifications of that statement.

Elizabeth wanted to scowl, but when she saw the surprised expression on his face, she couldn't hold back the laugh. Steve put his hand up against the glass, picked up the phone that connected them, and signaled her to do the same. "Are you doing okay, Honey?"

“Ah, Lizzie, I’m so sorry for all this. I wouldn’t blame you if you just left me here to rot.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really?”

“Well, maybe I might resent it a little bit. I’m so glad to see you, Lizzie. I miss you a lot in here.”

“It's mutual. Even with Sebastian, I’m so lonely I can hardly stand it.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid some dude named Sebastian is going to want to cuddle with me in here, too, but so far so good. I might kill someone for a plate of Maybelle’s meatloaf and mashed potatoes, though.”