Blood Defense

TWENTY-TWO

I wound up in my car with no memory of having left the jail or walking through the parking lot. It probably wasn’t safe for me to be on the road, but since traffic was bumper-to-bumper and moving about three miles an hour, I couldn’t get into any serious trouble.

I barely noticed how I was inching along as my brain fumbled with the surreality of what I’d just heard. I remembered how I used to fantasize about who my father was when I was a kid. Especially during the dark time. I’d dream he was a martial-arts fighter or a Navy Seal or a Green Beret, who’d come to save me and never let anyone hurt me again. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. I made myself take a deep breath. In. Out. Let it go.

And then another realization hit me. It was one thing to be the lawyer for the man who’d killed two innocent young women. But it was a whole different world to be his daughter. The gruesome crime-scene pictures flashed through my mind. Then Janet’s words came back to me-how she described his flashpoint temper, his fights with Chloe. I tried to square it with the man who’d looked at me with such pride and… tenderness. But he was charged with a brutal double homicide. And it looked like he’d done it.

I felt nauseous-like I’d just stepped off a Tilt-A-Whirl. My head swam with all the implications. It took me an hour and a half to get home, but I was so preoccupied, I didn’t notice. It was after seven by the time I got back to my apartment, and only then did it dawn on me that I was supposed to check in with Michelle. She’d left a message saying that requests were coming in for interviews, and reporters were looking for background information on me.

The irony hit me almost as hard as the fresh wave of panic. Now I had a whole new vista of “background information” to worry about.

The press hadn’t dug up the connection between Dale and me yet, but it’d been only two days. If they cared enough to keep digging, they’d figure it out eventually. I knew I should call Michelle, tell her what’d happened, and figure out what to do. But the thought of putting it all into words was more than I could handle.

I drew a hot bath, took a few sips of pinot noir, and curled up in the tub. I must’ve fallen asleep because when my phone rang, I couldn’t remember where I was, and my right arm had fallen asleep. By the time I pulled myself out, the call had gone to voice mail. I dried off, threw on my sweats, and listened to the message. It was Michelle. I looked at the number. She’d called from the office, and it was after eighty thirty. It wasn’t fair to go incommunicado this way. I had to call her back.

I took a deep breath and tried to make my voice sound normal. “Hey, sorry I didn’t check in. It’s been a bitch of a day and I was fried.”

There was a beat of silence. “You sound funny. Did it go okay with Dale?”

I guess it was partly the wine. But mostly it was the right person with the right touch at the right time. I began to cry. “I-I don’t know where to start.”

“I’m coming over. Have you had dinner?”

I’d forgotten about that. “Uh-uh.”

She hung up.

I wanted to make myself get some work done, but I couldn’t focus. My mind kept toggling between Dale’s apologetic expression and the crime-scene photos, between the man Janet described and the man I’d just seen. The killer-my father. I whispered the words. My father. I could barely choke them out.

I lay down on the couch, exhausted. I’d done all the coping I could stand for the moment. I turned on the TV and watched a rerun of Friends. Michelle showed up a half hour later. She pulled me into a hug and held on for a long time. I felt the spring in my chest start to uncoil and took a full breath for the first time since leaving the jail.

She stepped back and held me by the shoulders. “Ready to tell me?” I shook my head. “Okay, then try to eat something.”

She’d brought us two thick roast beef sandwiches and coleslaw. It looked delicious, but I had no appetite. I picked at the coleslaw and listened while Michelle chatted about media calls and office business, but I barely heard her.

She finished half her sandwich, then poured us both a glass of wine. “Have some. Do it now.” I took a long slug. “Can you tell me now?”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “God, Michy. It’s so crazy.” I told her the whole story. Just hearing myself say the words out loud made my head spin. “And now I don’t know what to do. If it’s true, I have to get off the case. I don’t think I can handle this. I mean, shit. My father.” For the first time in my life, the word wasn’t just an abstract concept. It belonged to a real person.

Michelle’s eyes had gotten wider and wider, and by the time I finished, her mouth was hanging open. She was silent for a few moments, absorbing it all. Then she frowned. “Can you even represent him? I mean, isn’t it a conflict or something?”

“No. If he wants to keep me, there’s no legal reason why I can’t stay on the case.”

I heard my own words as if someone else was speaking. I still couldn’t believe this was happening to me. It felt like a crazy dream, except I wasn’t waking up. “But I just keep thinking that I finally met my father-and he’s probably a psychopathic killer.” I put my head in my hands. “Who knew that Celeste would turn out to be the good parent?”

Michelle sat stunned for a moment. Then she gave a little giggle. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but another one escaped-then another. And now the giggles swelled into a long, rolling belly laugh. Between gasps, she said, “Celeste… the good… parent.”

Only then did it hit me what I’d just said. I started to laugh and didn’t stop until tears streamed down my face and I couldn’t breathe.

When we’d both recovered, Michelle stared down at her glass for a long moment. “Okay, let’s talk about what to do now. If you heard anything I said when I first got here, the media is hot after your ass. Someone’s going to find out about this no matter what you do. So if you’re thinking you can keep it quiet by stepping away from the case, I’d let that fantasy go.”

I knew she was right. “But if I jump out right now, the story will go away a lot faster.”

“That’s true. Drink your wine.”

“I already had a little before you got here.”

“Drink it anyway. You’re way too sober.” I smiled and took a sip. “If you get off the case, that’s a story in itself. The press will want to find out why, and once they dig, they’ll figure out who he is. How will that look?”

“Like his own daughter thinks he’s guilty.”

“Right. It’ll screw him hard if you get off the case. And if he really isn’t guilty and he gets convicted, will you ever forgive yourself?”

I thought about that. Probably not. Not even if he was guilty. “I guess I have to stay on, then.” But if I thought the case had been a high-pressure situation before… just thinking about it made my stomach ache. I agonize over all my cases, but the pressure of defending my own father was a bone crusher. Every little detail I missed, every mistake-no matter how small-would keep me awake every night for the duration of the trial.

And if I lost, every night for the rest of my life.