As soon as Alex finished giving her statement, she left, hoping to find Dwayne before Rossi did, though she wasn’t certain whether she was doing that to protect his rights or to lay into him. She imagined how the conversation might go when she found him, her emotions wild and raw.
“Did you kill the Hendersons? No, that’s not right! Did you slaughter them? No, not that! Did you torture and slaughter them, you foul, sick fuck?”
“Why you talk to me like that? You my lawyer. Ain’t s’posed to matter what I done. If you ain’t on my side, who gonna be on my side? You gotta represent me and get me off like you did with Wilfred.”
“Why? So I can spend the rest of my life seeing that family in my dreams? Tell me why I should do that, Dwayne, you murdering, vile monster!”
“’Cause it’s your job. It’s what you do. Said so yourself.”
She had said that to Dwayne. She’d believed it then and was struggling to still believe it. If she lost her belief, what would she do? Walk away? Quit? Become an ambulance-chasing lawyer advertising on late-night television? Or would she take Judge West’s advice and do her job a different way and make sure Dwayne never saw the streets again? She knew what the questions were, but that didn’t get her any closer to the answers.
Odyessy Shelburne had offered to testify that Dwayne had been home with her, mother and son popping popcorn and watching a movie, when Wilfred Donaire was killed. Alex had pushed her on the alibi, turned her down when Odyessy kept changing her story, finally asking Alex to just tell her what to say.
Odyessy’s willingness to lie to save her son didn’t mean that Dwayne had killed Wilfred Donaire, but it had made it harder for Alex to believe he was innocent. Knowing that Dwayne was guilty and that Odyessy had lied to her stoked her rage and sorrow over what had happened to the Henderson family and made Odyessy’s house the first place she went to look for Dwayne.
She pulled up in front of the house just as Tommy Bradshaw crossed the threshold, her eyes red and puffy, her face splotchy from crying, her gut still quivering. She waited until Bradshaw was inside before following him, stopping in the front hall and listening to him, Rossi, and Kirk, staying out of sight.
Hearing Bradshaw say that he wanted the death penalty for Dwayne before Rossi had even questioned him was enough to stifle her emotions and jar her back to her duty. She stepped out of the shadows and into the room.
“Tommy, you’re going to need a lot more than a burnt offering to get the death penalty. And, Detective Rossi, nobody talks to my client unless I’m present, and I’d advise you not to waste your breath, because he’s not talking.”
They turned toward her in unison, wide eyes and open mouths registering their surprise.
“This is a crime scene, Alex,” Bradshaw said. “Who let you in?”
“Really? What crime was committed here?”
Bradshaw didn’t answer, fuming and turning red instead.
“That’s what I thought,” Alex said. “I hope you’ve got a warrant that covers the ashes in the fireplace. Why is my client getting sewn up?”
“He tore his leg on the backyard fence trying to elude arrest,” Rossi said.
“I assume you identified yourself as a police officer and told him he was under arrest. Or did he just see you, remember how you’d rousted him on a bogus murder charge, and decide to run so you wouldn’t harass him again?”
Bradshaw held up his hand. “Okay, Alex. I get it. But we’re not in court, Rossi isn’t under oath, and you haven’t been appointed to represent Dwayne Reed.”
“I’m still his lawyer in the Donaire case. That’s good enough for now. Tell me what happened here, Tommy.”
Bradshaw hesitated.
“Like you said, by the numbers,” Rossi whispered to him, Bradshaw nodding, Rossi speaking up. “I came here to question Dwayne about the murders. When he saw me, he ran. I chased him into the backyard and he got hung up on the fence. That’s when Odyessy pulled a gun on me. I took it away from her. There was a fire in the fireplace, which I thought was unusual on a summer day, so I asked CSI to check it out. And that’s it.”
“Satisfied?” Bradshaw asked.
“I will be when you release my client from custody. There’s nothing in that story that gives you the right to hold him.”
Rossi’s phone rang. He opened it and listened, then closed the phone. “Maybe not for murder, but one of the uniforms found enough crack in his jeans pocket to charge him with possession with the intent to sell.”
Bradshaw beamed. “Well, that’s a start. See you in court, Alex,” he said and left.
Alex’s emotions welled up again, unbidden and unwelcome, making her faint. She pressed her hand against the wall.
Rossi crossed the room to her, one hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
She took a breath. “No, but I will be. Give me a minute.”
“Look, we both knew this could happen,” he said, “no matter how many times you drove down Henderson’s block.”
“So now it’s not my fault for getting him off?”
“I know I came down hard on your client after the trial, but that was because I was pissed. Guys like Dwayne Reed don’t belong on the streets. But the system doesn’t always work. Nothing you could have done about that or this. Both of us were just doing our jobs. I didn’t get it done but you did. Can’t unring that bell.”
She was starting to hate the just-doing-your-job mantra. It sounded more and more like an excuse for the inexcusable.
“Why this sudden outburst of compassion from a guy who hates defense lawyers?”
Rossi sighed. “You got me there.” He stepped back half a step, thinking. “Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to find the bodies. That’s a helluva thing, a lot more real than looking at pictures in the courtroom. Something like that can change a person forever.”
“And you don’t want me to change?”
“Hadn’t thought about it. All I know is that nobody stays the same after the first time they find dead bodies.”
She stared at him for a moment, nodded, turned around, and walked out the way she came.
“See, that’s what I mean about you,” Lena said, one hand on her hip.
“What?”
“Your vibe. The do’s and the don’ts. She gets you on cross, she’ll come at you hammer and tongs and do everything she can to make you look like the worst cop that ever wore the badge, and in spite of that, you just did a very nice thing. Keep that up and I may have to forget about the crazy.”
“And that,” he said, grinning, “would make you the crazy one.”