Terrier Transgressions

Chapter Six TUESDAY

I awoke the next morning with a growing sense of dread lodged right between my lungs. The weight of knowing that Brock’s freedom seemed to now rest squarely on my shoulders made it difficult to catch my breath.

I couldn’t let him—or Charles—down. I also wanted to find the real culprit and secure justice for poor Yo-Yo, who still had no idea his owners were even dead.

Despite my vow to never come to the office before nine in the morning, I sucked it up and headed to the firm almost as soon as I could string a coherent thought together.

As expected, only Bethany had arrived before me. I’d never understand why she insisted on showing up so early every single day, but at least she looked happy to see me when I knocked on her office door to say hello.

The cloying and heavy scent of citrus combined with freshly brewed coffee to create a nauseating aroma as I breezed into her office. Bethany may have become a softer, kinder person lately, but the one thing that would never change was her obsession with essential oils. Hey, everyone had their weird little things. I definitely wasn’t in any place to judge.

Besides, Bethany was my own personal hero these days.

After I got electrocuted by the old office coffee maker, she brought in a Keurig machine, which she kept in her private space rather than the common area. Honestly, I was still terrified of that horrible appliance in all its forms but—much to my surprise and relief—Bethany had kindly taken to brewing me a cup each morning. I never needed to ask or to work up the courage to press the brew button on my own.

Thus her having become one of my favorite people lately.

“Good morning,” she said with an alert smile on her fair face. My guess was she’d already imbibed two to three cups before I even arrived. “You’re here early.”

“Yeah,” I said with a tiny wave hello. “Seeing if I can help Charles with the Brock Calhoun case.”

Bethany rose to approach the coffee maker, and I was so happy I almost hugged her right then and there. Bethany and I were slowly becoming friends, but making physical contact would probably be more of a detriment than a boon to our relationship. She usually avoided hugs, handshakes, and the like whenever she could. Maybe it was something about being the only female associate at our firm, or maybe it was just her personality. Whatever the case, I knew better than to judge the woman responsible for caffeinating me five days out of seven.

“You know,” she said as she popped a morning blend cup into the machine. “I was really surprised Thompson assigned such a prominent case to our newest associate. Honestly, it’s one he should have handled himself.”

I shrugged. “Maybe everyone else was too busy to add to their workloads right now. We have been getting a lot of business ever since… you know.”

She took a couple steps closer to me and lowered her voice. “I know but—and please just keep this between you and me—I had time to help, and I’m pretty sure Derek and some of the others could have made time, too.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Bethany dropped her voice even lower. “I’m saying that I think Thompson gave this case to Charles on purpose, knowing he’ll probably lose it.”

“And?” I may have been awake enough to drag myself to the office, but my real thinking ability wouldn’t kick in until after I’d drained my first cup of joe.

“Well, think about it. Charles is brand new to the firm. When he loses what amounts to a more or less impossible case, it’ll be easy for Thompson to fire him and move that stigma away from the firm.”

“Like a sacrificial lamb?” Even as I questioned her, I knew Bethany was right. Our senior partner definitely wasn’t above such underhanded tactics.

Her eyes glowed an unnatural hue as she nodded. “Exactly. That way Thompson gets to keep enjoying our new-found wave of success without having to worry about one notorious trial dragging him down.”

That all made perfect sense, but how could Thompson be so sure Charles would lose? He was giving his everything and then some to this case. He could still win it in the end. I raised an eyebrow and asked, “But what if Charles wins?”

“Even better,” Bethany answered, grabbing my coffee cup from the machine and placing it directly into my outstretched hands. “Then he’ll get to brag about how his firm won the unwinnable, how he discovered Charles almost straight out of law school and recognized his talent instantly. We’ll become even more popular, and Thompson will be able to pad his retirement account nicely.”

“Well, that’s super fun,” I muttered before taking an appreciative sip from my mug.

“Isn’t it though?” Bethany nodded as she paced across the office to return to her desk. “I think it’s nice you’re helping Charles. He’s going to need every last bit he can get.”

Bethany and I chatted about other things for a few minutes, but my mind stayed on what I had just learned about Charles. Did he know his job was on the line, too? Is that why he so badly wanted to win, or did it still come down to his belief in Brock’s innocence?

Whatever the case, it wasn’t fair for Thompson to move him clear across the country only to set him up to fall on the sword at the first available opportunity. I needed to help him win this case, and not just because the office would feel sad and empty without him…

But also because it was the right thing to do.

By nine o’ clock, the rest of our colleagues had joined us at the office. I snuck into Mr. Thompson’s office after giving him a few minutes to settle in.

“Good morning, sir,” I said, clasping my hands in front of me and offering my most ingratiating smile. “I have a request if you’re not too busy.”

Our lone partner glanced up from his computer monitor and looked at me briefly before returning his attention to whatever was displayed on the screen before him. “Go ahead,” he said in a way that suggested he would rather not deal with me just then. Still, I had to get his okay before going forward with my plan, whether or not he was in a good mood that day.

“I’d like to devote my week to helping Longfellow with the Calhoun case,” I informed him bravely. While our previous partner, Mr. Fulton, had called everyone by their first names, Mr. Thompson only used last names. It was cold and impersonal and part of what made him so scary.

He dropped his hands from the keyboard and raised his eyes to mine, at last giving me his full attention. “Why?”

Luckily, I’d spent the last half hour or so preparing for this conversation and was ready with my response. “Longfellow is doing a great job, but his job is being made more difficult by the media. More specifically, by my mother. Adding me to this case will get her to ease up some while we work out a defense. It could be the difference between a win and a loss for Thompson and Associates on this case.”

My boss studied me for a moment before offering a quick nod of agreement. “Good thinking, Russo.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, ready to book it out of there and head straight to Charles’s office to share the good news.

“Next week you return to business as usual, though,” Thompson called after me. And, yes, that was fine, seeing as we really only had until Friday to figure out our defense, anyway.

I ran into Charles just as he was leaving the office he shared with Derek.

“Leaving so soon?” I asked, unable to hide my enthusiasm at officially being assigned to the case.

“Yup. I’m meeting with a client at ten,” he informed me as we walked together toward the door.

“If it’s Brock Calhoun, then I’m coming, too.”

He paused to study me, and those same worried wrinkles from the other day stretched across his forehead.

“Thompson assigned me to the case for the week,” I explained with a flippant wave. “Now let’s go.”

Charles shrugged but didn’t argue when I followed him out to his car and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Since I guess you’re on the case now,” he told me while navigating us toward the state prison where Brock was being held on remand. “I’ll share the discovery with you when we get back to the office.” He bit his lip and hesitated. It looked as if he’d missed a shave or two, and I hoped my help wasn’t too late to keep him from coming undone.

“What?” I asked, eager to know what had him so upset now.

Charles risked a quick glance at me before returning his gaze to the road ahead. “It’s pretty gruesome. The crime scene photos, I mean. Are you going to be okay looking at them?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, even though I wasn’t so sure. I hadn’t struggled much with blood and gore before. Heck, I’d even completed a phlebotomy certification in my early days of college. But something about being tied up as a hostage and almost offed by a crazed killer a few months back had made me more squeamish than I’d once been.

I needed to suck it up for Charles, for Brock, and for Yo-Yo, though. They were all counting on me.

“A fresh set of eyes could help,” I offered, secretly picturing the worst in my mind’s eye.

Okay, time to change the subject before I had a mini freak out.

“What are we meeting Brock about today?” I asked, feigning calm.

“Normal attorney-client stuff,” Charles answered rather unhelpfully. “I can introduce the two of you and let him know how you helped to get the news story delayed, but I really don’t have anything else to tell him at this point.”

“Then why go? Why not call with a quick update?”

Charles sighed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m hoping he might have something new to tell me, something to help with the defense.”

I sighed, too. While I was happy for the chance to meet Brock and decide for myself whether I believed he did it, I doubted he’d suddenly remember the one detail that could save him after weeks of sitting in prison. Charles didn’t need to hear me express my doubts, though. I was sure he had his own.

It also seemed I’d recently become the unofficial case optimist. If I started acting defeated now, we wouldn’t stand a chance of securing an innocent ruling.

When we arrived outside the state prison, I was surprised by how small and unassuming it appeared from the outside. Maybe I was expecting a giant, sprawling facility containing watchtower turrets with snipers and barbed wire fencing that stretched two stories high, but that definitely wasn’t what I got. The concrete-faced building looked like something you might spot in a strip mall—not like a secure detention center for nearly a thousand inmates accused of everything from drug possession to murder.

“You going to be okay?” Charles asked, pulling the car into the visitors’ parking lot.

“I’m fine.” I unbuckled my seat belt with shaky hands while keeping my eyes focused straight ahead. “Let’s get this over with.”

The inside of the prison felt much closer to what I’d expected—the guards, the metal detectors, the holding cells. Frankly, the whole scene gave me the creeps. I followed Charles wordlessly as we were guided into one of the private attorney-client rooms. Once there, we had to wait several minutes before Brock was brought out to join us.

There, our client stood with shackles securing his hands and feet and an unbecoming beige uniform that washed out his light complexion. His dark hair appeared overgrown and poorly washed. His gray eyes were deep-set, with heavy circles painted beneath them.

When he saw us waiting for him, he smiled and ducked his head politely. Even though he was easily six foot four and had sizeable muscles to round out his physique, he seemed so small standing there before us. And then I felt it, that same gut feeling I’d teased Charles about just one day earlier. It was as if a thunder bolt of understanding struck me in my very core.

Boom!

Just like that, I knew for sure that Brock Calhoun didn’t belong in this awful place and that he couldn’t possibly have murdered those people.

Brock turned toward me askance, waiting for an introduction perhaps. He smiled hesitantly, politely, un-killer-ly.

“Hi, Brock,” I said after clearing my throat. “My name’s Angie, and I’m going to help win your case.”