“Wait!” Emily said, leaning on the table. “I have to answer this. They did flirt. A lot of the guys at the rehab did. But I didn’t flirt back. I know they’re vulnerable when they’re in treatment, and the truth is, I think it’s a bad idea to mix men and women in rehab. They focus on each other instead of on recovery, and there are devastating affairs … even the married clients. When I was in treatment, all the clients were women. At Haven House, I keep a professional distance. The last thing I want in my life is another addict. I wasn’t even buddy-buddy watching the movie with them. I was behind my desk in the same room the whole time.”
“Did you play a part in that Strangers on a Train scheme, Emily? Maybe plan to make the murders go three ways?”
“Absolutely not! Like I said, why would I call your attention to it if I was implicating myself?”
“Maybe to throw us off when the murders actually happened?”
“So you think I bombed my own car and broke into my own house and wrote on my own wall?”
They didn’t answer, but she knew they were thinking that suspects did things to throw them off all the time.
This wasn’t going well. She felt like Joseph from the Bible, thrown into a jail cell for something she hadn’t done. But she wasn’t as stoic as the famous Joseph, and there wasn’t a pharaoh whose dreams she could interpret.
No good could come from this.
Chapter 32
As discouragement sank its talons into her, Emily wished she had died of an overdose back in her drug days. Her mom never would have had her memories stained by the trauma that had poisoned their lives for the past several years, or the fallout that continued long after she’d vowed to stay sober.
She wasn’t going to see the judge today, so she would have to stay in jail at least one more night. And if the judge didn’t set bond, she would stay indefinitely.
The sounds of steel doors sliding shut vibrated through Emily’s head, her back, her swollen foot. Murder. When she got up yesterday morning, she never would have believed it.
How had a simple movie prompted such an evil sequence of events?
She sat down at the steel table in her cell. Her new Birmingham cellmate—who mercifully was not the crazy woman who tripped her—was out on the work crew. On the desk was a stack of paper and envelopes that the county had given her. She had a pen without a case, just the bend-able cartridge and the metal tip. Did they think they’d stab each other with the plastic casing?
She thought of Cass and realized that was a possibility. She was thankful they’d put the woman in lockdown. She should be thankful for the precautions, even on the pens.
Two shrieking, catty voices rose over the noise outside her cell, and profanity flew as something crashed. An alarm sounded and doors clanged open. Guards came running in to break up the fight.
She went to the open doorway and stared out at the common area where the inmates congregated. The guards were forcing two women to the ground, dragging them across the floor. She supposed they’d be taken to lockdown, too. Maybe things would be quiet for a while.
The bond for murder was always high. Her mom would never be able to post it. Even the percentage required—ten, fifteen percent?—would be way more than they could afford.
All this would further damage her reputation, even after they found the real killer. Once word got out that she’d been arrested for killing Cassandra Price, and she was declared a person of interest in Devon Lawrence’s murder, her mother’s job would be toast. The architects would have to cut her loose to keep their clients from walking.
But the damage may have already been done. Guilt-by-association would taint her entire family, no matter how innocent they were.
These thoughts weren’t getting her anywhere. She had to take them captive. Her cellmate’s paperback Bible sat on the desk, and she opened it and thumbed through to Genesis 37, where Joseph’s cruel brothers had thrown him into a pit because they were jealous of him. They had sold him like a piece of property, forcing him into a life of slavery.
She’d studied Joseph’s story in rehab and had taken copious notes about what she’d learned. It had never occurred to her then that she would need it now. But the similarities stunned her.
Joseph had been wrongfully punished, too. But as a slave, Joseph worked hard and was trustworthy, and ultimately was put in charge of his master’s affairs. He didn’t whine about his state or the fact that he’d been unfairly sold into bondage.
Then he, like Emily, was falsely accused and thrown into prison. Had he felt like Emily did now, sitting in a cell and wondering how it had come to this? Had he pled with God for rescue? Had he plotted his escape?
The Bible didn’t say. All it said was that he rolled up his sleeves and got to work, and every job he was given he did to the best of his ability, until finally, he was put in charge of all the inmates. He was a man of integrity, and that integrity guided him even in the darkest places. He worked for the Lord, not for men, so he did his best no matter what he was given to do. He’d stayed in prison for years—all for something he hadn’t done.
Emily closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, then got up and went back to the door to her cell, and gazed out on all the prisoners in the common area, some tough and dangerous, others quiet and grief-stricken, playing cards or reading or doing push-ups or trash-talking. What if God made her suffer through this?
She wondered if Joseph ever felt abandoned by God. How had he managed to trust his creator so?
The story, better than any novel, had climaxed when famine hit, and his brothers came to Egypt to buy food. Instead of hatred and revenge, he gave them gifts and forgave them. “What you intended for evil,” he said, “God intended for good.”
Emily closed the Bible and tried once again to imagine what good could come from her own story. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see it. Lives would be devastated if she had to stay here. Her mom and Lance would be humiliated and crushed. Her Christian witness, which she’d worked hard on during these months of sobriety, would be tainted.
Maybe she just didn’t have the kind of integrity that Joseph had. After all, she had succumbed to the lure of drug addiction. On her worst day, she was really no better than Bo or Carter. She had lied and stolen and cheated to keep her drugging lifestyle going. No, she’d never killed anyone. But she probably deserved much more jail time than she’d gotten.
The realization made her feel hopeless. She stretched out on her rack and laid her wrist over her eyes. God knew of failure. He had watched David, who really had killed a man after getting the guy’s wife pregnant … Peter, who’d betrayed Jesus three times … Paul, who’d murdered Christians … Mary Magdalene, who’d been a wild child.
Yet they had all been exalted people of faith, talked about for centuries. If they could do it, Emily could. She could still do this, even if God didn’t clear her. And if he didn’t, there would be a reason. A purpose that she would let him fulfill.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palms against her eyes. “God, whatever happens, please don’t leave me. I want to be someone you’re proud of. Someone who doesn’t humiliate my family. I trust you with whatever you’re about to do.”
But the ceiling seemed stone cold. She only hoped her prayers took wing.
Chapter 33
Barbara had seen Emily in prison clothes before, but defeat assaulted her as her daughter was brought into the courtroom with her hands chained together in front of her. Barbara caught her breath when she saw that she was limping, her left foot swollen inside the orange prison-issue flip-flop. When she met Emily’s eyes, she saw dark circles and fear.
In the brown prison clothes and chains, her hair stringy, Emily looked like any of the guilty defendants paraded through here for the judge to see. He wouldn’t know that Emily wasn’t like them—that she was a college journalism major with a future.
Kent sat next to Barbara, his foot tapping a nervous, quiet drumbeat. Tension still hung between them, thou
gh she hadn’t been able to stay mad at him when he offered to drive her to Birmingham. He was only trying to do the right thing by taking himself off the case. She didn’t like it, but she couldn’t blame him anymore. He was a man of integrity, and that was why she loved him.
They sat through the other capital murder and violent crime cases—a man accused of causing brain damage to his three-month-old baby after shaking him, a woman who’d murdered her cousin over a man, a gang member who’d gunned down an enemy. How could they lump Emily together with these thugs?
Finally, it was Emily’s turn before the judge. The lawyer Barbara had hired met Emily at the bench. Emily limped to the podium where she was supposed to speak into a microphone. She stood with shoulders slumped. From the back, she looked broken.
As Emily entered her plea—not guilty—and the attorney requested that she be released on bond, Barbara burst into tears. Barbara couldn’t hold it together. She shaded her eyes and looked down as tears assaulted her again. She fantasized about springing up and screaming out that Emily was innocent. But the last thing she wanted was to make Emily’s situation worse.
Kent reached into his sport coat, pulled out a handkerchief, and handed it to her. She took it gratefully and wiped her nose, her eyes.
“I’ll set bond at five hundred thousand dollars, pending indictment,” the judge said. “Emily, you can return to Atlanta, but you’re not authorized to travel more than one hundred fifty miles from Birmingham, and if you’re indicted and fail to appear, you’ll forfeit the bond money and be incarcerated without bond.”
Barbara touched Kent’s arm. Was the judge really going to let her come home … for half a million dollars?
As Emily turned to leave, she turned back toward Barbara, her mouth twisted and her forehead pleated. She appeared on the verge of tears as she limped toward the door. Her eyes seemed to ask, Five hundred thousand? What are we gonna do?
Court adjourned, and as the others in the pew-like seats got up to leave, Barbara sat frozen, unable to move. Kent took her hand. “It’s okay, babe. Ten percent of that is all we have to come up with.”
“Fifty thousand dollars? I don’t have that! Where am I gonna get it?”
The guard asked them to clear the room, so Barbara got to her feet. She straightened her skirt and jacket and forced herself to move. She felt Kent’s hand on her elbow, steadying her as she went out to her car. “I’ll help with this,” he said before they got in. “I have equity in my house. I can get a credit line.”
She thought about that for a moment. Yes, a credit line. That was a possibility. “I have equity, too. At least that much. I can get a second mortgage.”
“I don’t want you doing that,” Kent said. “Just let me.”
She grunted and gaped at him. “Why would I let you do that?”
Her question seemed to hurt him. He swallowed and slipped his hand into his pocket. “Because you’re family to me. I love you. I love Emily, too. I want to do it.”
Her eyes filled with tears, and she stepped closer to him. “I can’t let you do that, Kent.”
“Why not? She’s innocent. We’ll get it all back once she goes back to court … one way or another.”
One way or another? She lost it then, right there.
He put his arms around her and pulled her close. She shut her eyes and rested her chin on his shoulder. Though her burden seemed crushing, it felt as though he was helping her lift it. She wasn’t in this alone. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered.
She wept into his shirt, comforted by his arms. But she couldn’t let herself fall apart like this. She had to be strong. If she was going to get Emily out today, they had to hurry back to Atlanta and figure something out.
She drew in a long, cleansing breath and forced herself to straighten. “I can’t stand here crying. Emily’s stuck in there until I come up with the cash. Let’s go.”
They got into the car, and Kent pulled out of the parking lot into the traffic streaming by.
“I’ll go to the bank and try to get it,” she said. “If I can’t, you can help. But only then.”
“I wish you’d let me do more.” They got to a red light, and he took her hand. It was rough, strong, rock solid.
She brought his hand to her face, kissed the knuckle. “I love you for wanting to. But I need a lot more from you than money. Solve this crime, on-duty or off. Stop the person doing this. Don’t let them destroy Emily.”
Kent knew better than to make that promise.
Chapter 34
Back in Atlanta, Barbara asked Kent to go into her house with her while she gathered all the papers the bank might require. He went back to work while she went to the bank.
At her branch, each loan officer was already helping another customer, so she waited on an uncomfortable couch and fidgeted until one of the loan officers came out.
The woman who would decide Emily’s fate had a beehive hairdo and unfriendly eyes, though she offered a business smile. “Were you next?”
“Yes.” Barbara sprang to her feet, dropping the papers that were on her lap. Feeling like an idiot, she stooped down and scooped them up—the appraisal for her house, the financial statements, her tax returns. She stacked the pages haphazardly, followed the woman back in, and took one of the chairs facing the desk. She noticed a newspaper sitting on the credenza. Had Emily been mentioned in the paper? She hadn’t taken the time to look yet.
There was no way the local reporters would keep an item like that off the front page—if it wasn’t there today, it would be tomorrow.
She drew in a deep breath. “Uh … I was thinking about maybe getting a line of credit on the equity in my house. The appraisal is fairly recent. I just bought the house a few months ago.”
Ms. Green took the appraisal, scanned it. “And how much do you owe on the house?”
“I have the mortgage papers right here.” Barbara slid them across the desk. “I sold my house in Missouri, so I was able to put two hundred thousand dollars down when I bought this house.”
“Okay. The market probably hasn’t changed much. The appraisal is still good, and you’re not getting all of the equity out.”
“Oh, good.” Barbara tried to steady her breath.
The woman pulled out a loan application. “What do you need the money for?”
She hesitated too long, trying to arrange her words. To bond my daughter out of jail wouldn’t cut it. “I need to pay off some debts.”
“How much do you want?”
“Just sixty thousand. That’s … enough for now.” That would pay for the bond and cover the retainer for the attorney … if Emily wasn’t indicted. If she was, Barbara would need a lot more.
The woman went through the other papers she’d brought, asking her a few more questions. Then she walked her through an application for a home equity credit line.
“I’ll just run this by the mortgage division, but I should be able to give you an answer this afternoon.”
Barbara tried not to look too anxious. “Okay. The sooner the better. I … have some bills due right now, and … it would be good if I could pay them off. When would I be able to get a check?”
“If we approve it this afternoon, you could get the money before we close today.”
“Oh, good. Great. That’ll help a lot.”
She waited as Ms. Green went to make copies of all her papers. As she waited, she sat stiffly in the chair, her eyes closed.
God, if they don’t approve it today, they’ll see the paper and hear the gossip. They won’t approve it tomorrow. Please … I need your help. Don’t make Emily stay in jail.
Ms. Green came back and handed Barbara the papers. “I’ll call you this afternoon,” she said. Barbara shook her hand, hoping the woman didn’t notice that her palms were sweating. Then she stepped out into the warm air.
She went back to Kent’s and waited, phone in hand. The banker didn’t call until 4:30. She’d been approved for the loan, and the papers were ready to sign. She raced back
to the bank and tried not to look frantic as she signed the papers. Then she went to the teller’s window and asked for a money order for fifty thousand dollars out of her credit line.
She hoped the bondsman would accept that. She knew from her last experience with a bondsman that they rarely took checks.
She headed back to Birmingham, praying that they’d let her bond Emily out even though it was after business hours. She got a bondsman on the phone, and after giving Barbara the third degree about Emily and her charges, he agreed to meet her at the jail. It would cost more because Emily was leaving the state, he told her, but he would take a personal check for the difference to bond her out.
Barbara felt numb as she found the jail and went in, talked with the bondsman in the stairwell, and arranged the deal as if it were somehow under the table. But that was how it was done. The money was collateral to assure that Emily would show up in court, and the bondsman charged a pretty penny for it.
When the deal was done, he directed her to the dirty waiting room at the jail. After he went over the terms of the agreement with Emily, she would be released, he said. As Barbara waited, her mind raced with thoughts about their next move. At least Emily wouldn’t have to spend another night in jail, and they would be safe at Kent’s house.
Emily discarded her jail clothes and dressed in the clothes she’d been arrested and transported in, but she couldn’t get her left shoe on. She held the shoe in her hand as she met with the bondsman.
When her paperwork was processed and she was free to go, Emily limped through the door into the waiting area. Her mother rose to her feet, and Emily studied her face, trying to anticipate her mood. Whatever she’d had to do to raise fifty thousand dollars had probably dredged up dark memories. But instead of hurling accusations, her mom came to her with arms outstretched and hugged her fiercely. As she clung to Emily, stroking her hair, she whispered, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Emily blinked back tears. “I thought I would have to stay here when I heard the amount.”