11
I debated whether I should wear a nice blouse for the conference call with my parents, right up until I figured out that we probably wouldn’t have video on our call. I put the blouse on anyway. My parents always seemed to know things they shouldn’t, and I wanted this to be a conference among equals. I didn’t want us sidetracked with anyone thinking they needed to coddle or protect me.
Especially after the conversation I’d had with my mom last night. I’d expected her to be angry at me for not calling her immediately, but instead she’d sounded worried about both Mark and me. Worry wasn’t something I normally heard in my mom’s voice. In fact, I’m not sure I could ever remember hearing it before.
I got to Anderson’s office ten minutes early. To his credit, Anderson kept the fan-boy gush out of his voice as he updated my parents and me on everything the police asked and tried during the interrogation. He clearly laid out the evidence they had against him.
“Have you considered arguing self-defense?” my dad asked, his voice matter-of-fact. “We could make a decent case for Troy luring him out of his home in order to rob him. Mark came back earlier than Troy thought, a shadowy figure attacked him, and he defended himself with the nearest object.”
I scowled at the handset. My dad couldn’t see it, but it made me feel slightly better.
I leaned closer to the phone so he couldn’t act like he didn’t hear me. “We’re not arguing self-defense because Mark is innocent.”
I made sure my voice had no emotion. I didn’t want to give my dad any ground to suggest I shouldn’t be part of this or that I was irrational and my opinions should be ignored.
“They’re never innocent, Nicole. You of all people should know that by now.”
It was an echo of the conversation we’d had in his office after I figured out Peter was guilty of murdering his wife. His words to me then had been They’re always guilty.
I wanted to hang up on him. I wanted to remind him of how much he’d respected Mark prior to this moment. I wanted to remind him that I’d worked with many innocent people since coming to Fair Haven.
I wanted to do a lot of things, but I couldn’t do any of them because I needed my parents on this case. Whether I liked it or not, they were the best at what they did. One of them had more experience than Anderson and me combined. My pride wasn’t more important than Mark’s freedom.
Anderson cleared his throat, breaking the dead air that’d hung since my dad’s statement. “There weren’t signs of forced entry or a struggle, and I’m not sure we could convince a jury that even a doctor would have a scalpel lying around his house. If the victim were killed with scissors or even a kitchen knife, it’d be a lock.”
My dad made a statement about how he’d convinced juries of more ludicrous things and that it was all in the way we sold it.
But all I could hear was that he wanted to argue self-defense because he thought Mark was guilty.
It was exactly why we needed to not only win in court, but also prove who had done this. Mark shouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life with people looking at him crossways the way they did O.J. Simpson. Mark was innocent.
“Mark’s not Peter.” My words came out louder than I intended.
It wasn’t until after they were out that I realized I’d talked over someone.
Muffled voices came from my parents end of the line, like one of them had covered the handset.
Anderson shifted in his seat as if he didn’t know who to stick up for—his idol or his partner. “Who’s Peter?” he whispered.
I motioned that I’d fill him in later. Hopefully he’d forget.
“I’m…sorry, Nicole.” The edge had come off my dad’s voice. It was a tone I’d never heard from him before, not even when I’d come to him as a little girl with a bruise or a cut. “You’re right. Mark’s not Peter. Did you tell him the one rule?”
My parents had one unbreakable rule with their clients. They could lie to their families. They could lie to the press. They could lie to the police.
They couldn’t lie to my parents because you defended a guilty person differently than you defended an innocent one. My parents didn’t want any surprises in court. If they knew the truth, they could prepare for it, whatever it might be.
I hadn’t told Mark the rule because I didn’t need to.
“I told him,” Anderson said.
Of course he would have. He’d modeled so much of his practice on my parents.
“Then we’ll get him acquitted.” The softness was gone from my dad’s voice as quickly as it’d come. “But this’ll be one for the wall.”
Pain throbbed above my eyes. I rubbed at the spots. The wall was a section in my parents’ office where they hung news clippings from the most challenging cases they’d won. It was the equivalent of an athlete’s trophy shelf.
We didn’t talk about the difficult cases that didn’t make the wall.
I’d been hoping I was wrong about this case and that my parents would see something obvious that I’d missed.
I planted my feet firmly on the floor and pulled my back up straight. They won more than they lost. They could win this one, too.
I filled them in on what Mark told me about the angry family member and that I already had our private investigator looking into the names.
My parents didn’t give out praise, but anytime they didn’t criticize, I knew I’d done the right thing.
“What about the evidence?” my mom asked.
I glanced at Anderson. He gave an I’m-not-sure-what-she-means-either head shake.
I inclined my head toward the phone, trying to hint that he should ask.
He made a you-do-it shooing motion with his hands. He might sound professional on the outside, but he still wanted to leave a good impression with my parents, just like a little boy wanting to impress his teacher.
Chicken, I mouthed, then asked, “What do you mean?”
“Who’s working on alternate explanations for the cell phone and the scalpel? Mark’s innocent.” My mom said it in a way that let me know she’d never doubted it the way my dad had. “Their strongest evidence against him is the cell phone and the scalpel with his fingerprints. If we can discredit those, Mark’s chances improve dramatically.”
