David Ellis - The Last Alibi

First, I take the opportunity for one more stop at the hostess station. I whisper something to Linda-“You be careful now”-and she makes a point of laughing, like I just said something really charming. I shake her hand good-bye, my other hand covering our handshake. Affectionate but not too forward. I don’t want to come on too strong here. I just want this beautiful young woman to stand out to whoever it is who may be watching. Joel has promised that they’ll have her under the tightest of scrutiny, and that she is armed and well trained herself.

He’d better be right. Because if this has gone as planned, Linda Sparks has just become target number six.

Jason

Monday, July 8

A low growl, then thick sweaty gums, fangs dripping with saliva, black nose with nostrils flaring in anticipation; my movements are slow but steady, unsure of what will provoke it, and then its eyes come to life and it SPRINGS-

“Shit,” I whisper to myself. I catch my breath, wait for my pulse to even out, wipe sweat off my face. My dreams have graduated from serial killers and dead women and insects feasting on my skin to animals, mean and snarling, ready to pounce.

I roll over and Alexa is staring at me, wide awake, propped up on one elbow.

I blink twice and say, “What. . are you doing?”

“You had a bad dream,” she whispers. “Are you in pain? I think the pain causes the nightmares.”

“I. . yeah, maybe. Why are you up?”

“I heard you waking up,” she says, but she doesn’t look like she just woke up. She looks like she’s been watching me sleep.

She opens her hand. “I got you a pill. There’s water on the nightstand.”

“Oh. Yeah, okay. You don’t have to. . do that. I mean, I can do it myself.”

“I know you can. I’m just trying to help.”

I take the pill and chew it up. These dreams suck. It would be nice if I could sleep through the night just once, instead of lurching forward in terror every two hours.

“You’re low on pills,” she says. “You know that, right?”

Of course I know that. I monitor those things more closely than anything in my life. “I’ve got it covered,” I say.

I put my head back on the pillow and stare at the ceiling. I should be feeling better soon.

“I’m sorry about what happened tonight,” she says. “With that girl. I get jealous. I guess that’s obvious.”

My breathing evens out. It’s kicking in now, the euphoria, the giddiness. I look over at her, my eyes having adjusted to the darkness, her features becoming clearer now. Is she. . Has she. .

“Are you. . crying?” I ask.

“No, no. No, no. I’m not sad. I’m happy. I’m happy when we’re together. Are you?”

“I’m. . happy,” I murmur.

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m happy. Go back to sleep.” I reach over and touch her arm.

“I don’t like it when you talk to pretty girls,” she whispers to me. “I don’t want to share you. Is that so bad?”

“No. . no. .”

And then my thoughts turn into swirls, sideways and inside out, and then I’m falling, falling, falling onto something feathery and warm.

Shauna

Monday, July 8

Team Arangold-me and Bradley plus the client-leaves the courthouse at two-thirty, having spent the last several hours arguing pretrial motions in advance of jury selection tomorrow morning. We are counting time by the hours now, and the tension is showing in all of us. We had a decent afternoon in front of Judge Getty, so we’re off to a good start, but you just never know with this stuff. Twelve people who know absolutely nothing about this case will hear from both sides and pick a winner. To call that prospect unsettling is an understatement of the highest order. The future of a family construction business hangs in the balance.

And yet.

And yet, as Bradley and I walk across the courthouse plaza toward our law firm, all I can think about is my asshole law partner. And that little Barbie doll of his with the Cleopatra haircut and the cute figure and stunning blue eyes.

“What do you think of her?” I ask Bradley. We’ve spent so much time together, going into battle on the Mariel trial and now this one, that a relationship has formed beyond the formal employer-employee framework-not that we were ever that formal to begin with.

“She’s hot,” he says.

“Okay, thanks, Bradley. That’s hugely helpful.”

“Should I assume, because you’re asking, that you don’t like her?”

I consider denying the charge, but he’s right-I wouldn’t be asking otherwise. “I’m just not sure that it’s a good fit. And I’m not sure Jason’s in a place right now where he can tell what’s good for him and what’s not.”

Bradley looks over at me, as if to comment, but doesn’t. He just mumbles a hmph of agreement, or at least not disagreement.

“Spill it,” I say.

“You’re very protective of him, is all.”

“So what if I am?”

“So nothing. I mean, he’s like that with you, too. If he thought somebody was going to do you wrong, he’d break him in half. You’re very important to him.”

“Not lately,” I say, surprising myself by the injection of self-pity, wishing I could snatch that embarrassing comment out of the air and shove it back into my big fat mouth.

We zigzag across an intersection, walking in shade now, a relief from the stifling heat.

“Let me ask you something,” says Bradley. “What did you think of Tori?”

“Tori? Oh, their relationship was a train wreck.”

“A train wreck in hindsight. But before that. What did you think of her?”

I release a sigh. “I didn’t like her much.”

“Okay. And what about Jason’s wife, Talia?”

“Talia was great.”

“Don’t just say that because she’s dead now. Forget the car crash, the whole tragic part. When she was alive and she and Jason were married-honestly, what did you think of her?”

The wound of that tragedy has scabbed over somewhat, but still hurts. Jason was in incredible pain, however he tried to conceal it, and therefore so was I. No matter what else. No matter how else I felt about that relationship.

The words come to me, but I bat them away, swat at them like a scary hornet.

I was jealous of her, I would answer if pressed.

“What’s your point, Mr. John?”

“You know what my point is. Nobody’s good enough for your Jason.”

“Now he’s my Jason? He’s not my Jason.”

We stop at another intersection. I look over at Bradley, who is smiling widely.

“Okay, have it your way,” he says. The light changes, and we move forward, on to our building, on to the last stages of trial preparation, on to another damn topic.

Shauna

Monday, July 8

When I get back to the law firm, I take a look down the hall and find the door to Jason’s office closed once again, but the office light on, spilling out under the doorway. That’s the second time I’ve ever seen that door closed, the first being when he was in there with Alexa doing whatever it was they were doing. A closed door means privacy. A closed door means no visitors welcome. And the Arangolds will be here in an hour, so it’s not like I have a lot of free time.

But I walk in that direction anyway, and I knock on his door anyway, and I poke my head in anyway, without getting an answer, because once upon a time Jason never closed the door, and once upon a time even if he did, there was one person in the world who could walk through it, and that person was me. And if Alexa doesn’t like it, she can-