William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“Like how bad?”

“C-plus, C-minus.”

“That’s not so bad,” Travis said. Especially for a girl diagnosed with ADD—Attention Deficit Disorder. It caused Staci to have problems with concentration; she was also prone to procrastination and forgetfulness, and she was easily distracted. The doctors weren’t sure if the disorder was caused by a malfunction within the inner ear—the most common cause of ADD—or if it was simply an emotional problem stemming from the traumatic loss of her mother.

“You should hear what Aunt Marnie says about me. How stupid I am, how lazy I am. She thinks I’m pond scum.” Staci clasped his hand. “Let’s go camping, Travis. Like that time last spring at Robbers’ Cave.”

“You’re not listening. I can’t go to Robbers’ Cave. I’ve got a new trial. It’s going to last at least a week. Maybe longer.”

She kicked a tin can. “Figures.”

“As soon as this trial is over, we’ll do something together. I promise.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Aw, cheer up. Wanna see a magic trick?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Look, there’s something in your ear.”

“Oh, Travis, please.” He reached behind her ear. “I’ve seen this trick a million—” She looked down at his opened palm. “It’s a charm! For my Disney bracelet!”

She reached out, but just before she got the charm, Travis closed his fists, whirled them around a few times, then extended his opened palms. “Look! It disappeared!”

“Puh-leese, Travis. It didn’t disappear. It’s up your sleeve.” She grabbed his arm, shook it, and caught a tiny gold Goofy.

“That trick fooled everyone back when I was in the third grade.”

“That’s the problem, Travis. You haven’t learned any new tricks since you were in the third grade.”

“Oh yeah? How about this one?” He took two large blue marbles from his coat pocket and extended his hands, knuckles up. He swirled his hands around in a confusing blur. “Okay, which hand are the marbles in?”

“Really, Travis, who cares?” She snapped the Goofy figurine onto her bracelet. “My mom gave me this bracelet,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“Aunt Marnie hid my picture of her. She said it was making me all sad and moody. Maybe she was right.” She wrapped the bracelet around her wrist. “You’re gonna laugh, Travis, but sometimes, late at night, I imagine Mom’s talking to me. Not just a word or two. Whole big long conversations.” She looked down at her sneakers. “She says a lot of nice stuff. In my head, I mean. Acts like she really likes me or something.”

Travis smiled. “She does, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, right.” Staci hesitated, as if there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t. “Travis, this is real stupid. I know it’s been four years, but … I still miss her.”

Travis opened his arms and Staci crawled inside. He felt a cold saltwater sprinkle on his neck. “That’s not stupid, honey,” he said, hugging her tightly. “I still miss her, too.”

TUESDAY

April 16

8

7:05 A.M.

TRAVIS SAT IN THE holding cell reviewing the Moroconi file while the guards fetched his client. It was a familiar routine. They insisted that the lawyer be in place first. Maybe they wanted to make the lawyer uncomfortable, Travis speculated. To let him experience a few moments of the foreboding the guards lived with on a daily basis.

The guards made no secret of how much they hated attorney-client conferences, during which they were required by law to afford the defendant and his counselor privacy, if only for a brief period. They seemed convinced lawyers took advantage of the privacy to smuggle weapons or other contraband to their clients. Travis couldn’t blame them. Four years ago he knew he would have harbored the same suspicions.

He buried himself in the file, trying to pass the time as profitably and painlessly as possible. It didn’t work. He kept staring at the photographs, wondering what kind of monster could do that to another human being.

The cell door abruptly swung open and two uniformed guards escorted Alberto Moroconi into the cell. Travis was introduced to a medium-sized man with a wispy mustache and a day’s stubble. Travis was surprised, although he wasn’t sure why. What was he expecting, Frankenstein?

The guards planted Moroconi in his chair and handcuffed him to the table.

“We don’t need the bracelets,” Travis said. “Please remove them.”

The guard closest to him shrugged. “Warden says leave ’em on.”

“There are several documents and photographs I need him to examine.”

“Ain’t that a shame.” The guard closed the cell door behind him. “Maybe he can hold them with his nose.”

Thanks bunches. Once the guards were out of earshot, Travis addressed his new client. “My name is Travis Byrne. I’ve been appointed to represent you at the trial today—”

“You’re a cop,” Moroconi said curtly.

“I’m a lawyer,” Travis replied. How on earth—“I used to be a cop.”

“Same diff’rence. I knew it was somethin’ like that. It shows.”

Travis didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t plan to kill precious time finding out, either. “I need to ask you a few questions—”

“You ain’t one of these cops-and-robbers screwballs with a secret game plan, are you? Like playin’ good cop to my face while you’re fixin’ to send me up the river.”

“I assure you I’ll do everything the law permits to obtain an acquittal.”

Moroconi scrutinized Travis intently. “A cop doin’ me favors. Go figure.”

“Mr. Moroconi, our time together is limited. Can we discuss your case?”

Moroconi folded his arms across his chest. “Shoot.”

“Did you know the victim, Miss Mary Ann McKenzie?”

“Oh, yeah. I knew the bitch.”

Travis bit down on his lower lip. “And … how did you know her?”

“I was at the bar where it all started that night. You know, O’Reilly’s. She comes struttin’ in, tryin’ to get some action, swingin’ her cute little ass around. Personally, I think she got what she deserved, the stupid cunt.”

Travis felt his heart beating faster. Cool off, he told himself. You’re the man’s zealous advocate. “Did you see what happened?”

“At the bar, yeah. After she’d flung her fishy smell all over the place, she sashayed out the front door. A gang of studs sittin’ in the corner decided they wanted a piece of that and followed her. Didn’t surprise me what happened. I knew it was comin’.”

“Did you attempt to warn Miss McKenzie?”

“Why? Hell, I don’t care what the little twat says. She wanted it.” He laughed. “Maybe not exactly what she got, but she wanted it.”

“And what did you do when you saw these men follow her out of the bar?”

Moroconi shrugged. “I had another Scotch and soda.”

Travis redirected his eyes to the file. “Miss McKenzie says you were one of the men who attacked her.”

“She’s fucked in the head.”

“She picked you out of the lineup.”

“She remembers me from the bar. So what?”

“She says you urinated on her and forced a Coke bottle—”

“Well, she’s wrong, goddamn it! Don’t you see?” Moroconi leaned across the table. “The stupid slut had been fucked blind! She couldn’t tell me from Elvis!”

Travis coughed. “She also states that you suggested tying her to the bumper of her car—”

“Look, you shit-faced shyster, I’m innocent. Are you going to help me or not?”

“I’m—” Travis took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His stomach was churning like the ocean during a storm. “It’s not necessary for you to plead your innocence to me. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t. I’m simply trying to uncover facts that could assist your defense.”