The guard led me through a sliding metal door out of the pod, then down a short linoleum-floored hallway through yet another sliding door. The doors opened and shut with thunderous clangs, the noise echoing off the cinder block walls. I had been hearing the doors slam shut all day, the noise competing with the inmates’ shrieks and laughter for which could be the loudest. I hoped the arrival of my attorney meant I was getting out of jail immediately. I couldn’t imagine ever falling asleep in this place.
The guard ushered me into a room, larger than I had expected, with four round tables, each surrounded by chairs. A woman dressed in a severe gray pantsuit was sitting at one of them.
“Alice Campbell?” She stood and held out her hand. “I’m Grace Williams. Your husband hired me to represent you.”
Grace Williams was almost absurdly pretty. She had large green eyes, shoulder-length blond hair and fine, symmetrical features. She wore chunky tortoiseshell-framed glasses in what was probably a failed attempt to detract from her model good looks.
“Thank you for coming, Ms. Williams,” I said, shaking her hand. Her grip was firm and cool.
“Please, call me Grace. We’re going to be spending quite a bit of time together, so there’s no need for formalities.”
The guard left, and Grace gestured for me to sit.
“Your husband filled me in on the basics, and I have to say, I’m surprised the state has brought charges against you. They don’t have much to go on,” Grace said. “But before we get started on that, do you have any questions for me?”
“How soon can I get out of here?”
“You’ll have a hearing tomorrow morning in front of Judge Wilkinson, where we’ll argue for bail. You have no priors and you have substantial ties to the community, so despite the severity of the charge, I imagine you will get bail,” Grace said.
My entire body went cold. I looked down to see that my hands were shaking.
“So I am going to have to spend the night here,” I said, trying to sound calm, but failing. My voice was strangled somewhere low in my throat. I had hoped that the appearance of my attorney meant that the Sheriff’s deputy had been wrong, and that I would be released immediately.
Grace looked at me over the rim of her glasses. “I know it’s distressing, especially if you’ve never been in jail before. But look at it this way—it’s just one night. What we really need to focus on is keeping you out of jail for the next thirty years.”
She was right—this did put one night of jail into stark perspective—but it was hardly a calming thought. I could feel my heart rate accelerate again, the now familiar pounding filling my ears.
“Oh, God,” I whispered.
“Don’t panic,” Grace said, holding up a hand, her palm facing out.
I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. Panicking was not going to help anything. I rolled my shoulders back, forcing the muscles to relax, and managed to get a grip on my emotions before they started to spiral.
“Do you know how much the bail will be?”
“Unfortunately, because of the severity of the crime you’ve been charged with, it will almost certainly be high. At least $100,000, and possibly as much as $600,000. But you won’t have to pay that out of pocket. I’ll put your husband in touch with a bail bondsman.”
I desperately wanted to return to the world I had lived in a few short weeks ago, one where I had blithely assumed that I’d never see the inside of a prison, or need the services of a bail bondsman.
“Before we begin discussing your case,” Grace continued, “know that anything you say to me is protected by attorney-client privilege. That means I will keep whatever you tell me confidential. However, you should also know that I’m bound by a series of ethical rules, so don’t tell me if you’re guilty. It could limit the type of defense I can put on for you.”
“But I’m not guilty!” I protested, fear turning my voice high and tinny.
“All right,” Grace said. Her smooth expression didn’t change. I wondered if she believed me. Maybe all her clients claimed they were innocent. “Please tell me what happened in as much detail as you can.”
I told Grace about Kat and Howard, and how I had come to know them, and what I knew about their marital problems and Howard’s alcoholism. I also recounted in depth my initial interview with Detective Demer and Sergeant Oliver and how at first I believed they were building a case against Kat. But then they arrested me.
“They said they had a photograph from a traffic camera that showed me heading toward Jupiter Island the night Howard died,” I told her. “And they told me they knew Kat had given me a large amount of money.”
Grace had been busy jotting down notes on a lined yellow notepad with a Montblanc pen. Now she glanced up at me.
“How much money?”
I hesitated. “Twenty thousand dollars. But it was a loan. Kat lent it to me over a year ago because we fell behind on our children’s school tuition. I didn’t want to accept it, even as a loan, but if I hadn’t, the children wouldn’t have been allowed to stay at their school.” I could feel myself flush with embarrassment. “The money had nothing to do with Howard or his death.”
“Who would have known that she gave you that money?”
“Lent, not gave. I’m not sure. My husband knew, of course, and since Kat made the check payable directly to the school, the bookkeeper there would have known.”
“What’s the bookkeeper’s name?”
“Patricia Davies. It was an unusually large check, even for the school, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she remembered it.”
“I’ll have my investigator speak to her. If the police did interview her, it may be helpful to know what they asked her,” Grace said, making a note. “And you said they had a traffic camera photo placing you near Jupiter Island on the night of Howard Grant’s death?”
“Yes,” I said. “But it was taken at an intersection several miles away from the Grants’ house. When the police first interviewed me, they asked me for an alibi for the evening Howard died. I told them that Todd and I argued, and I left and went for a walk on the beach.”
“Why did you argue?”
“Is it important?”
Grace shrugged. “It could be.”
“My husband and I have had some financial difficulties over the past few years.”
“What sort of difficulties? Anything illegal? Drugs, that sort of thing?”
“Oh, no. God, no. But I found out that day my husband had gotten a new credit card without telling me and had run up a balance.” I sighed and pressed a finger to each temple. “Just garden-variety overspending. Living beyond our means. My husband, unfortunately, is a spendthrift. If he wants something, he buys it, even if it isn’t logical to do so at the time. It’s the cause of about ninety-five percent of our marital disagreements.”
“Okay. So you fought. Then what happened?”
“I left. I didn’t want our children, Liam and Bridget, to overhear us arguing. It upsets them, especially Bridget. She’s—” I stopped and inhaled deeply again. I hoped the extra oxygen would wake up my brain, which after four hours in prison felt like it was already atrophying. “She’s highly strung. So I drove around for a while, then decided I felt like going for a walk.”
“But why Jupiter Island? Why did you decide to go there?”
“I didn’t decide,” I said. “That’s just it. I was upset. I was driving aimlessly. I’m not sure why I headed toward the island. It was probably just mental muscle memory, since I’ve driven there so many times to see Kat. At the moment I decided I wanted to get out and walk, the Jupiter Island beach was the closest place to stop. There wasn’t anything nefarious about it. It’s just a horrible coincidence.”
“Did anyone see you at the beach? Maybe in the parking lot?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t see anyone. It was late by then, after ten. I stopped to wonder if it was stupid to walk in the dark by myself, but ironically enough, I decided it would be safe because it was Jupiter Island, where there’s hardly any crime.” I laughed without humor. “It would almost be funny if the whole thing hadn’t turned into this nightmare.”
Grace didn’t smile back. She continued taking notes on her yellow notepad. “I’ll have my investigator look into whether there were any cameras at the beach parking lot. That would verify your alibi.”
“I can’t believe the police honestly think I’d kill Howard,” I said. “What would be my motive? I didn’t even know him very well. Kat’s the one I was friends with.”
“My guess? They don’t think you’re guilty, but they’re hoping that by arresting you, they’ll put enough pressure on you that you’ll agree to testify against your friend.”
“But that’s horrific,” I exclaimed. “They’re putting me through this just to coerce me?”
“The police don’t always play fair,” Grace said. She looked up at me, her pretty eyes keen and focused. “What else can you tell me?”
I told her the rest—about John Donnelly’s proffered bribe, Thomas Wyeth’s veiled threats. I even told her about my talk with Marcia Grable and her belief that Kat was a sociopath.
“Do you agree with her?” Grace asked.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling exhausted. “A few weeks ago, I would have said no way. But now, who knows?”
“The police arrested you at least in part because they found out Kat Grant had given you a large amount of money,” Grace pointed out. “I’m sure she wasn’t the one who told them that. It would make her look guilty. If you pay someone to kill for you, it’s still considered first-degree murder.”
I shook my head. “That money had nothing to do with any of this. I wish I had never accepted it.”
“Is there anything else you can think of?”
“The witness who claims he saw Howard pushed off the balcony,” I said. “He’s the only reason the police think Howard was killed. If he’s lying or mistaken, they don’t have a case. I think he might be the key here.”
Grace nodded and jotted down another note. “We’ll find out who this supposed witness is and then check his bank records.”
“You think someone paid him off?”
“Maybe. It’s worth checking out.”
“But who would do that? The Wyeths have the means to pay off anyone, but like you said, how does that benefit Kat? If they think I killed Howard because Kat paid me to, that would put Kat in legal jeopardy.” I considered this. “Unless that’s the point? What if someone set me up because they want to hurt Kat?”
“Who would do that?”
“I have no idea. Everyone loves Kat. Well, except for Marcia Grable. And Kat’s sister-in-law.”
Grace took off her glasses and pressed her fingers to her temples.
“Is that information overload?”
Grace smiled. “No, but the reality of my job—and that of any other defense attorney—is that we like simple narratives. They’re easier to sell to juries. All these speculations and crosshatches and conspiracy theories don’t make for a clean defense.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“No, don’t be. I asked you to tell me everything. It’s just that there’s more than I anticipated. But don’t worry. I’ll sift through it and find the right narrative for us going forward.”
Her words, which made her sound like a political commentator spinning on a cable news show, had a chilling effect.
“I don’t want a narrative,” I said. “I want the truth to come out.”
Grace looked almost amused. “I think you need to understand something. It’s not my job to find out the truth about who killed Howard Grant. In fact, I don’t care who, if anyone, killed him. It’s up to the state’s attorney to make a case that you’re guilty of the crime, and it’s my job to blow as many holes in their evidence and arguments as I can. Our only objective here is to get you an acquittal, and keep you out of prison. Do you understand?”
It was the most reassuring thing she could have said to me.
I nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”
* * *
I was right. I didn’t sleep that night. The pod was too loud, even when the doors weren’t clanking open and shut. I could hear the other prisoners talking and coughing and crying. Kayla had a nightmare that caused her to thrash around her bunk and mumble incoherently. But even if it had been quiet, I couldn’t have gotten comfortable on the thin foam acting as my mattress. However I positioned myself, rolling from one side to the other, my body would start to ache from the lack of support and cold metal below the mat. And the terrible smell seemed to have infiltrated everything—my hair, my polyester scrubs, my nostrils.
By the time the morning dawned, looking gray and bleak through the tinted windows of the pod, I was exhausted and my brain felt foggy. I had already learned that we ate all our meals in the pod. Breakfast consisted of a tray of lukewarm oatmeal, a bruised banana and a small plastic cup of something that purported to be orange juice. I ate with a subdued Kayla at one of the round tables. No one spoke to either of us. I couldn’t swallow the oatmeal, which stuck in my throat, but I drank the juice and nibbled at the flavorless banana.
Grace had told me that my first appearance would take place that morning, but she had neglected to tell me that I wouldn’t be transported to the courthouse, as I had assumed. Instead bail hearings took place at the jail via a video hookup similar to the Skype program that Liam and Bridget used to talk to their grandparents.
Liam and Bridget. I could almost keep it together as long as I didn’t think of my children. It was bad enough that I had been taken away from them for one night. What if I was convicted and kept away from them for twenty years or more? The thought caused the bile in my stomach to churn as another wave of nausea swept over me. I swallowed, willing myself not to throw up, as I was led into the room where video court was held.
I was told to sit, along with eight detainees of both genders—including the tattooed man who’d waggled his tongue at me the day before—on a row of chairs set up behind a podium. In the front of the room was a television on a rolling cart with a camera mounted on top. We could see Judge Wilkinson, a heavyset man with dark hair and an extravagant mustache, enter the courtroom. He took his seat at the bench and began calling up the cases one at a time. Most of the charges were drug related, along with one assault and a DUI. All of them were represented by the public defender on duty.
When it was my turn to appear before the Skype judge, I was escorted to the podium, where I was joined by Grace. She looked sharp and well rested and was dressed in a sharply tailored navy skirt suit. I felt shabby standing next to her in my unshowered state, wearing the same prison scrubs I’d slept in.
“Case number 16-00756, State versus Alice Campbell, one count...capital murder,” the judge said. He perked up a bit at the severity of the charge and looked at me. “Are you Alice Campbell?”
“Yes.”
“And is this your attorney?” Judge Wilkinson asked.
“Yes. Grace Williams for the defendant, your honor.”
“Ms. Campbell, do you understand the charges that have been brought against you?”
I glanced at Grace. She nodded.
“Yes,” I said.
“And are you planning to proceed with Ms. Williams as your attorney, or do you need one appointed to you by the court?”
“I’ve hired Ms. Williams to represent me,” I said. “I don’t need a court-appointed lawyer.”
“What is the state’s position on bail?” Judge Wilkinson asked.
The state’s attorney on duty, a serious young man wearing an ill-fitting suit and a tie that looked like it had been borrowed from his father, stepped forward. This was probably his first job out of law school.
“Your honor, due to the seriousness of the charges and the threat to the community that the defendant poses, the state believes that Alice Campbell should be held without bail.”
“What?” Grace exclaimed.
The judge turned his head in her direction. “Ms. Williams, what do you have to say?”
“First of all, the charges against Mrs. Campbell are ludicrous,” Grace stated in a strong, clear voice. “The state didn’t even have enough evidence against Alice Campbell to be granted an arrest warrant, so they instead arrested her on trumped-up probable cause. The reality is that they don’t have a case. There is not one single scrap of physical evidence tying Alice Campbell to the death of Howard Grant. It’s our position that the police arrested Mrs. Campbell in what is a frankly despicable attempt to frighten her into cooperating with the police investigation.”
The state’s attorney looked shaken by the force of Grace’s argument.
“Your honor, the state believes very strongly in the, um, strength of our case,” he said, his voice high and unsure.
“What case?” Grace shot back. “Name one shred of evidence you have that proves my client committed this crime.”
“Simmer down,” Judge Wilkinson said. “Counselor, as you know, we don’t deal with probable cause issues at a first appearance. You’ll need to take that up with the felony judge. File your motion and have it set there. We’re dealing strictly with the issue of bail. I take it you are arguing that your client qualifies?”
“Yes, your honor,” Grace said. “Alice Campbell is a model citizen. She’s a married mother of two, has a PhD in mathematics and is a notable writer. Most important, she does not have a single prior arrest or conviction. She owns a home, and all of her ties are to this community. She is deeply motivated to prove her innocence in this case.”
“Your honor,” the state’s attorney started to say, but the judge raised a hand.
“Save it,” he said. “I’m setting bail at $500,000, cash or bond. Surrender your passport. Next.”
Grace smiled, pleased at her victory. I was reeling at the astronomical number. I was pretty sure our house wasn’t worth $500,000, even without the mortgage on it.
“That went well,” Grace whispered as we turned away.
“Did it? That’s a lot of money!”
“Everything’s all set. Your bond has already been arranged—”
“It has?” I was confused. Grace had already explained the way bonds worked, and that Todd would not have to come up with the entire $500,000. Still, he would have to make a substantial deposit to a bail bondsman. Where would he have found the money to do that? Our finances had certainly improved, but we weren’t flush.
“It will take a few hours for them to process you out of here. We’ll speak tomorrow,” Grace said, and then she turned and strode off before I could ask her any more questions.
I was told to sit back down while the remaining detainees had their video appearances. Once we had all been processed, the officers took us back to our pods.
It was excruciating being stuck in my pod without any word on what was going on or how much longer it would be until I was allowed to leave. There was nothing to do other than listen to the never-ending blare of bad daytime television intermingled with the endless complaints of my fellow pod mates. They carped on and on about how bad the food was or how uncaring their families were or how incompetent their attorneys were, and they did so loudly and enthusiastically. I longed for a comfortable bed and a few hours of quiet away from this noise so I could rest and clear my thoughts.
Then finally, just when I didn’t think I could stand the interminable boredom for one more minute, a guard showed up.
“Alice Campbell, come on down,” the guard said in a bored voice.
She escorted me to the same room where I’d been processed upon arrival. She cut my wristband off and gave me back the clothes I’d arrived in. I changed and was then escorted down a hallway, through several sets of the sliding metallic doors clanging open and then shut behind me. Finally I was decanted into the lobby, a depressing space filled with rows of industrial chairs welded together at the base, and walls decorated with posters advocating the benefits of drug rehabilitation.
And then I saw him. Todd was standing there, looking so familiar and safe. Unexpected tears stung my eyes. Todd held his arms open as I rushed to him. He pulled me close so that my cheek was pressed against his shoulder. I hugged him back fiercely. I couldn’t remember the last time we had clung to one another like this.
The day Meghan died, probably.
“I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life,” I said, my voice muffled against his chest.
“I didn’t want to bring Liam and Bridget,” he said. “I hope that was the right decision.”
“Thank God you didn’t. I wouldn’t want them to see me in here, to see me like this.” I thought again about what would happen if I were convicted, if I had to spend the rest of my life in prison, and I sagged in my husband’s arms. If he hadn’t been there, holding me up, I might have collapsed under the weight of my fatigue and strain and fear.
“Thank you for getting me out,” I said, looking up at him. He had tears in his eyes, too. “How did you afford the bond?”
Todd hesitated and drew back. “There’s something I have to talk to you about,” he said, keeping his voice low. His face looked tense and worried. “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it.”
“It can’t be worse than being arrested for murder and spending a night in jail,” I said weakly.
Todd smiled, but it didn’t erase the concern shining in his eyes. “Probably not quite that bad.”
Todd stepped to one side, putting a supportive hand on my lower back. I saw then that he hadn’t come alone to the police station, after all.
“Hello, Alice,” my mother said.