Chapter 8 - The Husband I Buried

Now

I greeted the officer on duty when I arrived at the station. She looked me up and down, as if trying to figure something out. I knew what she was wondering. Some of her colleagues, under different circumstances, had already asked me outright, but I don’t think she wanted to give me the satisfaction.

She was eyeing my shoes, looking for a label. She’d already answered her own question. Why would I want to defend criminals when there were plenty of innocent people out there looking for help? It had to be the money, or so she’d assume.

Or the prestige. I might get my name in the paper along with the criminals I defend, if the media takes an interest.

The truth is, both of those assumptions would be wrong, but try telling a cop that plenty of criminals are innocent; that sometimes people just found themselves in a bad situation.

The officer showed me to the room where they were questioning Rebecca. She wasn’t in a holding cell, which meant they were just asking questions at this stage. I forced a reassuring smile, hoping Rebecca had been able to hold it together since we’d talked earlier.

She looked up, her honey-brown eyes hopeful and scared at the same time. Something about her seemed fragile. Perhaps it was the shock of losing her husband. I would have looked the same after Luis died; I probably still did.

Usually, when I first met with a client, I could get a feel for whether they had done what they were accused of or not. The way they acted, their body language, the tone of their voice were all dead giveaways.

Rebecca stood and allowed the officer to lead her toward the interview rooms. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, looking at me for the answer. ‘Can’t we just talk here?’

‘Those rooms aren’t really used for consults,’ said the officer. She seemed so uninterested I was surprised she had been listening to our conversation at all.

‘You were in an interrogation room,’ I filled in. ‘It’s where police interview people and question suspects.’

Rebecca’s eyebrows rose and she looked at the officer, as though to ascertain if this was true. I shook my head, hoping to deter her. ‘You’re entitled to a private conversation with your lawyer,’ I added. ‘So, we’re being moved to a room where we can have a confidential discussion. We can do it somewhere else if you like?’

The officer tilted her head to look at me, not rising to the bait. But now she’d be forced to clarify whether Rebecca was here answering a few friendly questions, or if it was something a little more than that. The officer paused.

It was just for a moment – half a beat – but it told me everything.

‘She’s not under arrest,’ she said. ‘We’re just confirming some details.’

‘Then my client is free to leave,’ I replied, keeping my tone neutral. ‘Unless you’ve developed probable cause.’

The officer stood up straighter. She didn’t like being questioned, which struck me as ironic, given her job. We both knew that if she tried to keep Rebecca now, it would be harder to do so later, if her hunch was right. And right now, I was pretty sure that’s all she had. A hunch.

Rebecca looked between us, confusion flickering across her face. ‘Probable cause? What does that mean?’

‘It means,’ I said gently, ‘that if they don’t have enough evidence to charge you with a crime, they can’t keep you here against your will.’

The officer’s mouth tightened.

‘We’d prefer she stayed a little longer,’ she said. ‘There are still some questions.’

‘Which she is not required to respond to,’ I said. ‘And she won’t be responding right now.’

I turned to Rebecca. ‘Have they read you your rights?’ From our phone call, I already knew the answer to this, and what I was going to ask her next, but I wanted her to say it out loud for the sake of the officer, whose jaw had become so tense I could almost hear her teeth grinding.

‘No,’ Rebecca said quickly.

‘Have they told you you’re under arrest?’

‘No.’

‘Have they told you that you can’t leave?’

She hesitated. ‘They said it would look bad if I didn’t cooperate.’

I nodded. ‘They say that a lot. How long have you been here?’

She glanced up at a clock that looked like a relic ticking on the wall. ‘About an hour. Maybe a little longer.’

The officer crossed her arms. ‘We’re just trying to understand what happened.’

‘As, I’m sure, is Ms. Ryan.’

Rebecca looked away when I said that. Did she already know what had happened to her husband? Or was she as clueless as the police?

‘If you think of anything else you’d like to ask my client, you have her number.’

The silence stretched while the officer thought about what I’d said.

Eventually she exhaled, sharp and annoyed. ‘She’s free to go.’

Rebecca’s shoulders sank like a string had been cut.

She gathered her bag while I waited.

‘Thank you, officer,’ I said.

We walked out together.