'I see. And what is the offer?'
'We drop the aggravated-murder charge. There's no death penalty and no thirty-year minimum. Abbie pleads to regular murder with a ten-year minimum sentence. It's the best we can do, Matt. No one wants to see Abbie on death row or in prison for life. Christ, I can't even believe we're having this conversation.
But we wanted to give her the chance. If she's guilty, it's a very good offer.'
Reynolds leaned back and clasped his hands under his chin.
'Yes, it is. If Mrs. Griffen is guilty. But she's not, Dennis.'
'Can I take it that you're rejecting the offer?'
'You know I can't do that without talking to Mrs. Griffen.'
Haggard handed Matthew a business card. 'My home number is on the back.
Call me as soon as you talk to Abbie. The offer is only good for forty-eight hours. If we don't hear by Sunday, Geddes takes the case to trial.'
Haggard let himself out. Reynolds turned back to his notes on jury selection. When he looked up, Tracy was staring at him.
'What's wrong?'
Tracy shook her head.
'If you're concerned about something, I want to know.'
'You're going to advise Mrs. Griffen to reject the offer, aren't you?'
'Of course.'
Tracy frowned.
'Say what's on your mind, Tracy.'
'I'm just . . . That was a good offer.'
Reynolds cocked his head to one side and studied his associate like a professor conducting an oral examination.
'You think I should advise Mrs. Griffen to accept it?'
'I don't think you should reject it out of hand. I can't help remembering what you told me in Atlanta.'
'And what was that?'
'When I asked you why you accepted the plea bargain for Joel Livingstone, you said that the objective in every death penalty case was to save our client's life, not to get a not-guilty verdict.'
Reynolds smiled. 'I'm pleased to see you've learned that lesson.'
'Then why won't you advise Mrs. Griffen to take this offer?'
'That's simple. Joel Livingstone murdered Mary Harding.
There was no question of his guilt. Abigail Griffen is innocent of the murder of Robert Griffen. I have never advised an innocent person to plead guilty.'
'How can you know she's innocent?'
'She's told me she's innocent and until she tells me otherwise, I will continue to believe in her innocence.'
Tracy took a deep breath. She was afraid to ask the next question and afraid not to.
'Mr. Reynolds, please don't take offense at what I'm going to say. I respect your opinion and I respect you very much, but I'm concerned that we're making a mistake in not recommending this plea.'
Tracy paused. Reynolds watched her with icy detachment.
'Go ahead,' Reynolds said, and Tracy noticed all the warmth was gone from his voice.
'I can't think of another way to put this. Do you think it's possible that you're being influenced by your personal feelings toward Mrs.
Griffen?'
Reynolds colored angrily. Tracy wondered if she had overstepped her bounds. Then Reynolds regained his composure and looked down at the jury selection questions.
'No, Tracy,' he said, his calm restored. 'I am not being influenced by personal feelings. And while I appreciate your concern, I think we've spent too much time on this matter. Let's get back to work.'
The days and nights were endless. Minutes seemed like hours.
Abbie never expected it to be this way. She prided herself on being able to live alone. When she lost her parents, she built a shell around herself to keep out the horror of loneliness. Then she survived the death of her lover, Larry Ross. When her aunt passed on, she pulled inside the shell once more and she had been able to walk out on Robert Griffen without a backward glance, because she needed no one but herself. But now, trapped in the house, virtually helpless and almost totally deprived of human contact, her shell was cracking.
Even the weather was conspiring against her. The sunny days of summer had given way to the chill of fall and it was often too cool to sit outdoors. She would have given anything to take a walk, but the bracelet on her wrist was a constant reminder that even such simple pleasures were forbidden to her.
On Friday night, the weather was balmy. A last-gasp attempt by nature to fight off the cruel and depressing rains that were sure to come.
Abbie sat on the patio, close to her invisible electronic wall, and watched the sunset. A large glass of scotch rested on the table at her elbow. She was drinking more than she wanted to, but liquor helped her sleep without dreams.
A flock of birds broke free from the trees at the edge of her property and soared into the dying light in a black and noisy cloud. Abbie envied them. Her spirit was weighted down by the gravity of her situation and confined to a narrow, airless place in her breast. Even Matthew's boundless confidence could not give it wings.
The sound of tires on gravel made Abbie's heart race, as it did whenever there was any break in the monotony of her routine.
She left the glass of scotch on the table and hurried to the front door.
She smiled when she saw that it was Matthew. He had been so good to her, visiting almost every day on the pretext that he was working on her case, when she knew that most of what they discussed could have been covered in a short phone call.
'How are you?' Matthew asked, as he always did.
'I was on the patio, enjoying the weather.'
'May I join you?'
'Of course. A drink?'
'No, thanks.'
They walked through the living room in silence, then stood side by side on the patio for a moment without speaking.
'Are you ready for trial?' Matthew asked.
'I should be asking you that.'
Matthew smiled. Abbie was pleased to see that he was not as stiff around her as he had been when they first met.
'Actually,' she said, 'I can't wait. I would endure anything to get out of here.'
'I can't imagine how hard it's been for you.'
Abbie turned toward Matthew. She felt she could say anything to him.
'It hasn't been hard, Matt, it's been hell. Do you know what the worst part is? The absence of phone calls. Except for you and the electronic surveillance monitors, my phone never rings. Before the indictment, I had my work to occupy me. I guess it kept me from realizing how alone I've been. I think you may be the last person left who cares about me.'
'The people who have deserted you aren't worthy of your friendship,'
Matthew said. 'Don't waste your time worrying about them.'
Abbie took his hand. 'You've been more than my attorney, Matt. You've been my friend and I'll never forget that.'
Matthew needed all of his courtroom skills to keep from showing how happy her simple words had made him.
'I'm glad you think of me that way,' he said as calmly as he could.
Abbie squeezed his hand, then let it go. 'Why did you come out?'
'Business. Dennis Haggard visited me. He made a plea offer . . .
