to understand the adult conversations going on around her. Every capital case her mother took on came with lots of boxes, most of them containing crime scene pictures taken by the cops. Faith Ann looked through those whenever she got a chance, despite her mother's best efforts to hide the graphic files. “Pretty please?”
“Absolutely not!” Kimberly went over to the copier and, one after the other, put each of the eight original photographs facedown on the glass, then pressed the button to make copies of the pictures. Faith Ann couldn't see any of the images, which was infuriating. No dead judge and his wife, no rich killer named Jerry doing something truly horrible to anybody. Of course Faith Ann didn't want to see anything like that, but as a lawyer in training, she needed to study all of the legal evidence she could.
Kimberly gathered the photocopies from the bin. At the table, she slid the copies into an envelope, added a glassine sleeve containing dark strips of negatives, and sealed it by licking the glue strip and pressing it closed. Faith Ann's heart sank. Kimberly put the curved original photographs back in their envelope. She swung away the corkboard adorned with pictures of her clients to expose a wall safe that some doctor had used once upon a time to store his drugs. Kimberly opened the safe and took out a stack of bills, which she put in her pocket.
“I want your word of honor that you will not attempt to open that envelope,” she scolded. “I want your absolute word of honor.”
“I give you my mile-high word of honor,” Faith Ann said, knowing that the envelope was sealed, which placed snooping inside it outside her tampering abilities. She made the appropriate X motion with her trigger finger. “I cross my heart and hope to die and stick a needle in my eye. I will never look at those pictures unless you tell me to.”
“There are times to be curious and times, like now, to refrain from snooping. Tell you what. I'll fill you in on all of this after Horace Pond is free. Word of honor. And, Faith Ann, I am so very proud of your intelligence and…”
The two distinctive voices originating from the office changed Kimberly's expression to a look of terror. The voices weren't coming under the door into Kimberly's office, so they had to be carrying down the hallway, meaning that Kimberly's office door was open like the conference room door.
“Hide!” Kimberly whispered, pushing her down under the table.
Faith Ann obeyed instantly, climbing up into the hard seats of the chairs parked under it. This was a place she had hidden before to annoy her mother-make her think she wasn't in the office. Faith Ann knew that as long as she was quiet, and nobody pulled the chairs out or got down on all fours, it was the safest place available. She got in there just in time. Her mother had just shoved her backpack under the table, when a man jerked the adjoining door wide open. From her hiding spot, Faith Ann saw him from the waist down. Beyond him Amber sat in the chair in front of the desk, her face ashen with blind terror.
“Who are you?” Kimberly demanded. “How dare you come in here like this? Put that gun away before there's an accident.”
Gun? Faith Ann thought. Why does he have a gun?
“Get in here,” he ordered, like he hadn't heard her. “Amber has been a very, very bad girl,” he chided. “Jerry would like to have back the private property she stole from him.” His calm voice had a Spanish accent. He didn't sound at all like somebody who would break into the place and be holding a gun.
“It's in her hand,” Amber told him, pointing at the manila envelope containing the real pictures.
Kimberly held it out to him. “Take it and get out.” She didn't sound afraid at all to Faith Ann.
“Is anybody else here?” he asked, taking the envelope from her.
“No,” Kimberly said. “But my paralegal volunteers will be here any minute. I suggest you take that and go. Up to this moment you haven't committed any crimes we can't forget about.”
“Amber, you show this to anybody else? Make copies?”
“No! No, I haven't,” Amber stammered. “Please?”
“There a back door?”
“No,” Kimberly told him truthfully.
Amber blurted, “She can't say anything on account of attorney-client privilege. You've got the pictures. It's over.”
“Lawyer lady, did you make any copies?”
“I intended to, but I didn't have time,” Kimberly told him, her voice full of false regret.
Faith Ann, terrified he would see them on the table, reached up, felt for the envelope, and pulled it to her.
“He threw me out,” Amber whined. “I only wanted him to take me back. Just tell him I'm-”
Amber's words ended with a dull pop followed by her chair turning over. Kimberly screamed out. Faith Ann pressed her hand over her own mouth so she wouldn't. Faith Ann saw her mother dart around the desk and grab the phone, but the man moved and blocked her view of what happened next. Faith Ann heard two of the pops and the sound of two things hitting the wooden floor-her mother and the telephone. When the man bent down to pick up the three empty casings, Faith Ann stared at his profile. All he had to do was turn his head and he'd be looking straight at her-no more than fifteen feet away. The manila envelope seemed to be glowing, surely he would see it!
Frozen in place, Faith Ann fought back the terror that had seized her, trying to remember what her mother had drilled into her. In an emergency, stay calm. Never panic. Fear freezes you and it can kill you, Faith Ann. Always follow your instincts.
After snagging the shells, the man straightened. He went around the desk, aimed the gun down, and to Faith Ann's horror fired one more time. As he bent down to collect the final casing, she glimpsed the manila envelope curled up in his coat pocket. He came into the conference room and stopped at the edge of the table-opening and slamming the top of the copy machine. Faith Ann focused on the hem of his long coat, on his gray pants with sharp creases and cuffs and his shiny two-tone shoes. He went through the things on the table above her; scattered papers fluttered to the floor.
Faith Ann pushed away the thought of what his gun might have done.
You can't find me.
I'm not here.
Go away.
Don't look for me.
I'm invisible.
As if commanded by her thoughts, the man left the room.
She listened to his footsteps as he checked the other rooms down the hall. After he looked in both the vacant office and the kitchen, he hurried back up the hall and left through the front door.
Faith Ann lay there trembling in silence for a very long while, afraid his closing the door was a trick designed to flush her out. Then she slipped down onto the floor and came out from under the table on all fours. “Mama?” she said, testing the sound of her voice.
The only sound inside the office was the steady beeping of the telephone, off its hook behind the desk. The smell of cordite, which reminded her of shooting cans with Uncle Hank, mixed with Amber's gardenia perfume.
Faith Ann could hardly see through her tears. She had never seen a real dead person before, and it was terrifying. Amber was sprawled out on the threadbare Oriental carpet where the chair had dumped her. Her face was bloody, but Faith Ann didn't focus on that-didn't want to look at the person who had brought this horror to the Porters.
Slowly Faith Ann rounded the desk and stared down at the ruined woman she loved more than anyone on earth. The terrible reality of it slammed into her, giving her the sensation of being hollowed out and filled with superheated air. Scared she would faint, Faith Ann inhaled sharply, fighting to remain conscious.
Cold-blooded murder. This is how it comes-all of a sudden, out of the blue. Nobody warns you. A door opens and there it is. Mama, this is exactly what your death row men did-those friendly-looking men on the corkboard who can smile at your camera like saints, even though one day they did something just like this to people just like you. Faith Ann knew she shouldn't be hysterical.
The large red stain on her mother's white blouse was so bright and wet it seemed to glitter. The pearl, run through with a thin gold chain-a Mother's Day gift from Faith Ann-rested in the hollow of Kimberly's throat.
Faith Ann dropped to her knees, placed her hands on her mother's chest, and pressed down hard. Air hissed, and bubbles rose from her chest. Her face was so pale…
