“Right, of course. How was it?”
“Fine, everything went fine. The trial date is March 19.” “The government asked for the extra time to get the witnesses from overseas.”
“Who’s the judge?” Abby asks.
“He’s one of the new Bush II appointees. Got a funny name.” Will grins. “Dars Ducey.”
The ensuing silence feels explosive. He looks at Paul, then at Abby, but they are locked on each other again. It’s like Will has disappeared from the room, at which point the realization dawns. Newly appointed. Funny name. Dars Ducey had been the prosecutor in Rayshon Marbury’s case.
“He’ll recuse himself,” Abby says to Paul. “He has to.”
Paul negates this assertion with one firm shake of the head. “Dars is a federal judge now. He can do any damn thing he wants.”
2005
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
9:51 p.m.
Willowick, Ohio
From: [email protected]
Travis,
I never thought it would be like this with us again.
i’m on the verge just thinkin about it, you on me, you in me, over and over. i know its messed up with you being back home only cuz your dad died, but no one knows you and your fam better than me. i’m thinking its god’s will bringing us back together.
yeah, so u made a dumb ass mistake & got married. yeah, im w/ Lance but not for realz. not like us. im gonna end it. i know its me you love not her, its just a matter of you figuring that out.
sent some sexy pix.
J
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
3:54 a.m.
Ramstein Air Base
Ramstein-Miesenbach, Germany
From: [email protected]
Jaxx-eeee!!!
i needed u and u were there 4 me. ur the best thing that could’ve come out of all this. My dad gone just like that. still grieving, not believing, can’t sleep thinking about it all. Being with u. nothing here for me except same shit patrols day after day waiting to get sent back to hell. i am goin to figure my way out of this.
pix is amazin. keep sending.
T
Saturday, December 24, 2005,
6:45 a.m.
Willowick, Ohio
From: [email protected]
merry xmas, t. Got a special present 4u. i missed last month and missed again this month so last week i took the pee stick test and guess what???!!! i’m thinking it’s a boy he’ll look just like u.
luv you like krazzzeee
jax
Sunday, December 25, 2005,
10:29 p.m.
Willowick, Ohio
From: [email protected]
t—wassup? waiting for you to answer me needing to hear from you.
2007
Friday, January 5, 2007
2:30 p.m.
Office of Jorge Estrada
Riverside, California
Jorge Estrada’s law office is in a strip mall so nondescript that Will had passed it on the first two tries. Not much to look at from the inside, either, just a small entry area with an empty receptionist’s desk and this larger backroom office. Estrada’s practice was, according to his website, “generalist” in nature. I take all comers and handle all matters: personal injury, medical malpractice, DUIs, criminal cases, family law, wills, trusts, and estate planning.
“Mr. Estrada?”
The older man stands up from behind his desk, which is piled high with paper. A nice-looking guy, probably closing in on sixty, but still hustling. No personal touches in the room except a picture on the credenza behind him of a teenage girl with long dark hair and a wide smile, set against one of those blue-sky photo-studio backgrounds that suggests an occasion—high school graduation, probably. She must be his daughter. No wedding ring, though.
“You found me.” He extends a hand.
“Will Ellet.”
They shake, and Estrada gestures at the single chair opposite him. “Sit down.”
Will obliges, trying at the same time to make out the name of the law school featured on the framed diploma on the wall. There was something called the California Western School of Law? He makes a mental note to check to see if it’s even accredited. “Thank you, sir, for making the time.”
Estrada smiles. He’s got a decent crop of silvery hair and eyebrows to match. “Military guy, are you? Or just brought up real polite?”
“Both, sir.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Will. And I appreciate your coming out all this way.”
“Not a problem.” It had, in fact, been something of a journey even by LA standards. The freeway had been backed up to West Covina, an accident involving an 18-wheeler. The hour-plus-change drive to Riverside had stretched to two, then two and a half. The air-conditioning in Will’s Hyundai had broken down yet again, the internal temperature reading in the car exceeded 100 degrees at various points. Will’s shirt is lacquered to his back, a fact he hopes to mask by not removing his jacket. He leans forward, hands on his knees, trying and failing to break the seal of sweat.
“So what can I do for you?”
“Well, sir, as I explained on the phone, I represent Mrs. Rivera Hollis.”
Estrada nods.
“It’s quite a serious matter. First-degree murder, like I said.”
“Yes,” Estrada agreed, “you did say. And I’ve read about it in the papers. Getting a lot of coverage, especially in the local news being that she’s from out here and all.”
“Right. Well, I—It’s my understanding that in the months leading up to her husband’s death, she consulted with you about—” Will stopped. He did not know what Luz had consulted Estrada about. All he had was a copy of Estrada’s bill, with the government’s blue pagination numbers stamped in the lower right-hand corner. It had been seized, along with many other documents, during the search of the Hollis residence in Germany. The bill had ten entries dating from early December 2005 to the final call late in the evening on October 10, 2006, less than four days before Travis died. All of the billing entries were identical. A long distance phone number accompanied by the words Tel. conv. w/ client. The last call was ninety-seven minutes.
Estrada sits still, waiting, so Will plows ahead. “About a legal matter,” he finishes lamely. “So, of course, I’m hoping to discuss that matter with you and get the file today, if possible.”
Estrada rocks back slightly in his chair. “I
