I didn’t like the way this was going. I said, “Oh. Uh, you’re saying you hit him first?”
“Yeah. First, and second, and a couple more times after that.” He looked proud.
This was not what Mazie had said. I wondered if he’d told her that Karl had struck the first blow or if she’d embroidered that detail herself.
To avoid leading him, I asked, “Okay, so then what happened?”
“He hit me back. We fought until Mom came out, and then he ran off.”
“And then what’d you do?”
“I don’t know. Listened to music, probably.” He shrugged like the rest of that evening had totally slipped his mind.
“Okay. Uh, am I correct in thinking you went out again?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Not right away. A little later. I went… Look, is this confidential?”
“Absolutely.”
“I went looking for him. I was going to have a come-to-Jesus with him, to warn him off. I went to the marina, but his boat was gone.”
“About what time was that, would you say?”
“I don’t know. Ten? I just kept walking after that. Down to the beach, because it’s relaxing, you know, the waves. And I slept on the beach. End of story.”
“Okay,” I said. “Well…” My crisis voice was back, slow and soothing. I doubted he’d slept on the beach. This time of year it was full of partying tourists and regularly patrolled by the boys in blue, so it didn’t seem likely. I shifted in my chair and leaned toward him, my forearms on the table. “Jackson, I want you to know you can tell me anything. I’m duty bound to keep your secrets. And the more you tell me, the better chance I have of helping straighten this out.”
He looked at his hands, shaking his head. “I didn’t kill him,” he said. “When can I go home?”
Judges didn’t normally grant bail to murder suspects. That had always made sense to me. But telling him was not easy.
He didn’t take it well. He swore, stood up, and tossed his chair over.
I didn’t blame him. I still hadn’t seen any evidence that he’d killed Karl, and to my mind, even if he had, it could well be manslaughter on account of the provocation. Maybe even involuntary manslaughter, depending on what went down. But the cops were calling it murder.
“After the bond hearing,” I said, “you do get another shot. Your lawyer can request a probable cause hearing, which would be ten days later. Then they get to cross-examine the lead detective, and if the judge thinks they don’t have probable cause for a murder charge, it’ll get knocked down to some lesser charge that the judge could grant bail on.”
“What’s the point? My mom can’t bail me out anyway.”
“Well, I’d still like to see the charge reduced.”
“Yeah? And I’d like a blow job and a trip to Disneyland, but I ain’t getting those anytime soon either.” He turned his back and crossed his arms. To the wall he said, “Even when he’s dead, my dad can’t stop ruining my life.”
I decided right then to step up where Karl had not. Somebody had to fight for this kid, not just at a bail hearing but all the way through trial. And an appeal, if that’s what it took.
I made a mental note to find out when they were taking him to court tomorrow and be there to offer my services.
Stepping up might cost me what little I had left, but I knew Noah would forgive me for that far sooner than he’d forgive me for leaving his friend at the mercy of the criminal injustice system.
I told Jackson that, and we shook on it.
When I left and got my phone back from the cops, I saw texts from Noah and Mazie looking for updates, and one from her saying she was driving Squatter back to my place. I answered, suggesting I bring pizza we could share while I told them the plan.
By the time Mazie left that night, I was exhausted but too revved up about Jackson’s case to sleep. Insomnia won. I flipped on the TV. The local news mentioned Jackson’s arrest and then moved on to the arson from a couple of weeks earlier: the ice cream shop on the beach had burned, and now a friend of the owners had started a GoFundMe for repairs. I stared at the ceiling wondering if maybe I should start a GoFundMe: Help impoverished local lawyer defend an unpopular murder suspect! The whole situation was so appalling that I started laughing.
The news moved on to the opioid crisis—someone in town had overdosed, the second in as many weeks—and finished on an upbeat note, with Henry Carrell in full campaign mode: holding a baby, attending church, striding across a construction site in pinstripes and a yellow hard hat. He’d always known how to win folks over. Even back in high school, he’d been class president. I fell asleep thinking I should’ve watched him and taken notes.
9
Friday, June 28, Afternoon
The beach was crowded, like it always was this time of year, but even so it was hard to beat the salt tang in the air and the long view. Mazie’s lunch shift was over, and she was on her way. I’d suggested a beach walk, thinking it might help clear her head. Jackson was still in jail, and whichever side you were on, it was always hard getting families to understand that criminal proceedings are marathons, not sprints.
I saw her parking and went around back of some tourists’ volleyball game to go meet her. I was still six or eight yards away when she slammed her door and yelled, “You found out yet when I can visit?”
“Hang on just a second,” I said. When I got up close, I reminded her that we needed to talk a little quieter. “We got to pull ourselves together,” I said. “For his sake.”
In
