31
At the end of the day, Jack said good-bye to his client in the courtroom, handed her over to the federal marshals, and told her to keep her chin up on her journey back to prison.
That was the reality of a capital trial with no bail.
Jack knew that the routine had to be demoralizing for Lindsey. She’d trade her business suit for prison garb, her wristwatch for handcuffs. Instead of crawling into bed and giving her son a kiss, the best that she could hope for was that she would indeed sleep alone. She would lie awake and brainstorm about the next trial day, or play Monday morning quarterback as to each of the day’s witnesses. Jailhouse snitches would try to befriend her, try to get her to talk about her case, all in hopes of unearthing some little gem that would curry favor with the prosecutor and earn them an early get-out-of-jail-free card. She’d keep to herself and search constantly for mindless forms of mental stimulation, anything to keep her from wondering if she’d rather die than spend the rest of her life in prison, wondering if death by lethal injection was truly painless. Her thoughts would be her only privacy, no one to share them with, not even her lawyers.
That left Jack and Sofia to handle the late-night planning sessions.
“How do you think it played today?” asked Jack. He was seated at his dining room table across from Sofia. Night after night in a law office could get old in a hurry, so he and Sofia agreed that the evening debriefings would alternate between his house and hers.
“You lost jurors number three and six, for sure. Probably number two as well. But we knew that before you even opened your mouth. Any one of them would make a strong good candidate for president of the Alejandro Pintado fan club.”
Jack drew a breath, let it out. “I feel like I’m alienating the entire Cuban American population.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? After all you just went through, learning about your mother and your half-Cuban roots.”
“When this case is over, I guess we’ll probably both be moving to Iowa.”
“Or I could finally make my mother happy. Get married, change my name, melt into suburbia.”
“You’re talking marriage now, huh? That must have been some date you had the other night.”
“I was speaking theoretically.”
“So, he was a dud?
“I didn’t say he was a dud.”
“He was definitely a dud. I can tell.”
“And what makes you so smart?”
“I’m a trial lawyer. I have good instincts.”
“Okay,” she said with a smile. “So, not counting that charred Mustang sitting in front of your house, how many times have these awesome instincts gotten you totally burned?”
“Ooh. That was way harsh, Sofia. But…I was right, wasn’t I? He’s a dud?”
“Okay, you were right. But who are you to talk? Your friend Theo told me about that long-distance girlfriend of yours in Africa. What’s her name-Ramapithecus or something?”
“Rene.”
“Yes, Rene. The one who pops in for a visit every two or three months.”
“She’s a pediatrician. She does charity work over there. She comes back to Miami when she can.”
“That’s not exactly what Theo tells me. He says she flies in, breaks your bed, flies out.”
“Theo told you that?”
“Yes. With a considerable amount of envy in his tone, I might add. But to the rest of the world, she doesn’t sound like much of a girlfriend.”
Jack wasn’t sure how to come back. She was right. Rene wasn’t much of a girlfriend. “At least she doesn’t drive an El Camino. I mean, really: Who thinks that is a classic?”
She was half smiling, half aghast. “How did you know my date drives-”
A loud noise from outside the house gave them both a start. It sounded like someone banging pots and pans in Jack’s driveway.
“What’s going on out there?” asked Sofia.
“Theo. Ever since the police released the crime scene, he’s been tinkering around.”
“He doesn’t actually think he can fix it, does he? The thing went up in flames.”
“I don’t know what he’s doing. Sometimes with Theo you’re better off if you just don’t ask.”
Jack cleared away the dinner remnants of prepackaged salads and pizza. They retired to the living room, where Sofia could review her trial notes and give Jack some feedback. Pintado’s testimony had taken the entire morning, and the medical examiner had filled the afternoon. The prosecutor had done a decent job of getting the examiner to put the time of death within a range that was before Lindsey left for work. Jack had done his best to get him to concede that it was an estimate, that there was wiggle room.
The banging in the driveway continued, even louder than before. Jack looked up from his notes, annoyed. “What the hell is he doing out there? Building a cruise ship?”
“He’s your friend. You tell me.”
“Let me take care of this.” Jack popped up from the couch and headed out the front door. The blackened shell of his Mustang was at the end of the driveway, right where it had gone up in flames. It was no longer a crime scene, but Theo had refused to let Jack have it towed away. He was dressed in dirty coveralls, crescent wrench in hand. Somehow, he’d actually managed to pry open the hood.
“Theo!” Jack shouted over all the racket. “We’re trying to get some work done.”
He stopped banging, stepped back from the car, and wiped the sweat from his brow. “So am I, man. Look what they did to my car.”
“Hate to break this to you, but it’s not your car.”
Theo’s mouth fell open, as if he were about to utter “Et tu, Brutus?” “Not mine? I washed this baby with my own hands. When it purred, I smiled. When it whined, I fixed it. What did you ever do? Put gas in it and pay the insurance? You wouldn’t even buy it a garage. A fucking porta cochere is all you gave it. I think that’s French for ‘park your shitty Chevy Vega right here.’ ”
“You think I didn’t love that car? I was the one who-”
“Boys!” said Sofia.
Jack and Theo turned to see her standing on the other side of the Mustang’s charred remains. She walked around it, dragging her index finger across the soot-covered metal as she spoke. “Are you two grown men actually having an argument over who loved a car more? Hello-oo-o. It’s a car, guys. In the big scheme of things, how important is that?”
Silence fell over them. Finally, Theo looked at Jack, his expression deadpan. “Is she high?”
“She must be.”
Sofia rolled her eyes and went back in the house.
They shared a little laugh, then Jack turned serious. “I mean it, Theo. It sounds like the musical cast from Stomp is out here. Can’t you do whatever it is you’re doing another time?”
“Do you want to find out who torched your Mustang or don’t you?”
“Yeah, I do. That’s what the police are for.”
“The police. Puh-lease. Just tell the cops to stand back and let me do my job.”
“You think you’re going to figure out who torched my car, do you?”
“Yup. Just follow the parts.”
“What are you talking about?”
Theo slid the wrench into his pocket and leaned against the car, his arms folded. “Here’s the deal. For the past three days, I been askin’ myself: How does a guy walk up to an amazing car like this and just burn it? It’s such a waste.”
“Some people love to watch things go up in flames.”
“True. But more people love to make a quick buck.”
“Meaning what?”
“The parts, Jacko. That’s why I been banging away here. It’s burned pretty bad, but I can tell you right now:
