Zimmerman.'
'Jesse Taylor ain't no innocent, but you're right about that last part.
As sorry as I feel for myself, I can't help thinking that them other
girls would be alive if I hadn'ta done all this.'
I thought about letting her in on the truth about the Long Hauler, but
the fact of the matter was, her actions had cleared the way for the
Derringers to hurt Kendra and countless other girls. The rest of the
story was minutiae.
'The pardon will make it clear that you're innocent, Margaret. When
you get out tomorrow, you'll not only be free, you'll have your good
name back. It must have been awful for you these past years, having
people think you did something so horrible, knowing you were
innocent.'
Her eyes started to well up again.
'And when you get out tomorrow, everyone's going to hear that you were
telling the truth at your trial. They'll know that that detective,
Chuck Forbes, helped you come up with corroboration to set up Jesse.'
Mid-sob, she went silent, and I heard her breath catch in her throat.
It was time to ask the question that had brought me here.
'You knew her, didn't you, Margaret? You knew Jamie Zimmerman. That's
how you knew what kind of earrings to buy, how you knew her mother's
phone number?'
I'd seen the look on her face countless times. It's the look witnesses
get when they want to talk but they're scared, even though they know
you already know what they have to say.
'After what you've been through, no one's going to prosecute you for
trying to help yourself out a little on the stand. The only thing that
changes here is what people are going to make of Chuck Forbes, whether
they're going to assume he did something that maybe he didn't do. The
choice is yours, Margaret. You're getting out tomorrow either way.'
She was tough, but one more push should do it.
'How'd you know her?'
'She'd come into Harry's Place sometimes when she was trying to go
straight.' She started to explain that Harry's was the teen homeless
shelter, but I let her know with a nod that I was familiar with it.
'I went to Harry's for a while when I was volunteering for Art
Therapy,' she said. 'They sent us out to different nursing homes and
shelters to paint ceramics, arts and crafts, that kind of thing. Jamie
was such a sweet girl. She stopped coming in for such a long time, and
then I saw her in the paper. They found her body and they were looking
for information. I started wondering who could do something like that
to her. Then I started thinking that I lived with someone who could do
that. A few days went by, and they still hadn't found her. I thought
I could mess Jesse up with his parole officer, but then it just
snowballed. I thought it would look even worse if they knew I knew
Jamie, so I said I got it from that young cop. I'm so sorry. I'm just
so sorry.'
I left her there crying. I needed the emotional energy for myself.
When I got to my car, I found a message from Ray Johnson on my cell
phone. He had run all the names of Frank and Derrick's known
associates. Turned out that one of Derrick's old bunkmates was on
probation for driving a brown Toyota Tercel with a suspended license.
He spilled his guts the minute he heard Derrick and Frank were dead. He
owed Derrick money and was repaying the debt by following me around and
reporting back to Derrick. Derrick used the information about my
whereabouts to break into my house, crank-call me, and feed the
Oregonian anonymous tips about my sex life. Funniest thing was, a
search of the guy's belongings turned up a dollar bill with his license
plate number scrawled on it. He must've followed me on one of my many
food stops.
I thought the guy deserved a life sentence for helping the Derringers
scare the shit out of me and publicly exposing my sex life, but in the
end I wasn't sure he'd done anything illegal. Maybe I'd think about it
later when my brain started to work again.
For now, all I wanted was to go home and go to sleep. But I had one
more thing to do. I sat in my car in the prison parking lot, staring
at my cell phone, before mustering the courage to dial.
The sound of his recorded voice was anticlimactic. I did my best at
the beep, but I knew it was going to take more than a phone call.
When I pulled into the driveway, he was waiting on the front porch. I
had a lot to make up to him, if he'd give me the chance. It would
start with a kiss on the forehead and, I hoped, a very long nap.
Acknowledgments
Judgment Calls is the product of the tremendous support I've been
fortunate enough to enjoy throughout my legal career and during my work
on this first novel.
I am especially grateful to my colleagues at Hofstra Law School;
