States of Grace by Mandy Miller (top 100 books of all time checklist .TXT) 📕

her thighs, screaming, “No, that’s not true! It’s all lies!”

Garrison levels his gavel at Zoe. “Ms. Slim, restrain yourself. You would be well advised to say nothing at this point.”

“But I want to tell you—”

Out of options, I resort to shouting over her words to avoid whatever she’s saying from being captured on the record by the court reporter. “Zoe, please don’t say anything. Please, do not say another word,” I repeat again and again until she wilts like a dying plant, doubled over on herself, rocking back and forth in her seat, hands gripping her head as if it’s about to explode.

“Proceed, Detective,” Garrison says.

Reilly leans into the microphone. “As I said, we found the murder weapon in Ms. Slim’s locker.”

“Did Ms. Slim make any statements to you or Detective Sorenson about Mr. Sinclair’s murder?”

I throw my hands in the air. “Objection, Your Honor. Objection. This may not be a trial, but my client does still have a few constitutional rights.”

Garrison smirks. Perhaps he’s amused by my voicing the argument I used to dismiss as the last-ditch protestation of the guilty—the Constitution. Valid objection or not, I have to stop this runaway train. And there’s no doubt in my mind Reilly would lie about what Zoe did or didn’t say. She told me she said nothing, but who knows?

Garrison points at me. “Grounds?”

I freeze, my mind running down the list of possible grounds for my objection. Relevance? Leading? Assumes facts not in evidence?

“Statement against penal interest,” I say, conscious that it sounds a little too reminiscent of the graphic groin photograph.

McNeil’s eyes bulge like a frog’s. “No way! A statement against penal interest—”

“Mr. McNeil, please restrain yourself and allow the Court to rule on Ms. Locke’s objection.” Garrison sniffs. “And rest assured, I am well aware what a statement against penal interest is. I won’t be needing your help on that one. I too, went to law school.”

McNeil’s shoulders sag. My objection may be a Hail Mary, but it is amusing to see McNeil shoved off his self-righteous perch.

“Objection overruled. Ms. Locke, I think you know better than that.”

I look away, chastened by Garrison’s statement of the obvious and praying that Zoe told me the truth about not saying a word.

“Answer the State’s question, Detective. Did Ms. Slim make any statements to the police?” Garrison says.

My unblinking stare at Reilly screams, Go on, I dare you.

“Detective, did she?”

Reilly’s mustache twitches. “No, she did not. She was quite uncooperative.”

I exhale.

“I have no more questions for Detective Reilly.”

“Ms. Locke, do you have any questions for Detective Reilly?” Garrison asks, his tone more solicitous than before, which I take as evidence of his pity for my loser of a case.

Zoe is sniffling behind me.

“Please answer the question, Ms. Locke. Would you like to cross examine Detective Reilly?”

Reilly’s eyes narrow into dark slashes. We both know that any misstep I make will send Zoe back to jail to wait and wait, until either justice is done, or…or what?

McNeil expels an exaggerated sigh, as if I’m taking up his precious time. I know the sound, having made it myself when I was holding all aces. Prosecution poker. The defense has zilch. No need to show your hand early.

But I’m not about to take the bait, as satisfying as it might be to rake Reilly over the coals. “No, Your Honor, I don’t. Defense rests.”

Before Garrison has a chance to say another word, McNeil pulls what I recognize as an NCIC from his inside jacket pocket. “If I may. One last thing before you rule, Judge,” he says, waving the background check from the National Crime Information Center, a resource available only to criminal justice agencies.

I wait for the bomb to detonate.

“It appears that my esteemed colleague has been misled. The Court should be aware that Ms. Locke’s client, the defendant, does have a criminal history. She was arrested and charged with grand theft last year. Right here in Broward County. I’d say she’s proven that she poses a public safety risk.”

I snatch the report from his hand.

“Manners, Ms. Locke, manners. This is not a playground,” Garrison says, wagging a finger at me.

McNeil clasps his hands behind his back and rocks back on his heels.

I scan the NCIC.

Grand theft. And two juvenile misdemeanor arrests for possession of marijuana. At least McNeil let those slide.

“Ms. Locke, do you have anything else to add?” Garrison says.

Before I can reconstitute my thoughts, pull whatever last ditch argument I can out of thin air, Garrison rules. “Bail is set in the amount of one million dollars. Cash or bond.”

“But Judge, she’s only—” I say too close to the microphone, causing a screeching sound.

Garrison puts his hands over his ears. “Please step away from the microphone, Ms. Locke.”

“But Judge,” McNeil says, “she killed the victim in cold blood.”

“Perfect,” Garrison says, waggling his fingers in the air like a magician. “Since you are both outraged, I must be doing something right. And yes, Ms. Locke, I am aware of Ms. Slim’s youth, which is why I’m giving her this opportunity to go home until her trial. And, Mr. McNeil, my advice to you is to make better use of the word ‘accused’ when referring to a defendant charged, but not convicted, of a crime.”

I follow Garrison’s gaze to the back of the courtroom, to Gretchen. A tripod-mounted TV camera buzzes to life to capture Gretchen dabbing at her eyes with a pink handkerchief.

“Thank you for paying us a visit, Mrs. Slim. We infrequently get such infamous visitors at these get-togethers,” Garrison says, before slipping out.

“I’ll come to see you at home when you get out,” I whisper in Zoe’s ear, as she is shuffled out of the courtroom in a conga line of shackled inmates, behind a haggard peroxide blonde with a missing front tooth, whose case was decided before Zoe’s. No bail for the blonde.

***

I drag Gretchen by the handle of her Louis Vuitton purse, away from the swarm of reporters and into the women’s bathroom.

I check the stalls to