Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
“No.” I’m down to four minutes. “Back to Jameson Tate…His son was so affected by the case that he became a lawyer and filed appeals. He doesn’t just believe his father didn’t do it—he knows he didn’t.”
“Miss Rachel, in my wildest dreams, I would’ve never guessed that the son of this convicted murderer would become one of the worst defense attorneys I’ve ever seen.”
“You mean the best?” I ask. “He’s never lost a single case.”
“That doesn’t make someone the best.”
“How? You’d lost over fifty cases before you got into writing books.”
“I said what I said.” The jovial tone in his voice disappears. “Are you a friend of Mr. Tate’s?”
“No, I barely know him.” The words hurt to say. “I’m just wondering if you missed something at the crime scene. If maybe there was something more to this case and you brushed it away because you didn’t want to do any extra work.”
“Any extra work for a murderer?” He signs a mug and slides it toward me. “Okay, Rachel. I think I’ll have to give you a rain check on your friend’s pass, okay?”
I nod, expecting that.
“For the record, I can assure you that I gave my all to Mr. Tate’s case, and there was nothing I missed at the crime scene—no panties or pajamas in a drawer—nothing. Clear?”
“Crystal. Thank you for your time, Mr. Hansel.” I extend my hand as he stands.
“I’m looking forward to hearing more questions at the evening session,” he says. “You asked some pretty good ones in here.”
“One last thing, sir,” I say as I collect the unwanted swag.
“Yes?”
“I never mentioned anything about panties or pajamas in a drawer.” I look him directly in the eyes. “How did you know anything about that?”
“I didn’t say anything about a drawer.”
“You did…” I narrow my eyes at him. “I heard you.”
His fake smile fades, and his jaw clenches.
“What did you mean by that?” I ask again. “A drawer of panties and pajamas at the crime scene, perhaps?”
“No.” He steps closer to me, his eyes narrowing. “This case is closed, Rachel. Mr. Tate did it, and I did the best I could.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
I leave his session without another word, my heart aching for Jameson.
CONVICTION (N.):
THE RESULT OF A CRIMINAL TRIAL IN WHICH THE DEFENDANT HAS BEEN FOUND GUILTY OF A CRIME.
JAMESON
Two Weeks Later
Ipark my car outside Pennsylvania State Corrections and remove my watch and cufflinks.
Tucking them inside my cupholder, I stare at the massive concrete building and hope this is one of the last times I ever have to come here.
I start to power off my phone, but a call from an unknown number flashes across my screen.
“Jameson Tate speaking,” I say. “Who is this?”
“This is Ryan Hunter, sir,” a familiar voice says. “Um, I was wondering if you could meet with my new legal team sometime soon? My father said he would be sharing a joint plan with them, but they haven’t received it yet.”
There’s nothing for them to receive.
“I think you should talk to your father about that.”
“He told me he was staying in one of your condos,” he says. “Something about that being part of his arraignment deal?”
Your father is a fucking liar.
“I’ll call you back this evening, Ryan,” I say. “I’m about to go into a meeting.”
“Do you promise, Mr. Tate?”
“Yes,” I say, meaning it. “I promise.”
I end the call and step out of the car.
I stroll into the security check-in zone I know all too well and sign my name on the approved visitor’s list. Then I place my briefcase on the metal detector belt and wait for a guard to wave me through.
I stand still as two others take turns waving security wands over me before I’m escorted down a familiar concrete corridor to the room where my father is waiting.
“Jameson!” He stands up from the metal table, his arms outstretched. “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming.”
“Have I ever not come?” I pull him into a tight hug.
“You never know these days.” He slowly lets go, motioning for me to sit down first—as usual. “My cellmate’s son just stopped writing all of a sudden. No notice, no warning, just nothing out of the blue.”
“I can look into why, if you want.”
“I think you’ve done enough for him.” He smiles. “Only if you get bored, though.”
“Noted.”
“You still working on Kingpin Hunter’s case?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about my other cases. You know that.”
“Everyone else here is talking about it.” He looks amused. “He’s pissed a lot of people off in here, and I can’t risk telling any of them that my son is the dumbass lawyer defending him.”
“You’re calling me a dumbass?”
“I’m just glad they haven’t put two and two together yet since I don’t go by my real name in here anymore.” He lowers his voice, as if the walls themselves might be listening.