By Way of Sorrow E-Book

Robyn Gigl

• Herausgeber: Verve Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Erin McCabe is a New Jersey criminal defense attorney doing her best to live a quiet life in the wake of a profound personal change - until a newsworthy case puts both her career and her safety in jeopardy...

Erin McCabe has been referred the biggest case of her career. Four months ago, the son of a New Jersey state senator was found fatally stabbed in a rundown motel near Atlantic City. Sharise Barnes, a nineteen-year-old transgender sex worker, is in custody, and there seems little doubt of a guilty verdict. Because Sharise admits she killed the senator's son - in self-defense.

As a trans woman herself, Erin knows that defending Sharise will blow her own private life wide open and doubtless deepen her estrangement from her family. Yet she feels uniquely qualified to help Sharise and duty-bound to protect her from the possibility of a death sentence.

While Erin works with her law partner, former FBI agent Duane Swisher, to build a case, the distraught senator begins using the full force of his influence to publicly discredit everyone involved in defending Sharise. And behind the scenes, his tactics are even more dangerous. For his son had secrets that could destroy his own political aspirations - secrets worth killing for...

'An emotionally resonant debut... Welcome - and quietly ground-breaking' - New York Times Book Review

'Does a remarkably effective job of mixing an exciting legal thriller with the personal story of its protagonist... But the message doesn't overwhelm the medium. Readers will find that By Way of Sorrow is a compulsively riveting page-turner with a complex heroine, a captivating plot, and no easy answers. It's one of the best thrillers of the year' - Mystery Scene

Leseprobe

Praise for By Way of Sorrow

‘Emotionally resonant… Gigl is too astute and compassionate a writer to create cartoon villainy out of anti-trans attitudes… quietly groundbreaking’ – New York Times Book Review

‘An intelligent and resourceful protagonist with an unusual backstory… Erin’s ability to navigate the intricacies of the law is just as fascinating as the subsequent perils she encounters. Gigl, an attorney, offers some enlightening insights into the workings of the legal world’ – Publishers Weekly

‘Does a remarkably effective job of mixing an exciting legal thriller with the personal story of its protagonist… But the message doesn’t overwhelm the medium. Readers will find that By Way of Sorrow is a compulsively riveting page-turner with a complex heroine, a captivating plot, and no easy answers. It’s one of the best thrillers of the year’ – Mystery Scene

‘Gigl, a transgender lawyer herself, provides provocative insights into the legal system and the challenges of gender identity’ – Booklist

‘Gigl’s accomplishment here is to parse the serious flaws with the legal system… by way of subtle characterization and seamless plotting. In less skillful hands, we might get melodrama or a polemic; here, we get engrossing originality’ – LAMBDA Literary

‘With tight, realistic plotting interweaving a murder mystery with insights into transgender issues, By Way of Sorrow is a promising series debut’ – Criminal Element

‘This enthralling series debut features a twisty plot full of surprises and a cast of exciting characters – most notably tough, relatable defense-attorney Erin McCabe – all while diving into the mud of corrupt local politics. An original legal thriller that is sure to be among the year’s best’ – Edwin Hill, author of The Missing Ones

‘Robyn Gigl has delivered a compelling, provocative legal thriller like no other… Topical and fast-paced, By Way of Sorrow grabs you on the very first page with a brutal murder, and then sends you on a twist-filled thrill-ride that doesn’t let up until the startling finale. Gigl introduces a new kind of heroine with attorney Erin McCabe – she’s brilliant, resourceful, a little vulnerable and completely unique. Bravo!’ – Kevin O’Brien, author of The Bad Sister

‘A taut, engaging, page-turner with a lot of heart… A good read. McCabe’s a protagonist with a lot of depth. Two thumbs up for Gigl’ – Tracy Clark, author of What You Don’t See

For Jan – Since our first dance all those years ago, your star has been fixed in my firmament. Thank you for sharing life’s adventures with me. With love.

For Tim, Colin, & Kate – Thank you for being who you are. You are the three greatest joys in my life.

PROLOGUE

April 17, 2006

His brown eyes were open, the shock of being stabbed still reflected in his dilated pupils. Sharise pushed his naked, lifeless body off of her, and he tumbled heavily from the bed to the floor, landing on his back.

Fuck, she thought, breathing heavily, I got to get out of here. No. Take your time, don’t panic. It’s two in the morning, no one will miss him for a while.

She leaned up on one arm so she could look over the side of the bed at his body, the blood pooling beneath him on the cheap mustard-colored motel carpet. Fucking bastard. You got what you deserved, you piece of shit. Turning away from him, she looked down at her own blood-soaked body, and the wave of nausea came without warning. She retched over the side of the bed, adding a final indignity to his corpse.

Shaking, she pushed herself to the far side of the bed and swung her feet to the floor, hoping she could stand, hoping the nausea would retreat. She steadied herself by bracing her hand against the wall, and slowly felt her way to the bathroom, where she found the light switch and the toilet just as she vomited again, grabbing her cornrows with her right hand to protect them from the insides of her stomach and the murky waters of the bowl. As she heaved and gagged, her mind drifted back to when she was little and her momma would sit next to her when she was sick, comforting her through the ordeal. God, she could use her momma now, but it had been four years and there was no going back now.

When there was nothing left to come up, Sharise lay on the cold tiled floor, her body trembling, not wanting to budge from where she was. Finally, the reality of what she had done began to settle in, and she knew she had to move.

She dragged herself into the shower, where she watched his blood swirl down the drain, and desperately tried to come up with a plan. Her fingerprints would be all over him and the room, not to mention they’d probably be able to get her DNA from the vomit, which she had no intention of cleaning up. She had been arrested enough to know that Homicide would find a match in the system before their coffee even cooled. So not only would she have to somehow disappear, but she would also have to avoid getting arrested for the rest of her life – not likely in her line of work, and especially since her mug shot would be plastered all over the place.

She found her dress in the far corner of the room and put it on sans underwear, which she’d left in the bathroom, soaked with his blood. She sat on the edge of the bed and zipped up her thigh-high faux suede boots. She looked in the mirror, dug her lipstick out of her purse, and reapplied it. The only other makeup she carried was mascara, but she decided to forego reapplying that for now.

Why the hell had this white boy picked her, anyway? She found his wallet still in his pants pocket. William E. Townsend Jr, age twenty-eight, according to his license. Great, she thought as she rifled through the wallet. One of those guys who carried no cash. Besides the fifty dollars he had already given her, he only had another thirty dollars in his wallet – not even enough to pay for what he had wanted. She grabbed the money and his Bank of America ATM card. Then she found his phone, flipped it open, and scrolled through his contacts. Stupid motherfucker. There, under the name ‘BOA,’ was his ATM PIN number. That should be good for three hundred, she figured.

Taking the keys to his BMW out of his front pants pocket, she looked at his phone again. Two forty-five. She wasn’t exactly sure where they were, but she knew it wasn’t too far from Atlantic City; maybe she could still grab a change of clothes and get to Philly before daylight. She could ditch the car there and hop a train to New York. It was a long shot, but she couldn’t think of any better options.

Studying the scene, she tried to figure out if she should take the knife with her or not. It’s not like it mattered if they found it. They sure as hell were going to be able to put her in the room if she ever got caught. Might as well take it, she reasoned, just in case.

She walked over to where he was lying. His face was already pale, the blood that had provided the color now in a puddle under him. His hands still clutched the knife protruding from his chest. She unclenched his hands to pull the blade out, then rinsed it off in the sink before stuffing it in her purse.

Time to go. She turned off all the lights and hung the do not disturb sign on the door. With a little luck, she’d be in New York before they found his body. Maybe if she was really lucky, it would never make it beyond the local news. She took a deep breath and headed out the door.

1

erin hadn’t been in this courtroom in over five years. A lot had changed since then. She smiled as she made her way down the aisle, thinking of all the time she had spent here ten years ago, right after she graduated law school, as the law clerk for the Honorable Miles Foreman. She had learned a lot that year, watching the lawyers in the courtroom, both the good ones and the bad. And she had learned a lot from Judge Foreman, also some good and some bad. Today she expected she’d experience the bad. She could deal with that. What other choice did she have?

‘Erin, are you out of your mind?’ said Carl Goldman, who represented her client’s codefendant, his eyes wide as she slid into the seat next to him.

She dropped her purse, which doubled as her briefcase, onto the bench and smiled politely. ‘I’m not sure I follow, Carl.’

‘Foreman is going to go absolutely insane. Why did you file this motion? Not only is he going to take it out on your client, but he’ll crucify mine as well.’

‘Does your client have a defense?’

He studied her, trying to make the connection. ‘No. But what does that have to do with your motion for Foreman to recuse himself?’

She laughed. ‘My client has no defense either. Which means, at some point, I’ll be looking to get the best plea deal I can for him. I listened to all the wiretap recordings, and you’re in the same boat. Correct?’

‘Yeah, so?’

‘Who hands out the toughest sentences in the county?’

‘Foreman,’ he answered.

‘Exactly. We need a judge who is going to see this case for what it is – a simple gambling case, not an organized crime, money-laundering one. Our clients should be looking at a couple years, tops, not the eight or nine years Foreman will want to give them. And as long as Foreman has the case, there’s no reason for the prosecutor’s office to be reasonable, because he won’t be when it comes to sentencing.’

‘But what are the grounds?’

Her grin was slightly evil. ‘Foreman’s homophobic.’

Carl stared at her. ‘What on earth does that have to do with anything? My client’s not gay. Is yours?’

She shook her head. ‘No, Carl, my client isn’t gay. It isn’t about him. It’s about me.’

Carl stared at Erin, a look of confusion spreading across his face as he looked her up and down. She was wearing a navy-blue business suit over a low-cut white silk blouse that accentuated her breasts, with a skirt that came several inches above her knees. She had on four-inch heels and her makeup was done to perfection. With her copper-colored hair and the dusting of freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose, she was usually mistaken for being far younger than her thirty-five years. She thought it more than ironic that she was often told she had the girl-next-door look.

‘But you don’t look gay,’ he finally offered.

She cocked her head to one side. ‘And exactly how does someone who’s gay look? Not butch enough for you? Besides, who said –’

Erin was cut off by the entrance of the courtroom deputy. ‘All rise.’

Judge Miles Foreman charged out of the door leading to his chambers onto the bench and looked out over his packed courtroom. ‘State v. Thomas,’ he said, not even trying to mask his anger.

Erin and Carl made their way up to counsel table, where the assistant prosecutor, Adam Lombardi, was already stationed. Lombardi’s olive complexion, jet-black hair, which he wore slicked back, Roman nose, and taste in expensive suits sometimes led those who didn’t know him to believe he was a high-priced defense attorney. But his reputation as a top-notch prosecutor was well earned, and he showed no signs of wanting to switch sides.

‘Appearances, please,’ Foreman said without looking up.

‘Assistant Prosecutor Adam Lombardi for the State, Your Honor.’

‘Erin McCabe for defendant Robert Thomas. Good morning, Your Honor.’

‘Carl Goldman for defendant Jason Richardson, Judge.’

Foreman looked up and lowered his glasses so he could peer over the top of his lenses. To Erin, it didn’t look like he had aged in the five years since she had last appeared in his courtroom, or, for that matter, in the ten years since she clerked for him, but that wasn’t a compliment. Bald, with a dour expression and a demeanor to match, he had always looked ten years older than he was. Now, at sixty-five, he finally looked his age. ‘Everyone have a seat, except for Ms McCabe.’ He picked up a stack of papers in his hand and waved them about. ‘Good morning, indeed,’ he started. ‘Do you mind telling me what this is, Ms McCabe?’

Erin smiled politely. ‘I presume that’s the motion I filed, Judge.’

‘Of course it’s the motion you filed. Do you want to tell me the meaning of this motion?’

She knew she had to walk a fine line between provoking him and being held in contempt. ‘Absolutely, Judge. It’s a motion seeking your recusal from this case.’

‘I know what it is!’ he exploded. ‘What I want to know is where do you get the temerity to challenge my impartiality?’

An answer quickly ran through her head – I think it must be genetic, probably from my mother – but she opted for the safer, ‘I’m not sure I understand, Judge.’

‘What don’t you understand, Ms McCabe? You say you want me to remove myself from the case, but you filed no affidavits in support. You simply say you want to present an affidavit for me to review privately, in camera, as you put it in your motion. If you have something to say about me, I suggest that you say it in public, on the record.’

She looked at him, trying to gauge how close to the line she was. ‘Judge, I’m not sure you really want me to do that.’

He slammed the motion papers down on the bench. Placing both of his hands flat on his bench, he leaned forward. ‘Who do you think you are to tell me what I do or don’t want? Either you put it on the record, or this motion will be dismissed. Am I clear?’ He paused, and then with emphasis added, ‘MsMcCabe.’

Erin slowly inhaled. ‘Very well, Judge. For the record, I was your law clerk ten years ago. During my tenure as your law clerk, Your Honor handled a case called McFarlane v. Robert DelBuno, Mr DelBuno, of course, being the Attorney General at the time. Perhaps Your Honor recalls that case?’

Foreman glared down at her. ‘I remember the case,’ he replied, a tinge of concern evident in his voice.

‘I thought you would, Judge, because the case involved a constitutional challenge to New Jersey’s sodomy laws, laws which Your Honor upheld but were subsequently reversed on appeal. Now, if Your Honor may recall, Mr McFarlane was represented by –’

The bang of Foreman’s gavel brought her to an abrupt stop. ‘I want counsel in chambers immediately. Now!’ Foreman leapt up from his chair and stormed down the three stairs and through the door leading to his chambers.

Adam Lombardi followed behind her as they headed back to Foreman’s chambers. ‘Erin, this better be good, because if it’s not, you’ll need to get someone down here with bail money pronto.’

She smiled at Adam. He was a decent guy, just doing his job. She knew if it were up to him, he’d put a fair plea offer on the table. ‘I think I’ll be okay. But if things go south, put in a good word for me with the sheriff, okay?’

‘Sure. I’ll see if they can get you a cell with a good view.’

‘Appreciated,’ she said as the three of them headed back to Foreman’s chambers.

Foreman was pacing back and forth behind his desk, still in his robes, when they walked in. He stopped pacing long enough to run his eyes up and down his former law clerk. ‘You…’ he started. ‘You have a hell of a lot of nerve attacking me this way. So I got reversed in McFarlane. So what? Judges get reversed every day. This is a gambling case, not a prostitution case. What’s McFarlane got to do with this?’

She held out a document. ‘Judge, this is my affidavit that I wanted you to review in camera,’ she offered. ‘I did it that way so you could review my affidavit privately in chambers and then decide if you wanted to make it public.’

He reached out and snatched the papers from her hand, then picked up a pair of glasses from his desk and began reading. His face began to flush almost immediately. When he finished, he scowled at her.

‘These are lies, damnable lies. I never said the things you attribute to me. Never! I should hold you in contempt for writing these scurrilous allegations. Maybe a few days in the county jail will refresh your recollection. What do you say to that, Ms McCabe?’

She knew she had him by the short and curlies. Sure, it was his word against hers, but she was confident he wouldn’t want any of this aired in public.

‘Judge, I have tried my best to refrain from having any of my recollections regarding your comments about Barry O’Toole, Mr McFarlane’s attorney, placed on the record. I’ll be happy to supply copies to counsel if you want, and of course, if you hold me in contempt, you will have to place my affidavit on the record.’

He threw the papers at her, but they fluttered harmlessly to his desk. ‘Get out of my chambers,’ he spat. But as they started to file out, he suddenly called her back.

She stopped and turned to look at him. ‘Yes, Your Honor?’

‘You’re worse than O’Toole, you know that. At least O’Toole never lied about who he was.’

She studied him, his anger visible and real. ‘Judge, ten years ago, a man who I consider to be one of my legal mentors told me that doing what was right for a client was a lawyer’s highest responsibility. He told me that even if a judge disagreed with my position, a judge should always try to respect that I was doing it for my client. I’ve tried to live up to that advice, placing my clients’ best interests over any reaction I may get from a judge. Like me – and as evidenced by my affidavit – that mentor is imperfect. Given my status, I felt that it was likely my client might suffer as a result of certain biases. Nonetheless, regardless of my mentor’s imperfections, I will always respect him for his help and guidance when I worked for him.’ She let her last words linger, hoping he’d be convinced of her sincerity. ‘Will there be anything else, Your Honor?’

Foreman reached down and picked up the affidavit from his desk. He slowly ripped it into pieces. ‘Here’s what I think of your affidavit, Ms McCabe,’ he said, his contempt evident. ‘And if your little speech was meant as an apology, it’s not accepted. Get out, and don’t worry your pretty little head about coming back. I will make sure I recuse myself from any case you’re involved in, because I could never treat you fairly after reading your scurrilous lies. And frankly, I hope I never see you again.’

She was tempted to respond, but another piece of advice moved front and center: quit while you’re ahead.

‘Thank you, Judge,’ she said, turning and heading back to the courtroom.

2

‘you need bail money?’ Erin’s partner, Duane Swisher, asked when she answered her cellphone.

‘No, Swish. I’m just leaving the courthouse now,’ she said with a chuckle, appreciating his warped sense of humor.

‘So?’

‘He recused himself from this and any other cases I’m involved in.’

‘Wow. What was in your affidavit?’

‘Oh, just some choice quotes from a homophobic judge. Where are you?’

‘I’m with Ben. Trying to decide how to play things with the US Attorney’s Office.’

‘Got it,’ she replied, hoping that Ben Silver, one of the best criminal defense attorneys in the state, could keep her partner out of the crosshairs of the Department of Justice, who once again appeared intent on pursuing him for a leak of classified information to a reporter from the Times. Three years earlier, Duane had been forced to resign from the FBI under a cloud of suspicion that he was the leaker. Now, with the same reporter publishing a new book based on the leaked information, Duane was once again the target of the DOJ’s investigation

‘Listen, do you think you’d have time to meet a potential new client?’ Duane asked.

She ran her calendar through her head. ‘Yeah, I should be able to. I have to get some stuff out today, but I have time. When are they coming in?’

‘Actually, you have to go see him at the Ocean County jail.’

‘Okay, not exactly dressed for jail, but what kind of case?’

‘Murder. Wouldn’t be surprised if they go with capital murder.’

‘Wait. We’re not on the public defenders’ pool list anymore.’

‘It’s not a pool case. It’s a referral from Ben. He doesn’t feel he can do it. He knows the victim’s father. It’s a big case, E.’

‘Yeah, if you’re talking death penalty, I’d say it’s a big case. Which case?’

‘Do you remember about four months ago a kid by the name of William E. Townsend Jr was found stabbed to death in a motel?’

‘Sure. His father is a big player down in South Jersey; it was all over the news. Didn’t they pick someone up a couple of weeks ago on that?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Why is Ben recommending us? I mean, I appreciate it and all, but Ben knows everyone. Plus, I’ve never done a death penalty case.’

‘A number of reasons. First of all, he really likes the work you’ve done helping him out on my case and he thinks you’re a good lawyer. Second, almost everyone Ben knows is going to have the same problem he has – they either know or can’t afford to cross Mr Townsend.’

She let out a reflexive laugh. ‘Yeah, guess we’re not in that league.’

‘Last, but not least, Ben thought you might be able to relate better to the defendant than most.’

She was about to question him more, when she remembered the news reports and realized what he was talking about. She paused for a moment, internally weighing the pros and cons. ‘Well, if it’s not a pool case, how we getting paid?’

‘Seventy-five thousand retainer up front, bill at three hundred an hour, and payment is guaranteed by Paul Tillis.’

‘And I should know who Paul Tillis is because…?’

‘Ah, what has become of you, my friend? Paul Tillis, point guard for the Pacers. Who also happens to be married to Tonya Tillis, née Barnes, the sister of defendant Samuel Barnes. Sister says she hasn’t seen her brother since mom and dad threw him out of the house back in Lexington, Kentucky. But they’re willing to pay for his lawyer.’

Erin let out a low whistle. ‘Guess I’ll drive south. Let me meet Barnes, and then I’ll decide if I think we can do it.’

‘Great. I just spoke to the public defender who has the case now. Said he’d leave you a copy of what he has at the front desk; just ask the receptionist for a package with your name on it. Said the only things he had at this point were a rap sheet for Barnes and the initial arrest report from when they picked him up in New York City. He’ll also fax authorization over to the jail for you to see his client for purposes of possible representation. By the way, he’s thrilled someone might be taking the case. Apparently, no one in his office wants to piss off Mr Townsend.’

‘Wonderful.’

‘You can say no.’

She thought for only a moment. ‘Let’s see what happens.’

‘Okay. I’ll be in the office this afternoon. We’ll talk when you get back.’

Had Erin known she’d be headed to the county jail, she would have worn something a little more conservative. She wasn’t sure which was more demeaning: the catcalls from the inmates or the leering looks from the corrections officers.

She walked up to the bulletproof glass, her identification in hand; she always left her purse locked in the trunk of her car.

‘Can I help you?’ the lieutenant on the other side said without looking up.

‘Here to see an inmate.’

‘You got to come back later. Visiting hours aren’t until two,’ he said, an air of annoyance circling his words.

‘I’m an attorney,’ she replied.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he slowly leaned back in his chair to look her up and down. ‘You sure you want to go in there, honey? Those guys can play rough,’ he said with a smile. ‘Maybe you want to stay out here and keep me company.’

While his eyes were focused on her chest, she picked out the name on his name tag: william rose. Jerk, she thought, smiling back. ‘You don’t have to call me “honey,” Lieutenant. And Rosie, you may be the one, but unless you’d like to bring my client out to see me, I don’t think I have a choice,’ she said, placing her license, attorney ID card, and car keys into the metal drawer.

He stared at her, his smirk telling her that he was trying to decipher if she was flirting or mocking. ‘So who you here to see… honey?’ he asked as he opened the drawer and looked at her ID.

‘Samuel Barnes.’

His grin disappeared. ‘A freak and a murderer. You’re gonna need more than your good looks and charm for that one.’

‘Never know,’ she said, holding her tongue, aware that Sam Barnes would reap what she sowed.

The lieutenant turned around and picked up a phone. ‘Rose here. Get Barnes and bring him down to attorney meeting room two. He’s got an attorney here to see him. Her name is Erin McCabe.’ He walked back to the glass partition, put a visitor’s badge in the tray, and slid it out to her. ‘I hold your license, attorney ID, and keys until you come out and give me the visitor’s badge back. Don’t want anyone sneaking out disguised as you,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘Thanks, Lieutenant,’ she said, taking the visitor’s badge out, putting it around her neck, and walking toward the metal doors to wait to be buzzed in.

No matter how many times she heard it, the clang of the heavy doors behind her always sent a claustrophobic ripple of fear through her like an electric shock. Being locked in and at someone else’s mercy to be let out was not a feeling she enjoyed. Dressed as she was, the fact that she was locked in a men’s jail made her more apprehensive.

After she went through the metal detectors, the guards thoroughly searched the paperwork she had to make sure there were no paper clips or staples, finding only the copied police reports from the public defender, her business card, and a legal pad with the name Samuel Barnes written in her neat script. After satisfying themselves she wasn’t trying to sneak anything in, one of the officers led her to a small room that held a table and two chairs, where she sat in the chair closest to the door as she’d learned to do early on in her career as a public defender. That way, a guard checking through the window on the door could always see her and her facial expression.

Ten minutes later, she heard the key in the lock, followed by the clang of the metal door as it was pulled open to reveal Sam Barnes. Just a hair under six feet, he was rail thin. She quickly estimated that he weighed no more than 150 pounds. His brown face had several small cuts, and there was swelling around his lips. Even from the table, she could make out the dark bruises on his cheeks and under his eyes. His hair was in cornrows, hanging down to his shoulders.

He shuffled in, shackled at his ankles and his wrists, a thick chain running between them. In ten years, she had never seen a prisoner shackled inside the jail when visiting their attorney.

‘You can unshackle him while he’s with me,’ she said to the guard.

‘Look, honey, I don’t tell you how to do your job, you don’t tell me how to do mine, okay? He’s in PC. He stays shackled.’

The guard grabbed the chair and pulled it out, then put his hands on Barnes’s shoulders and pushed him into it. ‘Pick up the phone behind you when you want out or if Mr Barnes here gives you any problems. It rings in the control room.’ He turned and walked out, closing and locking the door behind him.

Erin slowly sat down, studying Barnes’s battered face as she did.

‘You not my attorney,’ he said defiantly and in a distinctly feminine voice.

‘My name is Erin McCabe. I’m an attorney. I’m here to see if you’d like me to represent you.’

‘And why I want you to represent me? Shit, girl, you ain’t even old enough to be a lawyer. I already got a public defender. Why I need you?’

She paused, wanting to earn Barnes’s trust, but she didn’t want to overplay her hand. ‘What would you like me to call you?’ she asked calmly.

‘You wanna be my lawyer and you don’t even know my name?’

‘I know the name on your rap sheet is Samuel Emmanuel Barnes, but I suspect that isn’t the name you prefer.’

The room fell silent. ‘Look here, lady, don’t worry your white, liberal bleeding heart over what I prefer to be called. Why you really here?’

‘I told you why. To see if you want me to represent you.’

‘Who send you? I don’t have no money for no lawyer?’

‘Your sister, Tonya, and her husband.’

Barnes stiffened and his eyes narrowed. ‘I haven’t seen my sister in four years. She don’t know where I am. Besides, where she get the money to pay for some schoolgirl lawyer?’

‘Honestly, I don’t know where she’s getting the money from; I suspect her husband. But my partner spoke to both your sister and her husband a couple of hours ago, and they asked if I would meet with you. Your arrest apparently made the news back in Lexington. That’s how they knew where you were.’

‘Yeah, hometown kid makes big.’ Barnes stopped and looked across the table. ‘You keep saying my sister and her husband; they live in Lexington?’

‘No, Indianapolis. But your parents are still there, and they told your sister.’

At the mention of his parents, Barnes seemed to retreat further into himself. ‘What’s her husband’s name?’ he challenged her.

‘Paul Tillis.’

For the first time, Barnes seemed to let his guard down just a shade. ‘Good for her. She marry Paul. I use to joke with her when they first meet that if they married, she’d be Tonya Tillis. Don’t know why, but I always thought that sounded funny.’

‘I spoke to her briefly on the way here, and she asked me to tell you that she loves you and misses you. She’s been looking for you for the last four years. She wished she had been there when your mom and dad threw you out. She might not have been able to prevent them from doing that, but she would have taken you in. She hopes that she might still get to know’ – Erin paused – ‘her sister,’ she said softly, finishing the sentence.

A tear seemed to hang momentarily in the corner of Barnes’s eye, but he leaned forward and quickly wiped it away with the back of his shackled hand.

‘You just be trying to take my sister’s money?’ he demanded, his protective mask quickly slipping back into place. ‘Is that it? You understand I stabbed some white boy whose daddy is some big shot. Either they execute me or I’m going to spend the rest of my life locked up. And the way things going, it be a very short life at that. So I don’t want my sister wasting her money on you.’

‘Who beat you?’

Barnes threw his head back and laughed. ‘You really are one crazy bitch. First you come in here saying you wanna represent me; then you start asking stupid shit to get me killed.’ He glared at Erin. ‘I tripped and fell. Clumsy me,’ he said, rolling his head.

‘You really should be more careful. Looks like you fell multiple times. Look, based on what your sister told my partner, I suspect you’re a transgender woman. Has anyone talked to you about trying to get you moved to the women’s jail?’

Barnes closed his eyes. ‘Please, ain’t no one gonna move me to no women’s jail.’

‘You’re probably right. But it’s one way to try and protect you without ratting anyone out. Even if they don’t move you, you’ve drawn attention to the situation, and maybe some judge will be a little bit more sensitive to the fact that you’re getting the shit beat out of you while you’re supposedly in protective custody. Sure as hell doesn’t look protective to me.’

Before Barnes could say anything, Erin continued. ‘Look, I can’t make you talk to me. Your sister asked me to see you. I’ve seen you. You want me to leave? I’ll leave. I suspect what really happened in the early hours of April 17 is far different from what has been reported in the press. And as best I can tell, only two people know for sure what happened, and one of them is unavailable for the trial. You want to talk about it, fine; you don’t, that’s fine too. But what do you have to lose?’

Barnes looked at her across the table. ‘Okay, Ms Big Shot, my public defender says he’s tried fifteen murder cases. You try any?’

‘Three.’

‘How you do?’

‘Lost them all.’

Barnes laughed. ‘And you think I should hire you? You don’t sound very good to me, honey.’

‘I never said I was. But if that’s the way we’re going to measure how good a lawyer is, do you know how many your public defender won?’

‘No, didn’t ask him.’

‘Maybe you should. If he’s lost all fifteen, I’m five times a better lawyer than he is.’

Barnes frowned, unimpressed by Erin’s logic. ‘The public defender guy told me they probably want to give me the death penalty, but he said “don’t worry, nobody gets executed in New Jersey.” He said that his office have a special team that handles death penalty cases, and that they be the best attorneys in the state. You ever handle a death penalty case?’

‘No, I haven’t. And honestly, I’m not here to argue whether or not there are good lawyers in the public defender’s office. I was a public defender for five years. And he’s right; on death penalty cases, they draw from a pool of outside lawyers to form a team who will defend you really well. The PD’s office usually assigns the best lawyers to represent defendants in capital cases. It’s also true that no one has been executed in New Jersey since the 1960s. There’s no guarantee, but there is an effort to have the death penalty repealed. But right now, it’s still there, and if it’s still around when you go to trial, chances are the state will be seeking it in your case.’

‘If there’s no death penalty, what I looking at?’

‘Either life in prison with no parole or thirty years to life.’

‘Fuck,’ Barnes said to himself. ‘Look, whatever your name is, I don’t have a fucking chance in this case. But if, somehow, I did, it ain’t gonna be with some redheaded, freckle-faced lawyer who doesn’t know shit about what my life has been like. I have no idea why my sister pick you, but you go back and tell her if she really wants to help, get me some pit bull lawyer who is gonna rip the piss out of the other side.’

‘Fine. I’ll let her know. Here’s my card if you ever need it,’ she said, sliding the card across the table.

‘Why you?’ Barnes asked as Erin turned around to reach the phone that would let her call the guard. ‘I mean, if she got money, why not get me Johnnie Cochran?’

Erin snorted and turned back so she was facing Barnes. ‘No matter how good or bad I might be, I’m a better choice than Johnnie Cochran.’ She paused. ‘Unfortunately for you and for Mr Cochran, he’s dead.’

Barnes squinted at her, not sure if he believed her that Cochran was dead. ‘So what be so special about you? You ain’t black. You ain’t some white guy who’s tried a million cases. You the daughter of the judge or something? I don’t get it. Why Tonya pick you?’

‘Probably because you and I have one thing in common,’ Erin replied.

‘You whoring to make a little extra money?’ he said with a laugh.

Erin studied Barnes, knowing where this was going, even if he didn’t. ‘No, nothing like that. Just that I know a little about being rejected.’

‘What, you didn’t get into Harvard?’

‘No, I know what it’s like to have family and friends struggle to accept who you are.’ She hesitated and slowly inhaled, suspecting that his reaction would be different from just about everyone else’s. ‘Up until about two years ago, my name was Ian.’

Barnes stared at her. ‘Wait! What you saying? You telling me you’re trans?’

Erin nodded. ‘I transitioned a little over two years ago.’

Barnes sat there shaking his head in disbelief. The only noise that punctuated the silence in the locked meeting room came from the prisoners out in the hallway screaming at each other. It remained that way for several minutes as Barnes weighed his options.

He slowly lifted his shackled hands and laid them on the table. ‘Sharise.’ The voice barely audible. ‘My name is Sharise.’

Then Sharise gently laid her head on her arms and quietly began to weep.

‘He tried to kill me,’ she said, choking back a sob. ‘He had the knife, and he tried to kill me – when he found out that I was trans.’

3

‘so?’

Erin looked up from her computer screen to see the commanding figure of Duane Abraham Swisher – ‘Swish’ to his friends – standing in the doorway to her office. At thirty-five, her partner kept himself in great physical shape. Even in a suit and tie, you could tell by the way his shirt stretched across his chest that he was ripped. His six-foot-two-inch frame, dark brown skin, and well-trimmed goatee always made an immediate impression. A Brown University alum, he had been the starting shooting guard there for three years, first-team All-Ivy two of those years. His shot from three-point range was so sweet that even if his last name hadn’t been Swisher, ‘Swish’ would have been a perfect nickname.

‘Hey,’ she said. ‘Where’ve you been? I thought you’d be here when I got back.’

‘Stopped and had lunch with Cori.’

‘Oh, that’s nice. You’re such a good husband.’

He looked at her and wrinkled his brow. ‘Yeah, not so sure she feels that way. When you marry an FBI agent, you generally think he’s going to be the one doing the investigations, not the one being investigated.’

‘Sorry. Anything I can do to help?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Thanks, but don’t think so. Besides, I’m not sure whose side you’d be on.’

Erin chuckled. ‘That’s easy – Corrine’s.’

‘That’s what I was afraid of.’

She motioned for him to come in, and he took a seat in one of the three beige club chairs that formed a semicircle in front of her desk. ‘So how did it go this morning with Ben?’

‘He has a meeting with Andrew Barone from Justice tomorrow. Martin Perna from the Times has a new book out, based on the FBI’s targeting of Muslim Americans post-9/11. As a result, the FBI’s Office of Professional Responsibility has reopened the investigation into the leak. Since I was part of the team that was involved in the surveillance and complained internally about the fact that it was unconstitutional, they suspect I leaked classified information to Perna. They issued a subpoena to Perna, trying to find out who his source was, and apparently the Times’s lawyers have already filed a motion to quash on reporter’s privilege and First Amendment grounds.’

‘Why OPR? You’ve been out for three years.’

‘Because they ran the investigation when I was still an agent. So they’re just picking up where they left off.’

‘Anything I can do at this point?’

‘Pray,’ Duane said, shrugging his shoulders.

‘Not my forte,’ she replied. ‘But for you, I’ll give it a shot.’

‘Thanks,’ he offered with a small grin. ‘How’d things go with Mr Barnes?’

‘Pretty good. Interesting case, that’s for sure. But, Swish, if we get into this case, our client’s name is Sharise, and it’s “she,” “her,” and “Ms Barnes.”’

Duane quietly laughed, shaking his head. ‘Guess Ben made the right recommendation.’

‘I don’t know whether he did or not, but if we’re going to represent her, I want to make sure she’s given the respect she’s entitled to. And that starts with recognizing who she is.’

‘I get it. No problem here. After all, I’ve always been politically correct with you, right?’ he said.

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Are you for real? How many other women in your life have you asked, “Is it hard to walk in heels?” “Do you miss standing to pee?” And my favorite, “Is it fun having tits?”’

‘I think I said breasts,’ he offered in his own defense. She shot him a look.

‘Okay, maybe I didn’t. But come on, you’re the only one I know who’s changed teams. Who else am I going to ask the questions that have stumped men for eons? I always want to know what it’s like for people in different situations. I remember my senior year at Brown, a guy transferred in from Princeton. At that time Princeton had won the Ivies a couple of years in a row and had made it to the NCAAs. We, on the other hand, never even had a winning season. Shit, we all wanted to know what it was like playing for Princeton.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Said Princeton sucked and he hoped to get some decent playing time at Brown.’

She laughed. ‘That about sums it up for me too. Being a man sucked; hoping for some decent playing time as a woman.’ She paused, tilting her head to one side. ‘Now, can we please get back to Sharise?’

Duane nodded. ‘Sure, sorry.’

‘So where do I start? Yes, she is interested in us representing her. I think the next step is for us to have a conversation with her sister and brother-in-law to go over what will be involved. If they are in agreement, then…’ She sat there shaking her head. ‘Then there is a shit-load of work to do.’

‘We have a defense? Like she was in Detroit at the time of the murder?’

‘Self-defense.’

‘Witnesses?’

‘Her and Mr Townsend Jr.’

‘Yeah, I was afraid you were going to say that. And they were together why?’

‘They had become acquainted on the streets of Atlantic City, where young Mr Townsend was so enamored with her that he offered her fifty dollars for a blow job.’

‘Unfortunately, I think I know where this is going.’

‘Yeah, spoiler alert, Junior gets his hummer, but it’s his last. Apparently when he discovers she was not assigned female at birth, he flips out and tries to kill her. In defending herself, Mr Townsend is stabbed.’

‘Any brilliant thoughts on how we defend this?’

She shrugged. ‘Change of venue, maybe? After all, Townsend Senior is such a force in South Jersey that Sharise could never get a fair trial south of the Raritan.’

Duane rubbed his chin. ‘And we’re going to ask to have it transferred where?’

Good question. Up until a few hours ago, Erin had known very little about William Townsend Senior. But a quick internet search showed that his power and influence in the southern part of the state were very real. He had built a commercial real estate empire south of the Raritan River that had made him one of the richest men in the state. Using his wealth, he moved on to politics, and had been elected as a state senator. The combination of his wealth and political clout gave him a hand in just about every political appointment in South Jersey. A lot of very important people were beholden to William Townsend. Some people had friends in high places; Mr Townsend put his friends in high places.

‘How about the Bronx?’ she finally offered.

Duane laughed. ‘Yeah, that’ll work. All we have to do is make it part of New Jersey.’

‘Shit, I don’t know. Let’s talk to Sharise’s sister and brother-in-law, and then, if we’re retained, we can start sorting out these minor details.’

Duane looked at her, and she could sense he was concerned about something.

‘What’s the matter?’ Erin asked.

Duane ran his hand over his short, neatly trimmed afro. ‘I just want to make sure you’ve thought this through. To most people, you’re just an attractive female attorney. This case will change all of that; the defendant is transgender, and you can bet your ass that people will find out that the defense lawyer is also transgender. That could make for some real interesting headlines.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘This is going to be a high-profile case, E, and with Townsend lurking in the background, it has the potential to get really ugly for you. Are you sure you’re prepared to be outed in a big way?’

She got up from behind her desk and walked over to one of the windows. Her office was perched in one of the second-floor turrets of a former Victorian home that had been converted into an office building twenty years ago.

She watched the Rahway River running gently past their building on its way through Cranford, now nothing more than a gentle stream, and thought of the times that a heavy rain would turn it into a raging torrent. Like the river, life could certainly be unpredictable. Ten years ago, when she was still Ian, both newly married and newly admitted to the Bar, she never thought she would transition, but here she stood. She also knew Duane was right; taking this case probably would turn her life into a raging torrent. Was she really prepared to deal with that?

She turned around to face him. ‘I know you’re right, and no, I’m not sure I’m ready for what’s likely to happen.’ She hesitated, trying to find the words to express something she felt from the moment Sharise had told Erin her name. There was a connection between them, and that connection meant something. ‘I think I can make a difference in this case,’ she finally said, the confidence in her voice surprising her. Silent was the self-doubt that had eaten at her for the last two hours.

‘You’ve had enough issues with your family over your transition; they’re not going to be happy if your name and picture are all over the place.’

‘You’re right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But it’s not about them, Swish,’ she said, hoping she was being truthful. ‘I don’t know what it’s like to be thrown out of your home by your parents and forced to live on the streets, like Sharise was. But maybe what I’ve been through gives me enough of a window to help us defend her.’

‘Or maybe it’s your attempt to show some people in your life that they’re wrong about you?’

Ouch. She hated that there were times when Duane seemed to know exactly what she was thinking. ‘And your basis for this is your BS in psychology or your years of training as a special agent?’

‘None of the above. It’s from knowing a little bit about my very talented but sometimes insecure partner.’

‘I’ll be okay,’ she replied, not even convincing herself. ‘What about you? How are you going to feel if everybody knows your partner is transgender?’

‘Whatever. If everybody’s focused on you, maybe I’ll just fly under the radar.’

She gave the slightest bit of a laugh and nodded. ‘We’re good to go then?’

‘There is one other minor detail.’

‘What’s that?’ she asked, walking back to her desk.

‘I’m going to have to tell Tonya and Paul I’m under investigation. Agreed?’

She nodded. Duane had lived under the cloud of the investigation for almost four months. Even though he’d never admit it, she could see the strain he was under.

‘Speaking of things we need to discuss, do they need to know about me?’ she offered reluctantly, knowing how awkward that conversation could be.

Duane grinned sheepishly. ‘Yeah, it kind of came up when I spoke to them the first time.’

‘It kind of came up?’ she replied, her voice rising into a question.

‘Well, they wanted to know about us and why Ben had recommended us, and, well, I mentioned to Tonya the fact that you had transgendered.’

She winced. ‘You’d think that after spending as much time with me as you have, at least you’d learn the correct terminology. Transgender is an adjective. I’m a transgender woman. It’s not a verb. Transition is the verb you want.’

‘Got it,’ he said.

She gave him a generous smile. If anyone had suggested to her three years ago that Swish would still be her partner after she transitioned, she would have said they were crazy. But, as her therapist had warned, the way people reacted to her news was totally unpredictable. People she thought would always support her never spoke to her again, while others, like Swish, who she figured would fade from her life, had become a port in the storm.

‘No problem. You stuck with me through this’ – she spread her arms wide – ‘so you get a pass on terminology.’

‘Thanks,’ he replied.

‘Why did you stick with me?’

‘Never occurred to me not to, I guess.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, his look displaying his surprise at her reaction. ‘Look, when we started the firm, you didn’t ask me a lot of questions about why I left the Bureau. I suspect you knew then that there was more to me leaving than I could tell. But you welcomed me with open arms.’ Duane hesitated before continuing in a gentle voice. ‘I saw what was happening. I knew a lot of people who were close to you had trouble with your situation.’

She nodded, her thoughts swallowing her. Some losses had been harder than others, none more so than that of her former wife, Lauren, and her dad, and her brother, Sean. And in Sean’s case, it also meant losing contact with her nephews, Patrick, now twelve, and Brennan, now ten, both of whom she adored. Before she transitioned, Erin had been a fixture at their soccer games, having played in both high school and college. That ended when she came out to her brother. God, she missed seeing them.

‘Thanks,’ she said, a sad smile slowly gracing her face. ‘I’m glad you didn’t bail on me,’ she offered with more than a hint of appreciation in her voice.

The call with Tonya and Paul went well. It probably didn’t hurt that Paul’s agent had played for Harvard when Duane played for Brown and had put in a good word for Duane. Duane’s FBI experience had also given him some cred on the investigative work that needed to be done.

Now came the hard part: figuring out how to prove a nineteen-year-old transgender sex worker killed the only son of one of the most powerful men in the state in self-defense.

Erin locked the office door and started walking the four blocks from her office to her apartment, thinking it might be a nice night for a run. She lived so close that she always left her car in the office lot, saving the hundred and fifty dollars a month on the municipal parking permit she’d need if she parked by her apartment.

She walked briskly down Union Avenue and crossed Springfield Avenue into the downtown section of Cranford. When she got to North Avenue she turned right, passing Nino’s Pizzeria and a giftshop called In Clover, where she bought her greeting cards, before the North Side Bakery came into view. Ah, the North Side Bakery – home of her favorite cheese-crumb Danish. Her one-bedroom apartment sat on the top floor of a former bank building on North Avenue, which ironically ran east-west.

She retrieved her keys from her purse and unlocked the glass door just past the entrance to the bakery. Dr keith old, d.d.s. was stenciled in gold lettering on the glass, the G at the start of his last name having been mischievously removed, probably by an unhappy root canal recipient. She started up the dingy wooden staircase that led to the dingy corridor, off of which was Dr Gold’s office. Up another fifteen stairs was a burnt-red wooden door marked with the letter A. Be it ever so humble, Erin had called it home ever since she and Lauren had separated almost four years ago.