Survivor's Guilt E-Book

Robyn Gigl

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

** One of TIME Magazine's Best Mystery and Thriller Books of All Time **

LGBTQIA+ activist Robyn Gigl tackles the complexities of gender, power, and human trafficking with a ripped-from-the-headlines plot in her second legal thriller featuring Erin McCabe, a protagonist who, like the author, is a transgender attorney.

The death of millionaire businessman Charles Parsons seems like a straightforward suicide. There's no sign of forced entry or struggle in his lavish New Jersey mansion - just a single gunshot wound from his own weapon.

But days later, a different story emerges. Computer techs pick up a voice recording that incriminates Parsons' adoptive daughter, Ann, who duly confesses and pleads guilty.

After the case is brought to her attention by an unlikely source, Erin McCabe and her law partner, Duane Swisher, soon realise that pieces of Ann's story don't fit together. Ann clearly knows more than she\'s willing to share, even if it means a life sentence. Who is she protecting, and why?

As their investigation deepens, Erin and Swish find themselves caught in a web of human exploitation, unchecked greed, and murder - before learning the horrifying truth...

'I was mightily impressed with Robyn Gigl's debut, By Way of Sorrow… but Survivor's Guilt is even better. A ground-breaking series now stands to become a definitive one' - New York Times (Best Crime Novels of the Year)

'This intelligent page-turner with a social conscience illuminates the complexities of guilt and justice' - The Bookseller (Editor's Choice)

'Another great merger of legal mystery and psychological thriller' - CrimeReads

'Survivor's Guilt is a richly textured legal thriller that brims with authentic detail. Clever, bold and original... A riveting series that's set to become a classic' - Kia Abdullah

Leseprobe

Praise for Survivor’s Guilt

‘Robyn Gigl’s Survivor’s Guilt is so good that it may end up counting among this year’s standouts. A groundbreaking series is poised to become a definitive one’ – New York Times

‘Stunning… Gigl delightfully flips the usual terms of the genre with a murder victim readers are quickly drawn to hate and a murderer whom they will be rooting for. Her takes on big questions of justice, revenge, and the nature of victimhood will resonate with many’ – Publishers Weekly(Starred Review)

‘Another great merger of legal mystery and psychological thriller’ – CrimeReads

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

‘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 Mom

1

April 4, 2008

‘Hey, stranger,’ Duane Swisher said, standing in the doorway of her office. ‘How you doing?’

Erin McCabe looked up; brushed her long, copper-colored hair back from her face; and smiled. She and Duane had been partners in the law firm of McCabe & Swisher for the last five years, specializing in representing defendants in criminal cases.

‘Oh, living the dream – one nightmare at a time,’ she responded, gesturing to the piles of papers stacked haphazardly on her desk among the empty Dunkin’ Donuts cups.

‘So has Judge Fowler incorporated casual Friday into his trial calendar?’ he asked jokingly.

She smiled at his reference to the fact that she was wearing jeans and a Dixie Chicks T-shirt. ‘No. No trial today. Judge Fowler schedules his sentencing hearings for every other Friday, so I get to come to the office in jeans and see your smiling face.’ She reached down and picked up a brief in opposition to a motion to dismiss an indictment that she had filed in one of their cases. ‘And try to catch up on all the shit that’s been accumulating while I’m on trial.’

After pulling back one of the chairs in front of her desk, Duane plopped down. He stretched his legs out in front of the chair as he uncurled his six-foot-two-inch frame. In contrast to Erin’s ‘casual Friday’ attire, Swish wore a charcoal-gray suit with a light pink shirt, neither of which did anything to disguise that at thirty-seven he was still in great shape and only a few pounds heavier than when he was All Ivy at Brown. Swish, as everyone called him – both because of his last name and his prowess from three-point range on the basketball court – was not only her law partner; he was probably her best friend too. They made an interesting pair. Even though Erin was only six months younger, Swish, with his chiseled physique, dark brown skin, and well-trimmed goatee, made a commanding appearance. Erin, with her girl-next-door looks, slim athletic figure, and the dusting of freckles that ran across the bridge of her nose, was often mistaken for being younger and less experienced, a perception that she wasn’t afraid to use to her advantage in the courtroom.

‘How’s the trial going?’

‘Remind me again why we agreed to take this case?’ she asked.

He chuckled. ‘We got a big retainer.’

‘Right.’ She shook her head and inhaled. ‘Swish, these guys are definitely the gang that couldn’t shoot straight. They set up an offshore gambling operation in Costa Rica, installed sophisticated encryption software to protect the website… and then talked about what they were doing on the phone like they were making dinner plans.’

‘So what’s the defense?’

‘The three guys at the top are arguing that they thought it was legal,’ she said, gesturing with her hands that she had little faith in the merits of their argument. ‘Our guy, Justin Mackey, claims that all he did was design and sell encryption software, and that he had no idea what anyone was using it for.’

Swish shrugged. ‘Sounds like a plausible defense.’

‘He seems to think so, but I’m a little less sanguine. Unfortunately, even though he claims he didn’t know what anyone was using the software for, he did a lot of talking on the phone, and the wiretaps picked up some pretty damning conversations between him and one of the top guys. Plus, he liked to bet – a lot. Gonna be tough to sell that he didn’t know what they were using his software for. And for someone who was supposedly into all this encryption shit to keep everything secret, he certainly didn’t seem too concerned about talking about things openly on the phone.’

‘Any chance of a plea?’ Swish asked.

‘The State offered some decent deals early on, but no takers,’ she said. ‘My sense is these guys are protecting someone else.’

‘Even our guy?’

‘Yeah. He clearly knows more than what he’s letting on to me. That said, I’m not sure he even knows who he’s protecting.’ She shook her head, allowing her frustration to show. She liked Justin. He was young, twenty-eight, lived with his mom, and seemed like a decent guy. As they prepared for trial and she had gotten to know him, her take was that he had just wound up in over his head, probably because not only did he bet a lot, but from what she had heard listening to the wiretap recordings, he also lost – a lot.

‘How much longer do you have to go?’ he asked.

‘I expect the State is going to wrap up early next week. So we’re in the home stretch.’

‘Any defense case?’

She cringed. ‘Not from me. I can’t put him on the stand, they’d kill him on cross with the wiretaps.’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Anything I can help you with?’

‘No. I don’t think so. If there’s any silver lining, it’s that we’re in front of Judge Fowler. Assuming Mackey gets convicted, I’m pretty sure Fowler won’t revoke his bail prior to sentencing and, since it’s Justin’s first offense, I’m hoping he doesn’t get more than eighteen months.’

‘Here if you need anything,’ he offered.

‘Thanks. Anything new here?’

‘I had the motion to suppress in the Creswell case in front of Judge Anita Reynolds down in Ocean County.’

Erin smiled. Judge Reynolds had briefly presided over the case involving their client, Sharise Barnes. Sharise’s case had made Erin famous, or, more accurately, infamous, at least in much of New Jersey. Then again, defending a transgender woman of color accused of murdering the son of a now-gubernatorial candidate tended to generate publicity, especially when Erin’s own status as a transgender woman figured prominently in the coverage. ‘I liked Reynolds. I wish she had continued to handle Sharise’s case,’ Erin said. ‘How’d the motion go?’

‘She reserved, but I think she’s going to grant it. I mean, she should. They came into the guy’s house without a warrant, after he refused to let them in, and then claimed they saw drug paraphernalia in plain view – in his bedroom on the second floor.’

She laughed. ‘Yeah, you’re right. I like your chances on that one.’

He stared at her for several seconds. ‘I was with Mark at our game on Wednesday night, and he asked how you were doing.’

Erin flinched at the mention of Mark’s name. She and Mark Simpson had dated for over a year, but she had recently ended their relationship, and the wounds left behind were still open and painful. He had been the first man she had ever fallen in love with. And somehow, after a few false starts, he had gotten beyond the fact that she was a trans woman, and he had loved her for who she was – something that, after she transitioned, she assumed she’d never experience with a man nor a woman. She knew Swish still saw Mark every week because they played on the same team in a men’s basketball league. Trying to avoid where she knew this conversation was headed, she gave Swish her best ‘please don’t go there’ look, but she could tell from his expression that either her look didn’t convey the intended message or, even if he got it, he was going to ignore it.

‘Tell Mark I said hello,’ she finally said.

‘Come on, E,’ he fired back. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but Mark’s a big boy – he can make his own choices. If the roles were reversed, you’d be mad as hell that he was making decisions for you.’

She closed her eyes and slowly drew in a deep breath. Even now, a month later, the look on Mark’s face when she had told him she was ending things was still vivid; not unlike what her own had been years earlier when her wife had told her they needed to separate – a mixture of pain and disbelief. She opened her eyes. ‘Swish, you’re right,’ she said. ‘It’s none of your business.’

Swish cocked his head to one side, his eyes widened, taking her in, then rose from his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Got it,’ he said brusquely before making his way out of her office.

Shit. She got up from behind her desk and walked over to one of the windows. Her office was on the outskirts of the business district in Cranford, 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 loved Swish like a brother – not surprising given how much they’d been through together. Before they became partners, Swish had been an FBI agent, and probably still would be if he hadn’t been forced to resign when he was set up to be the fall guy for a leak of classified materials involving the illegal surveillance of Muslim Americans after 9/11. When he left the Bureau, he seemed to have a lot of options open to him, but to Erin’s surprise, when she had asked him to partner with her, he agreed, and the firm of McCabe & Swisher was born. Of course, at the time, Erin was still living as Ian McCabe. It was only a year after they became partners that Erin had come out as a transgender woman, and the resulting fallout had almost crushed her. Some losses had been harder than others, none more so than her former wife, Lauren; her dad, Patrick; and her brother, Sean. The only people who never wavered in their support were her mom, Swish, and his wife, Corrinne. Without them, she wouldn’t have made it.

Still, as close as they were, it was too painful for her to talk to Swish about Mark right now. She needed to stay focused on the trial and find some way to separate her client from the other defendants, some way to convince the jury that Justin wasn’t responsible for the huge offshore operations the prosecution had meticulously laid out over the last three weeks. Then, and only then, could she focus on her life again.

She grabbed her coffee off her desk and headed down the hallway to Swish’s office. His office occupied one of the former bedrooms of the original home and, unlike the clutter and chaos of her office, it was always neat and orderly with everything in its place. There was never so much as a stray paperclip lying out on his glass desk.

‘You got a minute?’ she asked, standing in the doorway. He looked up and nodded.

She took a few tentative steps into his office and stopped. ‘Swish, I’m sorry. I truly am,’ she said, biting her lower lip. ‘I know you’re trying to be a good friend to Mark – and to me – but I’m just not in a good place right now. You know how I get when I’m on trial. I can’t focus on anything else, and honestly, Swish, talking about Mark right now just hurts too much.’

She could tell by his expression he wanted to say more, but it was a sign of how deep their friendship ran that he didn’t. ‘You’re right. Focus on what you need to do. We’ll talk when the trial’s over.’

‘Thanks,’ she replied, trying to paste a smile on her face. ‘I appreciate it.’

2

Aaron Tinsley studied his client’s computer. He missed his days as a hacker, something he had started doing when he was fifteen. While the prospect of five years in prison for hacking into the NRA’s e-mails had been a convincing enticement to get on the straight and narrow, it was still hard for him to wrap his head around the fact that at twenty-two he was now a white hat doing IT security. While his boss was a decent guy, a former hacker himself, and the job did have the advantage of a regular paycheck, it meant his days were mostly filled with boring stuff.

Still, every once in a while he came across something that provided him with the same thrill as hacking. Today was one of those days.

Up until about six p.m. last night, Aaron hadn’t even known where Westfield, New Jersey, was. But his boss had called him with what he said was a ‘special assignment’ for a guy by the name of Charles Parsons who was having computer problems. Must be real special, Aaron had thought, if they were willing to pay him double time to go out on a Sunday. Surveying his surroundings, Aaron had no idea how much Parsons’s house was worth, but it was easily the biggest house he had ever been in. The home office he was working in probably had more square footage than Aaron’s entire one-bedroom apartment in Queens.

As he searched deeper through the mostly unseen files on his client’s laptop, he had to admit that he was enjoying the hunt. He examined the computer’s registry, trying to find the hidden program he had begun to suspect was buried in the software code. Whoever had done this was a real pro. He was almost envious.

‘I need to get on my computer. Are you almost done?’ Charles Parsons asked, startling Aaron.

Aaron had been so engrossed in his search he was surprised to see Parsons standing in the middle of the room. Parsons, who was well tanned even though it was early April, appeared to be around six feet, with broad shoulders. Aaron couldn’t even hazard a guess at his age, but his wrinkle-free face, contrasted with a shock of wavy gray hair, left the impression that Parsons was well acquainted with a plastic surgeon. Catching Parsons’s annoyed stare, Aaron realized that he was still grinning in admiration for the cleverness of the hacker.

‘What are you smiling at?’ Parsons snapped.

Aaron willed his face into seriousness. ‘Sorry. Um, can we go talk in another room?’ he said.

‘What the fuck are you babbling about?’ Parsons shot back.

Aaron powered down the laptop, closed it, and took Parsons by the arm, escorting him out of the office. ‘Mr Parsons, please let’s go into your kitchen.’

‘What the hell is going on?’ Parsons said, yanking his arm from Aaron’s grasp as they left the room. ‘I asked you to check to see if I have a virus, and you’re acting like my computer has the bubonic plague.’

Aaron sat on one of the stools in front of the marble island in Parsons’s massive, well-appointed kitchen. ‘That’s actually not a bad analogy,’ he offered, nodding his head. ‘Yeah, you have a virus, which it looks like you picked up from some porn website. That’s easy enough to fix. Unfortunately, you have a much bigger problem. How long have you been running the encryption software?’

‘Why? What’s that got to do with anything?’ Parsons asked, his eyes narrowing as he gazed suspiciously at Aaron.

‘I’m not sure yet, but I think that may have a rootkit embedded in it. Which means your laptop, and probably any other computers you use that are running the same software on them, are infected with the same rootkit.’

‘What the fuck is a rootkit?’

Aaron shook his head from side to side. ‘In layman’s terms, it’s a program that allows whoever installed it to monitor everything you do on your computer.’

‘Wait, are you saying someone can see what websites I visited?’ Parsons said, cocking his head to the side and rubbing his forefinger across his lips, his tone suddenly less defiant.

‘Yes, but…’ Aaron hesitated. ‘Well, it’s much worse than that. It means that whoever is watching can record every keystroke you make. So that if you go to a website where you have a password, they can steal your password and lock you out. I think they’ve also taken over the microphone and camera to watch and listen to you. That’s why I wanted to speak to you in here.’

Parsons’s stare conveyed disbelief. ‘Watch me? From my computer? You can’t be fucking serious?’

‘Yeah,’ Aaron nodded. ‘Unfortunately, I am.’

‘What’s that got to do with my encryption software?’

‘As best I can tell, the rootkit is embedded in it. So if you have the same software on your desktop, or any other computers, you probably have it on those as well.’

Parsons’s blank stare revealed his failure to grasp the full impact of what Aaron was telling him.

‘Look,’ Aaron said, speaking slowly now, ‘if this is what I think it is, it means that for as long as you’ve had this software on your computer, whoever’s responsible for it has seen everything you’ve done. Every e-mail, every transaction, every download – everything.’

‘But everything’s encrypted. That’s the whole purpose of the software. So only people with…’ He stopped midsentence, panic spreading across his face with the realization that the encryption software was compromised. ‘Whoever this is, they can see everything?’

‘Yeah, most likely,’ Aaron repeated.

‘No. No, that can’t be possible,’ Parsons said, his face suddenly ashen.

‘When did you have it installed?’ Aaron asked, enjoying the sudden shift in power as he watched Parsons’s desperation grow. Who knows, he thought. If I play this right and fix the problem, Parsons might pay me something extra under the table.

‘Um, I don’t know – about a year and a half ago, I guess,’ he replied.

‘And where did you get it?’ Aaron said. ‘I mean, it’s not something you bought at Staples.’

‘Some friends recommended it.’ When he saw Aaron’s skeptical look, he got defensive. ‘I trust these guys. We do some business together, and the business they’re in requires secrecy, like mine. They said this software was the best.’

‘Any changes to it since then?’

‘I got a new laptop about a year ago.’

‘Anything else?’ Aaron asked.

‘Yeah, about six months or so ago the guy who designed and installed the software came back and installed an update, saying they needed to patch some potential security issue.’

‘Bingo,’ Aaron said, the final piece of the puzzle finally dropping into place. ‘It looks like whoever designed it built in a little something extra when they installed the update, because as good as it is as encryption software, it’s an even better rootkit.’

‘I need this fixed now,’ Parsons said, growing angry. ‘I need access to my data. If someone has been watching me for six months, I need to secure things before someone steals my information.’

Aaron didn’t feel like incurring Parsons’s wrath by telling him it was probably too late. The hacker had had access for six months. Plus, they either already knew Aaron had been reviewing the computer’s registry and that he had likely uncovered the rootkit, or they’d know soon enough. Not to mention that the only way to retrieve the encrypted data was to use the infected software. As Aaron weighed the options, he couldn’t help but admire how thoroughly this mystery designer had fucked his client.

‘You understand,’ Aaron started cautiously, ‘there are basically two pieces to the encryption software: one encrypts any e-mails you send and receive, the other encrypts any data that you’re storing so no one can read it unless they have the same software.’

Parsons nodded.

‘Here’s the problem,’ Aaron said slowly. ‘I’m assuming you encrypted and downloaded a lot of data you don’t want anyone else to see.’ Aaron didn’t wait for Parsons’s response – his face told him the answer. ‘Assuming that’s true, you can’t access the information without unencrypting it, which requires you to use the program. So what we need to do is get you off the internet so whoever is running this thing will lose access to your computer. Then we need to unencrypt all your data and get a brand-new laptop.’

Parsons’s head was bouncing like a bobblehead toy. ‘This can’t be happening! Motherfucker!’ he spat out, then started grabbing things and throwing them against the blue-tiled walls. He started with the fruit in a ceramic bowl on the island, then the bowl, then anything he could get his hands on – a glass, a coffee mug. He finally stopped, his breath coming in short staccato bursts as he wrapped his hands behind his head, holding it as if trying to keep it from exploding. He stared at Aaron with the look of a cornered wild animal. ‘I need that data. I have to make sure…’ He stopped. ‘There’s a lot of important financial information that I’ve downloaded. I can’t let that fall into the wrong hands.’

Aaron scratched his head. ‘Where’s the data now?’

‘I have it on four external hard drives.’

Aaron took a deep breath. ‘As I said, the easiest thing to do is get you offline, connect your hard drives, open and unencrypt the data on them, move it unencrypted to a new computer or hard drive, and then resave it using new encryption software.’

‘Can I do that on my own?’

‘How good are you on a computer?’

He shook his head in disgust. ‘Can you show me how to do it? There’s a lot of sensitive data, so once you show me, hopefully I can handle it from there.’

‘Sure. But in the meantime, whoever installed the rootkit has access to your data. So time is of the essence.’

Parsons mumbled under his breath. ‘There may be another solution,’ he said. ‘I have an idea. I’ll call you later. But right now, go get me a new laptop and do whatever you have to do to get some new encryption software, so you’re ready to show me how to do it as soon I need you.’

Aaron let himself out through the front door and headed out to his car, happy to be getting out of the house. Any thoughts of making Parsons happy and getting a few extra bucks under the table had evaporated as he’d watched Parsons explode. This was not a guy he wanted to deal with any more than he had to. Get the job done and get out of town. He wasn’t sure what Parsons was thinking when he said he might have another solution, but, by the look on Parsons’s face, Aaron was sure he didn’t want to know.

Parsons walked into his bedroom, pulled out the four hard drives, and stared at them, now aware that someone else might know everything that was on them. Who the fuck would do this to him? He didn’t trust his partners, but he couldn’t imagine any of them would risk incurring his wrath by hacking him. He tried to remember the name of the guy who had installed the software, and who had recommended him. He needed answers and he needed them now. He picked up the phone and dialed her number. Of all of them, she was the one who had always been loyal to him.

‘Cass, it’s me. I… We have a major problem. I just had an IT guy in here, and he tells me our encryption software has some fucking rootworm or something in it.’

‘What the hell is that?’ she asked.

Parsons hesitated, weighing exactly what he wanted to tell her to avoid giving her too much information. ‘It allows someone to see what I’m doing on my computer,’ he replied.

‘Charles, are you serious? This could be devastating.’

‘Listen to me. I don’t need you to tell me how fucking bad this could be; I just need you to find the guy who installed this. Do you remember the little shit’s name – McKay or something?’

‘Mackey,’ she said.

‘Yes, that’s it. Justin Mackey. Tell Max and Carl to find him and bring him to the warehouse in Elizabeth. We need to have a little chat with him.’

3

I don’t need this on a Monday morning, Erin thought, standing at the entrance and scanning the nearly empty diner. This being New Jersey, the diner capital of the world, there hadn’t been a problem finding an open one even at the ungodly hour of four thirty a.m. After spotting Justin in the far corner, she slowly made her way over and slid into the booth opposite him. Mackey had called in a panic forty-five minutes earlier, telling her that he had to talk to her. Although Mackey might not have been the brightest bulb in the luminary, he had never been an alarmist, so she managed to drag herself out of bed, splash some water on her face, throw on some clothes, and make her way to the Lido Diner.

She ordered coffee, too tired to be angry. He looked like hell, his eyes bloodshot and puffy, an indication that he had gotten even less sleep than her. His stained T-shirt and jeans looked like he had grabbed them off his bedroom floor.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said before she could ask him anything. ‘I would never have bothered you at this hour if it wasn’t important.’ He ran his hands through his uncombed hair. ‘I needed to see you to let you know that I have to disappear for a while.’

‘Disappear for a while? Justin, what are you talking about?’

‘I’m not coming to court today, or probably for the rest of the trial. I have to get out of town.’

Erin wasn’t sure if it was the coffee kicking in or her client telling her that he was jumping bail, but she was suddenly awake. ‘Justin, you understand you’re on bail? If you don’t show up not only will the judge revoke your bail, but you’ll be committing a separate crime: bail jumping. I know the trial isn’t going the way you hoped, but even if you’re convicted, I don’t think Judge Fowler will give you more than two or three years, tops. And because it’s your first offense, you’ll probably serve less than a year before you get parole. But if you run, you’re really going to piss off the prosecutor and the judge, and assuming at some point you get caught, there’s no telling what sentence you’ll get.’

‘You don’t understand, Erin. It’s got nothing to do with this case,’ he said, nervously looking around the diner. ‘Despite what I’m charged with, I didn’t design this software. Some guy named Luke, who I’ve never even met, designed all of it. He hired me, and I just did what I was told.’

Erin motioned for him to lower his voice. Between his emotions and the empty diner, it sounded like he was using a megaphone.

‘It’s Luke who did this, not me. It’s not my fault.’

‘Stop! Justin, you’ve got to slow down. You’re not making any sense. Who’s Luke? What does any of this have to do with your case or with you disappearing?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just a little rattled.’

As he took a sip of his coffee, Erin noticed that his hand was shaking.

‘About a year and a half ago, I was a programmer at a start-up in the city. I was also betting and losing big time. I owed my bookie a ton of money, like twenty-five grand, when he suddenly offered me a way out. They wanted to move their operations offshore and were looking for software to encrypt everything. It couldn’t be anything off the shelf; it had to be unique. He told me if I could design or find encryption software that worked and install it, he’d write off my debt. So that’s how I found Luke. He was looking for someone to handle installation of his own encryption software. He gave me the names and contact info for about a dozen of his customers in New York and New Jersey and then paid me two hundred dollars a pop to go to their houses and install it. Truth is, I didn’t care what he paid me – I just wanted access to the software so I could get out of debt to my bookie.’

Justin paused, shaking his head. ‘About a year ago, when I got indicted, Luke found out that I had used his software without his permission. He sent me a text and he was pissed. He told me if I ever used his software without permission again, he’d sue me. I told him I had screwed up and that I’d never do it again. Then about six months ago he contacted me and said I could make things right with him if I went out to the same people and installed an update he had developed. So I did. He even paid me to do it.’

Maybe it was the early morning hour, but Erin was having trouble following this. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But what Luke is doing sounds perfectly legal. Why do you have to disappear?’

He looked up from his coffee at Erin and bit his lip. ‘Around midnight, I got a text from Luke. It said that one of the people I had installed the software for had discovered a hidden feature and Luke was worried I’d get blamed for it. He said they were going to come looking for me and suggested that since some of the people involved could be dangerous, I should lay low for a while until he could take care of it for me. His message said that it might take a few months, but he’d straighten it out and I’d be okay.’

‘Do you know what he’s talking about – a “hidden feature” in the software?’

Justin cupped his hands on the sides of his neck and looked like he was on the verge of tears. ‘I’m not sure. But my guess is there was a virus or something in the update he had me install. Generally, updates take a couple of minutes to install, but it took as long to download and install Luke’s update as it did to do the original software.’

‘Justin, this is crazy. Let’s just call Luke and find out exactly what’s going on.’

‘I can’t. I have no way to contact him.’

‘You just told me you got a text message from him.’

‘It was from an unknown number; he always blocks his number and uses burner phones. But he puts enough info in the text so I know it’s legitimate.’

‘How’s he pay you?’

‘PayPal.’

‘You have any idea where he is?’

‘Not a clue. If I had to guess, I’d say somewhere on the West Coast because he’s a software designer and his texts are always at weird times.’

He slid his phone across the table to her with Luke’s text open. She scrolled through it, trying to make sense of everything. It’s too early in the morning for this, she thought.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You said you only installed the software and updates on about twelve computers. Let’s go to the prosecutor with this and, assuming there was some kind of virus in the software update, let the prosecutor’s office figure out what is going on between Luke and these people. If you skip out now, it’ll just be worse for you when the police find you. And if these people are truly dangerous, you’ll be protected.’

He inhaled, appearing to weigh his options.

‘No,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Some of these people have big bucks and they’re pretty fucking scary – um, sorry, excuse my French.’ He stammered, seemingly embarrassed at having used the F-word in front of her. ‘I don’t want to mess with them. I’m going to do what Luke suggests and lay low for a while and hope he can get me out of this mess.’

‘Justin, please think about this. If you run, you’re only going to expose yourself to more jail time. And if these people are really dangerous, you’re better off trying to work out a deal and getting protection. Just because Luke got you into this mess doesn’t mean he’s going to be able to get you out of it. Let me work this out for you.’

He gave her a sad smile. ‘Thanks. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me in the case. The truth is, I wanted to take the original plea deal, but the guys at the top wouldn’t let me. So I was stuck. I know I didn’t give you much to work with to defend me. Sorry.’ And with that he threw twenty dollars on the table to cover the two cups of coffee and walked out of the diner without looking back.

As she sat there staring into her coffee cup, a waitress came by holding a fresh pot. ‘Need a refill?’

Erin looked up and nodded.

‘Don’t worry about him, honey. You can do better,’ the waitress offered with a wink.

Erin, too tired to explain, simply said, ‘Thanks.’ She looked at her watch – five a.m. – too early to call Duane. Assuming Justin didn’t show up in court, what was she going to say when the judge asked where her client was? She couldn’t lie to the judge, but at least some of what Justin had told her was protected by attorney-client privilege. Then there was the fact that Justin genuinely believed his life was in danger. But what could she do? It wasn’t like she could walk into a police station and give them anything to follow up on. ‘What kind of car was he driving?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Where was he going?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘Who was he afraid of?’ ‘I don’t know.’ ‘What did he do wrong?’ ‘I can’t tell you, he’s my client.’ Yeah, that would go well.

Erin finished her coffee, threw her jacket back on, and headed out into the brisk April morning. The sun wouldn’t rise for another hour, but the purples and pinks of the morning twilight already dominated the sky. As beautiful as it was, it would have been even more spectacular had she been able to see it while jogging next to the Atlantic Ocean. She and Duane had just come off a very successful year, and she had used her share to purchase a two-bedroom condo overlooking the ocean in Bradley Beach. She had moved into it in January and soon came to love how deserted things were in the middle of winter. She was looking forward to the trial being over so she could head back to Bradley.

For now, however, because she had to be in Newark every morning for the trial, it was back to her apartment in Cranford.

She was only a mile from her apartment when she noticed the dark sedan. Unless her mind was playing tricks on her, she had seen the same car as she left the diner. Her apartment was on Riverside Drive, a one-way street that ran along the Rahway River. At this time of morning, it should be easy to figure out if she was being followed. The hard thing would be to figure out what to do if she was.

Reaching into her purse to retrieve her BlackBerry, she weighed her options. With Cranford Police Headquarters three blocks from her apartment, she could always call 911 and then head straight there.

She checked her rearview mirror. The sedan was two-and-a-half blocks back. She made the left onto Riverside, then, to continue on Riverside, she had to make a quick right. As she did, she accelerated, hoping that because of the quick turns and bends, whoever was following her would momentarily lose sight of her car. That allowed her to make a right turn onto Central Avenue. As she did, she checked her mirror again and saw the sedan continue down Riverside, past Central.

She was relieved she had lost them but had little doubt now that she was being followed.

She made a right back onto Springfield and then another quick right back onto Riverside, completing her square circle. Now she had to decide where to go. If whoever was following her knew where she lived, they might be waiting near her apartment. Fortunately, she knew a back way to get to the parking lot of her building without ever having to go down Riverside.

She made her way down the side streets, all the time focused on looking for a dark sedan. She momentarily thought about heading to the police department, but, like the quandary she faced with Justin, what would she tell them? She had no make or model of the car, no license plate, nothing to go on. Instead, she pulled into the parking area behind her building and had her keys and phone ready as she hopped out of the car. After a quick three-sixty, making sure no one was waiting, she bolted for the back door.

As she headed to the stairs to get to her third-floor apartment, the memory of an encounter on a different set of apartment stairs came flooding back. That time, the attacker had come prepared to kill her, and she’d barely survived. This time, not knowing why she was being followed, she wasn’t taking any chances.

She made her way slowly up the stairs, listening for any noise that would indicate someone was lurking in the stairwell. When she got to the second floor, she opened the door enough so she could peer down the hallway. When she was satisfied it was deserted, she walked down the hallway to the other set of stairs in the building. As she had done before, she cautiously made her way to the third floor and cracked the door to look down the hallway – nothing.

She quickly made her way down the hall to her apartment door, unlocked it, and pushed it open, her phone in her hand in the event she had to dial 911. She walked into her living room, looking to see if anything appeared amiss. When she was finally satisfied no one had been in her apartment, she made her way to her bedroom window, which looked out on Riverside Drive.

There was no sedan in sight.

She double-checked the locks on her door and then slumped into her couch, the adrenaline slowly draining from her system. After her heart rate returned to normal, she looked at her phone, still tightly clutched in her hand, and dialed Duane’s cell. He picked up on the third ring.

‘Hey, everything okay?’ he answered.

‘Not exactly,’ she replied.

An hour later, Duane was in Erin’s kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He had parked at the office and walked the two blocks to her place on the hunt for a dark-colored sedan. He almost never carried his gun – as a Black man, he ran the risk of being shot before he could even explain to a cop that, as a former FBI agent, he had the right to carry a weapon – but he had taken it this morning.

‘Listen,’ he said. ‘The fact that you were tailed is bothering me.’

‘As soon as I lost them, they disappeared. Who knows, maybe it was just my imagination.’

‘Neither one of us believes that,’ he replied.

He heard her moving around her bedroom, getting dressed for court, and he took her silence as a hint to change the subject.

‘You know the prosecutor is definitely going to press you if Justin doesn’t show up. Bail jumping is a crime. So if the judge asks, you can’t say you haven’t heard from him. And if you claim you can’t say anything because the information you have is privileged, the judge may argue that the privilege doesn’t protect him from committing the crime of bail jumping.’

‘But the truth is, he’s already gone, and I don’t know where he is,’ Erin called from the bedroom. ‘Besides, if he doesn’t show up, he’s already committed the crime, so it’s past criminal conduct and protected by the privilege.’

‘Just be prepared for the worst,’ he offered.

She walked into the kitchen, wearing a navy-blue business suit over a white silk blouse. ‘Will do,’ she replied.

‘You mind if I give Ben a call and see what he thinks?’ he asked. Ben Silver was one of the top criminal lawyers in the state and had represented Duane when he was under investigation by the Department of Justice.

‘Not at all. My gut says I can’t say anything, but I’d love to hear Ben’s take.’ She rubbed her eyes, then put a hand on his arm. ‘I appreciate you always being here for me.’

‘It’s what friends are for,’ he said, hoping his grin was reassuring.

‘I know, but I’ve been a bit of a shit recently.’

‘You’ve been fine,’ he said.

It was a lie, but he could tell from her expression that she appreciated it just the same.

4

Erin paced the dingy hallway outside of Judge Peter Fowler’s courtroom, hoping against hope that Justin would suddenly step off the elevator. By nine twenty a.m., when it was clear that wasn’t going to happen, she had collared Assistant Prosecutor George Ramos and let him know they needed to speak with the judge about her client. At nine thirty a.m., the clerk beckoned Erin and Ramos back to the judge’s chambers.

At forty-four years old, Peter Fowler was still young to be a superior court judge, but despite his age, he had already been on the bench for nine years, having been one of the youngest judges appointed. Although he was a handsome and athletic Rhodes scholar, his nomination had almost been derailed when it came out during his confirmation hearings that he was gay. His appointment squeaked through, and two years ago he had easily received tenure because he had proven to be an excellent judge who received high marks for his demeanor and legal acumen from prosecutors and defense attorneys alike – a difficult needle to thread. Most people in the know felt he’d soon be appointed as an appellate judge, and there were rumors that he could be the first openly gay judge nominated to the New Jersey Supreme Court.

When they walked in, Fowler was pacing behind his desk. After motioning for them to have a seat, he rested his hands on the top of his desk chair and leaned forward.

‘Ms McCabe,’ he said, turning his focus to her. ‘I understand your client isn’t in court yet and you have requested to speak to me with the prosecutor.’

‘Yes, Your Honor.’

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, his tone suddenly less formal.

Fortunately, on her way to court she had spoken with Ben, who had already been briefed by Duane as to what was happening. Together she and Ben had put together a script of what she could tell the judge, and where she had to draw the line.

‘Your Honor, I have reason to believe that my client will not be coming to court today’ – she paused – ‘and possibly not for the remainder of the trial.’

Erin could feel the judge studying her and gauging his response. ‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘The way you say that, it makes it sound like your client is unhappy with the service we’ve provided and has decided to take his business elsewhere.’ Before she could respond, he held up his hand. ‘Forgive me for being so glib,’ he said, looking down into his empty chair. ‘I assume if I ask you about the information you have, you will tell me it’s privileged,’ he said, his gaze now fixed on her.

‘That is correct, Your Honor.’

‘I see.’ He moved around his chair and sat down. ‘Well, this creates a bit of a dilemma.’ He turned his head to one side. ‘You realize bail jumping is a separate crime?’

‘I do, Judge,’ Erin replied. ‘But if the information I have is correct then the crime has already been committed.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Mr Ramos, do you have any thoughts on the situation?’

‘Judge, I just learned of Mr Mackey’s absence. If Ms McCabe has information concerning his whereabouts, it is incumbent on her to disclose it to the court.’

Fowler shook his head. ‘Perhaps she does, but I’m not going to go that route right now. That would open up a debate on the privilege, perhaps causing an interlocutory appeal and delaying this trial, which is in the home stretch. I don’t see any need for me to do that.’ His head nodded slowly. ‘Unless Mr Mackey has a justifiable reason for his absence – he’s ill, for example – the trial can continue and whatever happens, happens. I’m assuming that if Ms McCabe had information that would justify her client’s absence, she would tell us. Correct, Ms McCabe?’

‘Yes, Your Honor.’

‘So based on that, here’s what we’re going to do. Ms McCabe, I’ll give you another half hour. See if you can reach your client and talk some sense into him. At ten a.m., we will resume the trial whether Mr Mackey is present or not. Outside the presence of the jury, I’ll place on the record that Ms McCabe has advised the court that her client has voluntarily absented himself from the trial, which under the court rules constitutes a waiver of his appearance. If at some point down the road your client comes to his senses, we’ll deal with that then. Once I bring the jury in, I will give them a cautionary instruction that they are not to consider Mr Mackey’s absence for any purposes or speculate as to why he is not present.’ He looked at both of them. ‘Any problems?’

‘No, Judge,’ they both replied.

‘Anything you’d like to add, Ms McCabe?’

‘No, Judge,’ she said. ‘I appreciate Your Honor’s courtesies.’

He gave her a wry smile. ‘I haven’t always been on this side of the desk, Ms McCabe. I remember what it’s like to deal with clients.’ He rose from his chair, signaling the conference was coming to an end. ‘Let my clerk know if anything changes. If not, we’ll proceed at ten.’

Walking out of Fowler’s chambers, Erin reached into her purse to retrieve her BlackBerry. She’d try again to get hold of Justin, even though she knew it was probably futile. But there was more at stake than just trying to convince him to come to court – she was worried about him.

Just as he had promised, when court resumed at ten without Justin, Judge Fowler cautioned the jury not to draw any conclusions or inferences from the fact that Mr Mackey was not in court. From Erin’s standpoint, this was akin to shining a giant spotlight on the empty chair next to her. Whatever you do, don’t think about the elephant that’s not in the room.

After the prosecutors had put on one final witness, they rested. The defense motion to dismiss the case was quickly denied, and one of the two lead defendants called a lawyer as a witness in an effort to bolster the defendant’s argument that they had obtained a legal opinion that online gambling on a Costa Rican website was legal. Any benefit from the lawyer’s testimony quickly evaporated with the prosecutor’s brief cross-examination, which revealed that the lawyer was never actually retained and never provided an opinion it was legal. So much for the defense case, Erin thought when they rested.

Back in the office, Erin read through her notes and trial transcripts in preparation for closing, which she’d have to do tomorrow regardless of whether Justin was there or not. She planned to do her generic closing, reminding the jury of the presumption of innocence and that the State had the burden of proving each of the defendants guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. She’d address her client’s conversations on the wiretaps as best she could: he was a salesman, she’d tell the jury, and while he also liked to make a few bets on sporting events, he wasn’t part of a gambling conspiracy. He was just trying to make a sale by talking potential problems through with the customers. She, like her client, was a salesperson, tasked with selling her client’s story to the jury. Over the course of most trials, she would convince herself that she was going to win, but she didn’t have that feeling now. Still, she’d give it her best shot.

A movement in her office doorway caught her eye. Duane.

‘Why are you still here?’ she asked.

‘Um, let’s see: Fearful client demands you meet him at four in the morning, a mysterious dark sedan follows you to your apartment… need I say more?’

She looked at him sheepishly. ‘I’m not actually sure they followed me to my apartment. I lost them before I got there – remember?’

‘Oh, and you think they don’t know where you live and work?’

She snorted. ‘You sure know how to make a girl feel safe.’

‘That’s why I’m still here.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she insisted.

‘I know you will, because I’m following you home.’

Despite her bravado, she was happy he was there. The events of the day had been unnerving, and Duane’s presence helped her stay calm. Even though she had continued taking her Krav Maga classes and had become good enough to earn her green belt, she knew from painful experience that all the training in the world didn’t matter if your attacker had a gun.

‘Give me another thirty minutes,’ she said. ‘I should be done by then.’

‘Will do,’ he replied, and disappeared down the hallway.

As soon as he walked away, she pushed her chair back from her desk, cupped her mouth with her hand, and chastised herself. Duane had a wife and three-year-old son, and yet here he was watching out for her instead of going home to be with his family. She looked at everything spread out on her desk – there was nothing here that couldn’t be spread out on her dining room table at home. Whatever summation she was going to come up with wasn’t going to change whether she did it at home or in her office. She got up and retrieved her trial bag from the corner of the office. She packed up everything she’d need and headed out into the hallway.

‘Come on, Swish. Time to blow this joint,’ she hollered down the hallway.

5

Erin thought her summation went as well as it could have considering that she didn’t have a client in the courtroom. One of her tried-and-true tactics was to use her client as a prop in her closing, standing behind the client when she spoke to the jury about the sanctity of the presumption of innocence, hopefully forcing the jury to see her client as an individual, not as a defendant. But today, as she paced in front of the jurors making her argument, she suspected her client’s empty chair provided a very different visual prop that she wasn’t going to be able to overcome.

Judge Fowler waited for the jury to leave before he spoke. ‘Okay, folks, anything else we need to discuss today?’

Assistant Prosecutor Ramos rose to his feet. Ramos was short and stocky, and after fifteen years in the prosecutor’s office, he was considered a lifer – someone who would retire from the office at the end of his career. His low-key manner and quiet self-assurance appealed to juries, making him a formidable adversary. ‘Your Honor, I need to speak to Ms McCabe privately, but then I believe we will need to speak to Your Honor in chambers.’

Fowler stared at him quizzically. ‘It’s been a long day for everyone, Mr Ramos. Can’t it wait until the morning?’

Ramos, who throughout the trial had been very accommodating, glanced in Erin’s direction. ‘Judge, most respectfully, we need to do this now.’

Fowler raised an eyebrow. ‘Very well. I’ll see you in… How long do you need to speak with Ms McCabe?’

‘Ten minutes, Your Honor.’

‘Very good. I’ll see you in ten minutes.’

‘All rise,’ the court clerk intoned as Fowler rose and exited his courtroom.

Erin followed Ramos into the small office the assistant prosecutors had access to when they were involved in a trial. The room was no bigger than a walk-in closet, with barely enough room for a desk and two chairs, one chair sitting behind the desk, one in front. There was a large calendar that hung haphazardly on the wall with notes of all kinds scribbled on it. On the desk was a computer that rarely worked, and when it did, it ran so slowly that it was often faster for a detective or an assistant prosecutor to take the elevator down to the third floor and use the computers in the main office.

‘You’d better sit,’ Ramos said, pointing to the chair in front of the desk as he positioned himself on the desk’s corner.

‘What’s going on, George?’

‘Erin, I’m afraid I have some news about your client.’ He paused, leaving her momentarily confused. ‘The Port Authority Police found a body this afternoon in the trunk of a car at Newark Airport, and although there has been no official identification yet, based on evidence found with the body, we believe it’s Mr Mackey.’

Erin squinted, trying to process what he was telling her. ‘Are you saying Justin is… dead?’

‘At this point, we believe so. We should have a positive ID shortly. They were taking the body back to the morgue to run the prints.’

She closed her eyes, shaking her head, replaying the scene in the Lido. ‘Shit.’ He was so young. She took a deep breath and looked up at Ramos. ‘Do you know how he died?’ she finally asked.

‘From what I was told, a single gunshot to the back of his head, execution style.’ He waited, allowing the news to sink in. ‘So, assuming it is your client, Homicide is going to want to speak with you at some point. You may want to think about the attorney-client privilege issue.’

She winced, feeling like she had just been hit in the stomach. A bullet to the back of the head. Whoever it was that Justin had inadvertently pissed off played for keeps.

‘If it turns out to be your client, we want to keep his name out of the press until after we get a verdict. If this leaks out to the press, everyone will be screaming for a mistrial.’

Erin looked at Ramos in disbelief. He’d just finished telling her that her client may be dead – executed. At this point, a mistrial was the least of her worries.

A few minutes later, Erin sat stone faced as Ramos explained the situation to Fowler, who frowned as he jotted notes on a legal pad.

‘Well, let’s hope it’s not Mr Mackey,’ he said. ‘How long before you have an ID on the victim?’

‘I would expect to hear very shortly.’ As if on cue, Ramos’s phone began to vibrate. ‘Your Honor, this is my office, may I take the call?’

Fowler nodded.

Erin didn’t even need to listen to the one-sided conversation.

Ramos’s body language said it all.

‘I’m sorry, Erin,’ he said when he hung up.

Although the news was not unexpected, Erin nevertheless found herself stunned. Justin was a young guy, his whole life ahead of him – now he was gone, and for what? None of this made any sense. Who the fuck was this mysterious Luke, and what the hell had he gotten Justin involved in?

When she looked up, Fowler was crouching in front of her. ‘Erin, I’m terribly sorry,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I know we all occupy different roles in this system we call justice, but I hope none of us, particularly me, ever loses respect for the humanity of the people we deal with.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, squeezing his hand. ‘I appreciate it.’

‘Do you want me to have a sheriff’s officer walk you to your car?’ Fowler offered.

She could hear Duane’s voice screaming in her head to say yes, but she politely declined. She just needed to be alone.

Around nine thirty p.m., Erin’s phone rang. Looking at the display, she saw that it was Mark calling. It was Tuesday night – game night for the basketball team he and Duane played for. Like Duane, he had played basketball in college, in Mark’s case, at NYU. Surely Duane would have told him that her client had been murdered. Part of her wanted to let it go to voice mail; the other part was desperate to hear his voice.

‘Hi,’ she answered on the third ring, succumbing to her desire to hear him.

‘Hi,’ Mark responded, caution evident in his voice. ‘I had a basketball game with Swish tonight, and he mentioned what happened to your client. You okay?’

She wanted to lie and tell him everything was fine, thank him for the call, and hang up. But it was wonderful to hear his voice again.

‘Actually, no,’ she responded.

‘The game’s over. I can stop by on my way home if you’d like.’ So many thoughts ran through her head –