Connor set down his fork and knife. “You put together a solid case. The burden of proof always lies heavy with the prosecution, and we knew this would be a tough one with no hard evidence against that son of a bitch.”
Connor’s words bled into the background din of the restaurant. It was Wednesday, and the spot we’d settled on after court today was perched a few blocks above the Seattle waterfront. It was the kind of unpretentious neighborhood restaurant that attracted as many CEOs as it did families, and tonight I couldn’t stop staring at the tables with little ones circled around. The ones with boys especially, falling in the six- to eight-year-old range . . .
“It’s going to be my fault a predator is released back onto the street tomorrow when the jury reads their verdict.” I picked up my mineral water, trying to distract myself from the children scattered around the restaurant, the ones whose innocence still burned in their eyes.
“No, it won’t be your fault. Or mine. Or the jury’s. Or the judge’s. If you want to assign fault, pin it on the justice system you love so much.” Connor ran his hand through his coiffed hair, his posture stiff. “Innocent until proven guilty, that’s the way our country works. It’s a system that would rather watch a dozen criminals get off scot-free than one innocent man be condemned to prison.”
I shot a half smile across the table at him. “Wow, Connor. It’s like I’ve never heard any of this before. Thanks for explaining the basics of the justice system.”
“That was almost a smile.” His finger waved at me. “That’s about the first one I’ve seen this week.”
“It’s been a shit week,” I confessed, wishing the mineral water would magically transform into a martini. However, I rarely drank in front of my co-workers—couldn’t ruin the illusion I’d built of being high on life and drunk off success at this point in my career.
“And the jury hasn’t even read their verdict.” Connor made a face. “Can I request tomorrow off?”
“Denied.” My head shook. “If I have to witness the look on Skovil’s face when he finds out he got away with performing heinous acts against children so he can go commit more on other children, so do you.” My eyes met Connor’s. “It keeps you sharp. Watching a known criminal be set free into the world makes you better on the next case, and every one that follows.”
Picking up his fork again, he picked at his half-eaten salad. “I can’t imagine putting together a better case than the one we did with Skovil. I mean it,” he added when he guessed I was getting ready to object. “Representing the prosecution, we have to accept than sometimes we’re going to watch guilty men go free. The defense does their job and we do ours. Although I can’t comprehend how any attorney can defend a guy like Skovil or any of the other monsters we’ve come across.”
I was absently watching a boy scribble the coloring sheet of his menu with a green crayon, and I wondered if he’d be next. Or maybe the boy at the next table, laughing over something his mom had said.
Skovil’s victims weren’t close to him, as most pedophiles preyed upon—he targeted the random child in a park, the one on his way to school. Darryl Skovil was the type of child molester every mother assumed strange men who wandered too close to her child were. He was the nightmare, wrapped in a small-statured, unthreatening package with a smile that could fool the devil himself.
“I’m not in the mood for a pep talk tonight. I know how this whole thing works. I believe in the system and that in the quest of preserving it, bad men will go unpunished.” I waved at the server to bring the bill. “Some days my conviction in it all fades to doubt. But don’t worry, I’ll be back to parroting my usual legal psalms tomorrow.”
“Making your dad proud.” Connor shot me a wide smile. “Which I have yet to do where mine’s concerned.”
“Not sure conditions being tied to your parent being proud of you is a goal to strive for, my friend.” I handed my card to the server without checking the bill. An urge to get home hit me, though I guessed Andee would already be in bed by the time I got back, and god only knew if, and when, Noah would be home.
“Enough about work. How’s your home life?” Connor finished the rest of his tea and waited as I signed for the bill.
“I’d rather talk about work.”
“That idyllic, huh?” Connor pushed out of his seat when I did, the look on his face expectant.
Smoothing out my slacks, I relented—Connor seldom gave me a free pass where dissecting my personal life was concerned. After working with me for five years, it was as though he felt he’d earned a vested interest.
“Andee still won’t talk to me, but at least I haven’t seen any signs of that loser of a kind-of, maybe boyfriend of hers.”
“Hey, every teenager has to experience at least one serious loser in order to recognize a winner when they come along.”
I nudged him as we wove through the restaurant. “Not exactly reassuring when you’re speaking to the parent of a teen mixed up with the leader of the loser club.”
Connor chuckled. “So Andee is doing swimmingly, checking off every box of parental approval. How are things in the Noah department?”
The look on my face must have tipped him off before my verbal response could.
“Floundering?” he guessed, concern drawing his forehead together.
“Flopped.” My throat burned as we made our way into the lobby. “Between his job and mine, we haven’t seen each other for more than forty total minutes this week.” We paused before going through the glass doors. “I can’t remember the last time we shared a bed, not to mention what a couple occasionally does in a bed. He’s distant most of the time, and distracted the rest, and I’m pretty sure he wishes I’d just divorce him because he’s too gallant to mention it first. So that’s how things are in the Noah department.”
When I paused to catch my breath, I noticed the surprise in Connor’s eyes. He knew a lot about my personal life, but I didn’t let him in much deeper than one stratum beneath surface level.
“Sorry for the unload. I would have issued a warning if I knew that was all going to spill out.”
Connor steered me away from the doors, into a quiet corner of the lobby. He lowered his face so it was right in front of mine. “Do you want a divorce?”
My heart pounded as I considered Connor’s question. It seemed simple—I knew divorced people who saw each other more than Noah and I did—but nothing about dissolving seventeen years of marriage was straightforward.
Especially with Noah’s and my history.
“No.” My head shook with my answer. “I don’t think I do.”
“Does he?” Connor continued.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to ask him?”
“I’m not sure I’ll feel better no matter how he answers.” My gaze flickered to the door. I should have given Connor the generic response to his home life inquiry and moved on to a different subject. A person talked about this kind of stuff with a psychiatrist, not a co-worker. “I’m not sure if I’d rather him admit he wants a divorce or say he doesn’t, thereby admitting he’s content with this kind of non-existent relationship.”