“I need to get out of this place, Lizzie.” Zach sounded scared. “Like, immediately.”
“Don’t worry. No matter what the prosecution’s strategy, they can’t keep you in Rikers on an assault charge, not under these circumstances. We’ll get you the right lawyer, and they’ll appeal the denial of bail.”
“Lizzie,” Zach pleaded. “You are the right lawyer.”
I was not. I was the wrong kind of lawyer, without the right connections. It also wasn’t an accident that I’d never worked a homicide case, and I planned to keep it that way. But even taking that whole issue aside, my life was already out of control: the last thing I needed was to get mixed up in some old friend’s shitshow. And, if nothing else, Zach’s situation sounded like exactly that.
“Zach, I’m sorry, but I—”
“Lizzie, please,” he whispered, sounding frantic now. “I’ll be honest, I am fucking terrified. Could you maybe come down and see me at least? We could talk about it?”
Damn it. I was not representing Zach, no matter what. But his wife was dead, and we were old friends. Maybe I could go see him. It might even be easier for Zach to accept why I couldn’t be his lawyer if I told him face-to-face.
“Okay,” I said finally.
“Great,” Zach said, sounding way too relieved. “Tonight? Visiting hours are until nine p.m.”
I checked the clock: 7:24 p.m. I’d have to move fast. I looked again at the draft letter on my computer screen. Then I thought of Sam, waiting at home for me. Now I wouldn’t be at the office late like I said I’d be. Maybe that was reason enough to go see Zach at Rikers.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
“Thank you, Lizzie,” Zach said. “Thank you.”
Grand Jury Testimony
LUCY DELGADO,
called as a witness the 6th of July and was examined and testified as follows:
EXAMINATION
BY MS. WALLACE:
Q: Ms. Delgado, thank you for being willing to testify.
A: I was subpoenaed.
Q: And thank you for complying with that subpoena. Were you at a party at 724 First Street on July 2nd of this year?
A: Yes.
Q: And how did you come to be at that party?
A: I was invited.
Q: By whom were you invited?
A: Maude Lagueux.
Q: And how do you and Maude Lagueux know each other?
A: Years ago our daughters were in the same kindergarten class at Brooklyn Country Day.
Q: This party is an annual event, is it not?
A: I don’t know.
Q: You don’t know?
A: No.
Q: Let’s try this another way. Have you been to this party in previous years?
A: Yes.
Q: What happens at this party?
A: Um, socializing, eating, drinking? It’s a party.
Q: An adult party?
A: Yes. Kids aren’t invited. Anyway most of them are away at sleepaway camp or summer immersion or whatever. That’s the point of the party. Sleepaway Soiree, get it?
Q: I do. And does sexual intercourse take place at these parties?
A: What?
Q: Does sexual intercourse take place on the upstairs floor during this party?
A: I have no idea.
Q: You are under oath. You do recall that, correct?
A: Yes.
Q: I’ll ask the question again. Does sexual intercourse take place on the upstairs floor during the Sleepaway Soiree at 724 First Street?
A: Sometimes. Not actually on the floor. There are beds. It’s a regular house.
Q: Have you ever engaged in sexual intercourse during these parties?
A: No.
Q: Have you had sexual relations of any kind during these parties?
A: Yes.
Q: With your husband?
A: No.
Q: With somebody else’s husband?
A: Yes.
Q: Did others engage in similar behavior?
A: Sometimes. Not everyone and not all the time. It’s not that big of a deal.
Q: Partner-swapping wasn’t a big deal to the people at this party?
A: Partner-swapping sounds so, I don’t know, purposeful or something. This was only for fun. Like a joke, sort of. A way to blow off some steam.
Q: Did you see Amanda Grayson at the party on July 2nd?
A: Yes. But I didn’t know who she was at the time.
Q: How did you learn that you’d seen her?
A: The police showed me a picture of her.
Q: They showed you a picture of Amanda Grayson and asked if you had seen her at the party?
A: Yes.
Q: And where did you see her?
A: In the living room. She bumped into me and spilled wine down my shirt.
Q: When was that?
A: I think around 9:30 or 10:00 p.m. I don’t know exactly. But I was only at the party until 11:00. So sometime before then.
Q: Did you see her again after that?
A: No.
Q: How did she seem when you saw her?
A: Upset. She seemed upset.
Q: Upset like crying? Or angry?
A: Scared. She seemed really scared.
Q: Did you speak with Maude Lagueux at the party that night?
A: I was going to talk to her, but when I went over, it seemed like she and her husband Sebe were arguing about another woman.
Q: Why do you say that?
A: Because I heard Maude say something about “naked pictures of her,” and she was really, really angry. I mean, I’ve never seen her like that.
Q: Thank you very much, Ms. Delgado. You may step down.
Amanda
SIX DAYS BEFORE THE PARTY
“What do you think?” the decorator asked, waving her manicured hand around Amanda’s office at the Hope First Initiative. There was the brand-new tailored orange couch, the gray wool rug with wide white stripes, and the absurdly expensive end tables, handcrafted by some Williamsburg woodworker.
When Amanda glanced up, the decorator—a tall, determined woman with hawkish features who wore only draped clothing in various shades of gray—was looking at her, waiting for a response. There was a right thing to say at this moment. Amanda had no idea what it was, but when she didn’t know exactly what to say—which was often—she had found that selecting just a few good words could make up for a lot.
Luckily, Amanda had been collecting good words ever since she and her mom used to snuggle side by side in one of the oversize corduroy beanbags in the children’s section of the St. Colomb Falls Library. That ended when Amanda was eleven and her mom got sick and died all within a few weeks—lung cancer, even though she’d never smoked a single cigarette. After that, Amanda wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to go back to the library. But then, there she was, only days later, still needing someplace safe to be.
The sour librarian had come out of nowhere with a pile of books for Amanda the second or third time she was there alone. She didn’t ask about Amanda’s mom. She’d just said with a wrinkled frown: “There are these.” Then she slapped the fat stack down—Lord of the Flies, Catcher in the Rye, Little Women. After that, the librarian’s special deliveries became a regular thing. In the end, it was from those books that Amanda’s best words came. And so they were her words; Amanda needed to remind herself of that sometimes. She’d read those books. That part of her was real.