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  A big move? I have to repeat to myself. You mean ... back to Colorado?

  I lean into Quinton. “All of that is entirely out of context!”

  Quinton nods before standing and crossing the courtroom to question the witness himself. He says, “You and Addison Compo were roommates for how long, Miss Barrish?”

  “From July to November of last year; five months.”

  “Five months,” Quinton repeats. “And how long were you and I lovers?” There’s a muffled murmur passing among the officers of the court and the other witnesses before the judge wraps his gavel halfheartedly to quiet them. “How long, Miss Barrish?”

  “We met the previous Christmas, as you well know.”

  “At the Santa Monica Pier,” Quinton says with a warm, nostalgic tone. “You were with some friends, and I’d been stood up.”

  “You looked so sad,” Emily says from the stand. “I wanted to take you home and take care of you. You were so cute.”

  “And we fell in love, didn’t we?”

  I can see that Emily’s being carried away by her emotions a bit. And I know Quinton doesn’t like having to do what he’s doing. But this is my future on the line, and she wasn’t bashful about twisting the truth to get me out of her way.

  So I just sit back and watch.

  Quinton says to Emily, “We lived together, were about to get engaged. I think that’s something that should be on the record.”

  Emily considers, confusion overcome by enthusiasm. “Oh, well, sure, I mean, I’m not ashamed; I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.” Emily glares at me from the stand. “It’s her fault everything went wrong!”

  “She broke us up,” Quinton says, “with her attempts to involve me in her growing criminal empire.”

  Emily pouts. “Don’t make fun.”

  “I’m not, Miss Barrish, I assure you I’m not.” Quinton steps away from the stand, his voice getting a bit louder, more forceful. “Because this isn’t a game, Miss Barrish. You’re an actress, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, that’s right, I was on a -”

  “But you’re not acting right now, are you?”

  “I -no, of course not!”

  “You’re not putting on an act. If you seem ... emotional, that’s sincere.”

  “Yes, of course it is!”

  “Because this isn’t some television commercial, or a callback for a walk-on film role. This is a person’s life on the line. A person who called you from jail looking for a lawyer, looking for my professional services at a time of crisis and you hung up without even telling me.”

  “I did tell you.”

  “It took ten minutes of my having to ask,” Quinton says. “And why? Because you were glad Miss Compo had this trouble, you wanted her out of the way.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with her being arrested!”

  “Objection,” Miss Jerome says, standing, “badgering.”

  Quinton says to the judge, “I am not implying any guilt on the part of the witness, only a predisposition against the defendant. It reflects quite strongly on her credibility as a witness.”

  Judge Takimara nods. “Overruled. Continue.”

  Quinton turns back to Emily on the stand. “And now you see another chance to get Miss Compo out of the way, to seek your revenge on her for ruining our lives together.”

  “No, no,” Emily says, shaking her head.

  “But you do blame her for breaking us up, you just said so.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “And you think we’d still be together if she’d never come around.”

  Emily looks deep into Quinton’s eyes, as if drawn to him. “Oh yes, Quinton, yes I do.” “Because you love me, Emily. Say it; say you still love me.”

  “No, I ... ”

  “You love me the way you’ve never loved another man, the way you’ll never love another man as long as you live ... ”

  “Objection -”

  But Quinton ignores the prosecutor. “Even now, you want to be with me, to get back to that place we were, before everything went so terribly wrong -”

  “Yes,” Emily says, almost breathless.

  “And you know in your heart and your soul that we should be together -”

  “Oh yes, Quinton -”

  Quinton turns to the judge. “Your honor -”

  Without needing to hear more, Judge Takimara pounds his gavel. “The witness may step down. Counsel, please approach the bench!”

  Emily sits, stunned, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Wait, what’s ... I’m finished?”

  The prosecutor guides Emily down from the stand. “I think we all are.” Emily walks back and sits, still shooting me wicked glances as Quinton and Miss Jerome stand before Judge Takimara.

  “Frankly,” the judge says, “with the property deeds and the cellphone calls, I’m ready to move ahead with this case right now. But I won’t preside over a circus, and I won’t have you two showboating with a lot of ineffective character witnesses or blithering brokenhearts.” He looks at the prosecuting attorney. “Miss Jerome, if you’re counting on the records to win this case, you’ll be on thin ice; but you’re welcome to take your chances in front of a jury.” He turns to Quinton. “And you, young man, are in danger of letting this matter go straight to trial, and I strongly recommend that you zealously implement a more aggressive strategy.”

  “This is precisely our intent, Your Honor,” Quinton says, turning to Miss Jerome. “Your witness, Madam Prosecutor.”

  “Very well, you two,” Judge Takimara says, “but don’t let me see you standing before me like this again.”

  I feel a rushof emotion when Miss Jerome calls Randolph to the stand. He’s very distinguished in a fine JoS. A. Bank executive two-button suit, his hair recently cut and styled. His personal assistant Sarah remains seated by his empty chair as he crosses the courtroom and takes the stand. I haven’t seen him since that day I gave him back his car keys, and I’m filled with conflicting emotions; betrayal, pity, hatred, rage.

  By far, nausea is the prevailing feeling as the prosecutor leads Randolph through the events ofour time together from his twisted perspective. I realize that, to the prosecutor, he’s an innocent witness. If anything, they’ll play him as being duped by me. They can’t have any idea that Randolph is the real drug kingpin, the true mastermind behind all this.

  But they’re about to find out.

  Because if they don’t, I’m going to prison forever.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Randolph is an effective witness, even I have to admit. Why not? He lied to me like a pro, no reason to think he wouldn’t be bringing his A-game tothis tragic performance. And he’s getting nothing but softball pitches that lead him directly to the most incriminating and calculated series of misstatements I’ve ever heard:

  “I thought we’d just bumped into one another, by happenstance. I couldn’t have imagined I was being setup by a worldclass con artist ... It wasn’t long before she had me buying her clothes. She’d failed to find work, but she talked her way right into a position as my personal assistant, a trusted position ... She pretended not to know anything about real estate, brought me to see this apartment building she was interested in buying, asked if I could help. Naturally, I wanted to do what little I could, and it did seem like a reasonable investment at the time. If only I’d known what she apparently knew about it ... Did the same thing to me in Florida with this little house she spotted. I can’t believe I fell for it twice, but, I guess I can admit that by this time I was becoming distracted by her feminine wiles ... She seduced me, plain and simple, even preying upon my lingering sense of loss over my family, it haunts me to this day ... Now, of course, my finances are in ruin, my reputation is shot, my career in shambles. But I guess I’m not the only one whose life was turned upside-down by this woman. What amazes me is how callous she is, how effective at pretending to be one thing while concealing her true self. She’s like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I ... I never realized how v
ulnerable I’d be to that. I’m just thankful to have the love and support of a good woman to show me that I can still be free of Miss Compo’s terrible influence.”

  Once Quinton gets a hold of Randolph, it’s another story:

  “You’re an experienced real estate investor, Mr. MacLeish?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And do you often make loans to people without collateral, without adequate credit or income?”

  Randolph smiles a bit, like he knows where Quinton is going with this line of questioning. He says, “As I said, Miss Compo and I had a more intimate relationship than I would have had with any normal investor.”

  “So you were lovers at the time of the first sale, the apartment building in Atwater Village?”

  “Well, no, actually, not at that point. But I think we could both see where things were heading. I wish I’d taken my own advice.”

  “And what advice was that, sir?”

  Randolph shoots me a little look. “As I’d told Miss Compo, it’s vital to keep a balance between one’s personal and one’s professional life. We blurred the lines, and look where we’ve both wound up.”

  “Indeed,” Quinton says, “you should have seen this coming, eh?”

  “Um, not this exactly,” Randolph says, “but misfortune can take many forms.”

  “Yes it can, Mr. MacLeish. For example, when an innocent young girl meets an aging man of diminishing means and thinks she’s found a mentor and a lover, when really she’s been trapped in the web of some terrible spider.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Randolph says. “I was the one who was tricked!”

  “You’re lying, Mr. MacLeish. In point of fact, you are the con artist and it is Miss Compo who is the victim, set up to be an unwitting pawn in your new venture.”

  “Objection -”

  “Overruled.”

  Quinton goes on to say, “You lined up those properties, you set up her limited liability corporation so you could use it to shield your drug ring. You used it to take out credit cards and buy cellphones, which you used to make your deals with the other people in your organization. It’s not uncommon for business to be done this way, so that nobody can ever be identified by anyone else -”

  “But they’d know a woman’s voice when they heard one.”

  Quinton smiles. “I never said the voice was identified by anyone as a woman’s voice.”

  Randolph begins to stammer a bit, sweat collecting on his forehead. “I guess I just assumed ... but she could havemade the calls, or somebody else ... what’s the difference, what are you trying to prove? It’s my word against hers!”

  That isn’t quite true, because of the stack of records incriminating me and the absolute absence of any evidence incriminating Randolph, which is the only thing that will turn this around.

  And to that end, and because a matter of my word against Randolph’s must include my actual word, I am called to the stand.

  I answer every question the prosecutor has, and there aren’t many. Miss Jerome is waiting to get me on the stand in the real trial, because she knows she’s got that locked down. But a series of very reasonable questions help me to lay down the events leading up to and including my arrest, my detention, my release on bail.

  After my direct examination, Quinton guides me through his cross-examination. He walks me clinically though the events again; catching anything we may have missed along the way, and covering events leading right up to this very morning.

  I explain about our chats in the apartment living room, brainstorming a way to piece the puzzle together.

  And finding it.

  I mention the visit to Randolph’s mother, and our return trip on that day just a week ago. And I mention the things we learned afterward, about actress Caroline Lawrence.

  Afterward, Quinton excuses me from the witness stand and then turns to see the faces of prosecuting attorney Sabrina Jerome and State’s witness Randolph MacLeish; pressed wide and flat in shocked, bloodless expressions.

  Quinton says, “The defense would like to call Caroline Lawrence to the stand.” The doors open and Caroline Lawrence enters, a bailiff by her side. She looks around, resembling the attractive woman we saw from the front seat of Quinton’s car and almost nothing like the old Scots matron she portrayed for me in her living room some months ago.

  She takes her place behind the stand, is sworn in, and sits down to face Quinton as he approaches.

  “Miss Lawrence, thank you for being here today.”

  “Yeah, like I had much choice.”

  Randolph is going even paler now, sweat rolling down the side of his face.

  Quinton says, “You recall the afternoon of November 2nd of last year, 2013?”

  Her voice comes very low and cool. “Yes.”

  “Will you please describe for us, in your own words, what happened; for the record.”

  She’s very nervous; it’s easy to tell by her quivering voice, cracking in her throat. “Well, um, Randolph MacLeish -”

  “Is Randolph MacLeish in this room right now?” She nods, and he adds, “Could you point him out for us please?” She nods again, then points at Randolph. Quinton adds, “Let the record show the witness pointed out Randolph MacLeish, himself a witness for the prosecution.” Quinton turns back to face Caroline on the stand. “Go on, please.”

  “Right. So Randolph ... Mr. MacLeish ... had called me a few days before, to tell me he was bringing Miss Compo ... ” She raises her finger and points me out, Quinton having it duly noted for the record. “He said she’d need a little convincing, that I was supposed to play his mother.”

  “Play his mother?”

  She nods. “Y’know, like an actor, I’m an actor.”

  “Or like a grifter,” Quinton says. “And is this the extent of your association with Mr. MacLeish?”

  I’m watching Randolph now, his face is so white it’s almost light blue. He’s clearly struggling just to swallow or even take a breath. Penny for your thoughts, I hear myself thinking, but I have to admit I’d pay a lot more than that, even if I already know what they are. It would be so sweet to hear him say it.

  Caroline Lawrence shakes her head on the stand. “No, I ... I’ve been involved with the deal from the start. But I never touched any drugs at any time, I want that on the record!”

  A shocked murmur rises up amid everyone on the room. Even the bailiff and the uniformed officers are shaking their heads, others trading quick mumbled remarks of shock and amazement. Judge Takimara wraps his gavel and calls for order to be restored to the court.

  Everyone complies and returns their attention to Caroline on the stand; all except for me. I’m still watching Randolph; enjoying his squirming misery, his dread, his doom. I’m sorry for what he’s about to face, but I have to admit he deserves it.

  Better him than me!

  Quinton says to Caroline, “You were the one who placed those calls to Florida, to Brussels.”

  “Yes.”

  “To protect MacLeish’s identity and implicate Miss Compo.”

  “Yes.” She turns to me. “I’m sorry, hon, I didn’t mean it. It’s nothing personal.”

  Quinton says to Caroline, “We know.”

  “My career isn’t going anywhere, I can’t afford to pay my rent! This was just gonna be a quick thing; make a few phone calls, that’s it. Then she wanted to visit his mother, ‘cause they were getting closer, at least she thought they were. I told him it was a bad idea.”

  “For the record,” Quinton says, “this witness has struck a plea bargain to offer her testimony in exchange for immunity against further prosecution.” He turns to the prosecutor, Miss Sabrina Jerome. “Your witness.”

  Sitting behind her table, the prosecutor stands and, hands out at her sides, says, “No questions at this time, Your Honor.”

  “Very well.” Judge Takimara says to Caroline, “You’re excused, please step down.”

  Caroline looks around for a moment, then nods and quickly s
crambles to her feet and steps down from the stand.

  Quinton turns toface the bench. “Your Honor, the defense calls Randolph MacLeish back to the stand.”

  Judge Takimara and Quinton both turn to glare at Randolph, seated among the others. His woman Sarah glares at him, and Randolph stands up. He nods a bit as he sidesteps his way toward the aisle. But as soon as he gets to the aisle, he turns and bolts, running straight for the doors.

  A uniformed officer in the back of the room runs to intercept him, and Randolph pushes through the doors and into the hallway. But I can see that he’s tackled by a cop already in the hall, and the shrinking gap between the closing doors gets even wider as the officer in the courtroom nearest to him, as well as two others, run out into the hallway. I can see Randolph’s foot sticking out from that pile of cops. His voice barks out desperate grunts of protest, lost in the clicks of their cuffs, the crackle of their walkie-talkies, and the cold reading of his Miranda rights.

  Quinton turns to the judge. “I move for a dismissal of all charges against my client and that she be released without prejudice at once.”

  The judge asks, “Miss Jerome?”

  “The State moves to drop all charges against Addison Danielle Compo.”

  “Granted,” Judge Takimara says, wrapping his gavel. “Dismissed.” He mutters a few more things which I can’t quite make out, wraps that gavel one more time and says, “Court is adjourned.”

  He sets the gavel down and stands up, and so do we all. I fall into Quinton’s arms, both of us squeezing with all our might. The incredible weight of events, the pressure of everything I stood to lose, bears down us now with its full gravity. Adrenaline courses through my body, filling every cell to the breaking point. I feel strong enough to crush Quinton in my arms, yet so weak I’m not sure if I’ll remain standing.

  We pull back a bit, still holding on, each ready to see the other as events have prevented us from doing. We finally kiss, and the rest of that pent-up energy comes spilling out; through my lips, my tongue, my tears as they roll down mycheeks, smearing against his own. There’s no shame now, and no reason for any. We’ve fought with each other and for each other and won, and nobody can deny us our prize; the lives and the love we came so close to losing forever, now ours for the taking.