Criminal by Terra Elan McVoy Page B

so long to get me one. That I’d had to sleep here first.
    A series of buzzes and lights and I was led down another hall into a side room with little in it but a table and two chairs. A youngish guy in a too-big suit stood in front of one of them. A briefcase was on the table.
    â€œMiss Dougherty,” he said, all official. He nodded to the guard, and she left the room, standing outside but watching through the glass window in the door.
    â€œHello, Nikki,” he said to me when the door was shut.
    I didn’t know what else to say but hello.
    â€œHave a seat, please. I’m Doug Jacobsen. They’ve appointed me as your lawyer.”
    I sat, waiting for him to keep talking.
    â€œThey treating you all right? You doing okay?”
    I shrugged. How was I supposed to answer? They were treating me all right. But I would never be okay.
    He smoothed his hands over the top of his briefcase before opening it and taking out a folder. “Well, Nikki—please call me Doug—since you cannot provide your own legal counsel, the court has appointed me to represent you.” I waited for him to go on. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do—what I could do. But it seemed like he wanted me to say something first.
    â€œI’ve reviewed your case,” he said after a long pause. “What’s here, at least, and I have to tell you that the charges against you arepretty serious. You do understand that you have, by this statement, essentially confessed to being party to murder? Of a county deputy? Which means they are essentially charging you with murder.”
    â€œBut I didn’t kill anybody.”
    He looked at me. I looked at him back.
    â€œI know that,” he finally said. “But with this confession that you made—if I’m correct, voluntarily—it may be difficult, to say the least, to arrange a case that will result in less than—”
    â€œI didn’t shoot anybody.” I could hear the little girl sound of my voice, but it was the truth. “I just drove. I didn’t even really see what happened.”
    â€œSo, were you forced against your will to drive?”
    Forced. Against my will. Was I? Of course not. All of this was too crazy. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say, what I felt. We were together, and I was happy, and we went on a drive. And then it was scary and he was wild. There was shooting, and then we were together again. He promised all I had to do was hang on. And now this.
    The lawyer’s hands spread toward me on the table, reaching. Maybe offering something. I didn’t know.
    â€œLet me say this a different way. Are you telling me that you felt coerced into what was happening that day? Did he hit you? Threaten you? If Mr. Pavon forced you into this situation, we might—”
    I thought. I tried to picture. But mostly I remembered Dee’s face in my neck, after. How proud he was. Of himself. And me.
    â€œI was scared, but he didn’t . . .” His hand squeezing my arm. His face in my face. But he hadn’t made me do anything. So did that mean I was guilty? Just because I didn’t go straight to the police? And instead went wherever Dee said, did what he told me. Willingly. Happily. Wantingly.
    â€œI just didn’t know.” I heard my voice collapse. “I didn’t know any of what he was going to do.”
    â€œAll right.” Doug was nodding, slow, like I’d made some kind of suggestion and he was accepting it. “Well, we’ll do our best here. I still need to review all the evidence against you. But if anything comes to mind—anything at all—that you feel I need to know about that day or about what you told the police, you can call me at any time. The guards know that. In the meantime, your arraignment’s been set for Thursday. You’ll be brought to the courthouse, you’ll make your plea, and your bail will be reset. I’ll be there,