understand. I’ve petitioned the court to release her on her own recognizance so that she can make arrangements for her brother’s funeral.”
She looked more smug than grieving, Lucy thought. Maybe a little of both. Her eyes were rimmed red, and if Lucy’s guess was right—that George cared about family—then maybe Mirabelle did, too, in her own twisted way.
“If your client cooperates, then we’ll go to the judge with my blessing. But for the last twenty-four hours, she’s been a pain in my ass.”
“My client doesn’t have any information about the whereabouts of her brother, Jaime Sanchez.”
“Okay, then let’s start with something easy. What time did he leave the house Saturday morning?”
Mirabelle whispered in her lawyer’s ear. This was going to take forever, Lucy realized.
Glum said, “She doesn’t know. She was sleeping.”
“But she knew she was harboring a fugitive.”
Again, whispering. Again, Glum answered. “Ms. Borez didn’t know that her brothers had missed their court date. She didn’t know they were fugitives.”
“Bullshit,” Donnelly said.
“If you’re going to yell at my client, I’ll be leaving with her.”
“I’m not yelling,” he said. He leaned forward. “I’m investigating additional charges, and I have until tomorrow to file them. Including kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment of a minor.”
“You’re fishing,” Glum said.
“Ms. Borez, your daughter gave a statement that she has knowledge of at least one boy, approximately thirteen years old, who was chained in the basement. We found evidence that supports her statement. We found additional evidence that suggests more than one minor child was held against their will.”
Mirabelle spoke rapidly in Spanish. Lucy picked up most of it—particularly that she spoke of Isabella , even though Donnelly hadn’t mentioned which daughter talked.
The lawyer put his hand on Mirabelle’s arm. “Nothing a minor child said will be admissible. She was without counsel, without an advocate, and I plan to level charges against you for interviewing a minor child in violation of the child’s rights.”
“I didn’t interview her,” Donnelly said. “She volunteered the information.”
Technically, Lucy had asked questions. But it was a gray area, and one Lucy had felt comfortable swimming in.
“I hardly believe a seven-year-old would volunteer information. Besides, she’s a young child with a vivid imagination.”
Lucy took out the photo of Michael Rodriguez and slid it under Mirabelle’s gaze. She watched her expression turn from disinterest to shock. Then she locked it up tight. “Is this the boy from your basement?”
But she already had the answer.
Glum said, “No.”
“You didn’t ask your client,” Donnelly said.
“She already said that she was not keeping anyone against their will.”
“But Jaime was,” Donnelly countered. “Mirabelle, if you’re scared of your brother, I understand. We can protect you, and your daughters—”
“Like you protected George?” she screamed, pounding her fist on the table. And for the first time, Lucy saw the debate in her expression, the uncertainty that the course of action she’d chosen was the right one.
“Help us help you,” Lucy said. “You don’t want your daughters to grow up in the system.”
“I won’t be here tomorrow. I’ll have my babies back. Go to hell, puta .”
Donnelly turned to Glum. “You need to explain to your client that if she cooperates we’ll help her. If she doesn’t, my hands are tied.”
Glum said, “You have no case. Misdemeanor at most, and no judge is going to separate a mother from her two daughters on a misdemeanor charge. She’ll get time served, probation. Drop this farce and release her now.”
“Felony kidnapping, felony unlawful imprisonment of a minor, harboring a fugitive, possession of drugs, possession of illegal firearms, resisting arrest, and I’m just getting started. Make a deal, and it
She looked more smug than grieving, Lucy thought. Maybe a little of both. Her eyes were rimmed red, and if Lucy’s guess was right—that George cared about family—then maybe Mirabelle did, too, in her own twisted way.
“If your client cooperates, then we’ll go to the judge with my blessing. But for the last twenty-four hours, she’s been a pain in my ass.”
“My client doesn’t have any information about the whereabouts of her brother, Jaime Sanchez.”
“Okay, then let’s start with something easy. What time did he leave the house Saturday morning?”
Mirabelle whispered in her lawyer’s ear. This was going to take forever, Lucy realized.
Glum said, “She doesn’t know. She was sleeping.”
“But she knew she was harboring a fugitive.”
Again, whispering. Again, Glum answered. “Ms. Borez didn’t know that her brothers had missed their court date. She didn’t know they were fugitives.”
“Bullshit,” Donnelly said.
“If you’re going to yell at my client, I’ll be leaving with her.”
“I’m not yelling,” he said. He leaned forward. “I’m investigating additional charges, and I have until tomorrow to file them. Including kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment of a minor.”
“You’re fishing,” Glum said.
“Ms. Borez, your daughter gave a statement that she has knowledge of at least one boy, approximately thirteen years old, who was chained in the basement. We found evidence that supports her statement. We found additional evidence that suggests more than one minor child was held against their will.”
Mirabelle spoke rapidly in Spanish. Lucy picked up most of it—particularly that she spoke of Isabella , even though Donnelly hadn’t mentioned which daughter talked.
The lawyer put his hand on Mirabelle’s arm. “Nothing a minor child said will be admissible. She was without counsel, without an advocate, and I plan to level charges against you for interviewing a minor child in violation of the child’s rights.”
“I didn’t interview her,” Donnelly said. “She volunteered the information.”
Technically, Lucy had asked questions. But it was a gray area, and one Lucy had felt comfortable swimming in.
“I hardly believe a seven-year-old would volunteer information. Besides, she’s a young child with a vivid imagination.”
Lucy took out the photo of Michael Rodriguez and slid it under Mirabelle’s gaze. She watched her expression turn from disinterest to shock. Then she locked it up tight. “Is this the boy from your basement?”
But she already had the answer.
Glum said, “No.”
“You didn’t ask your client,” Donnelly said.
“She already said that she was not keeping anyone against their will.”
“But Jaime was,” Donnelly countered. “Mirabelle, if you’re scared of your brother, I understand. We can protect you, and your daughters—”
“Like you protected George?” she screamed, pounding her fist on the table. And for the first time, Lucy saw the debate in her expression, the uncertainty that the course of action she’d chosen was the right one.
“Help us help you,” Lucy said. “You don’t want your daughters to grow up in the system.”
“I won’t be here tomorrow. I’ll have my babies back. Go to hell, puta .”
Donnelly turned to Glum. “You need to explain to your client that if she cooperates we’ll help her. If she doesn’t, my hands are tied.”
Glum said, “You have no case. Misdemeanor at most, and no judge is going to separate a mother from her two daughters on a misdemeanor charge. She’ll get time served, probation. Drop this farce and release her now.”
“Felony kidnapping, felony unlawful imprisonment of a minor, harboring a fugitive, possession of drugs, possession of illegal firearms, resisting arrest, and I’m just getting started. Make a deal, and it
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