cell.
"Tell me again," Jamie said, pacing in the small booking room. "Who hired you on my behalf?"
"A friend. Someone who wants you free."
"I don't have any friends in this town." Jamie thought of Allie, and Angus-neither of whom would have access to the funds necessary to retain a crimina l defense attorney.
Graham was beginning to lose his patience. This was his first real case--a w hopper of a court case, at that--and his goddamned client didn't even want t o defend himself. "Look, it doesn't matter if your fucking fairy godmother h ired me. I think we can get you off the hook for this and I intend to do so." Jamie remained very still for a moment, and then, as if all the energy had sim ply left his body, he slowly folded into a chair.
Graham sighed. "Tell me what happened."
For forty-five minutes, Graham took notes on a yellow legal pad. Finally, when Jamie fell silent, he drummed two pencils on the table and reviewed what he had written. And as he did, Jamie MacDonald watched Graham throu gh lowered eyes, his head bent down, tracking Graham's moves. Graham wond ered what he was getting himself into. In criminal defense, it was common for an attorney not to trust his client; this was the rare case where th e relationship seemed to have been turned around.
Jodi Picoult
Then Jamie locked his gaze on Graham's, and Graham froze. He found himsel f thinking about what kind of man could have done what Jamie had done. Wa s it really out of love? What else might have provoked it? For all he kne w, Maggie and Jamie Mac-Donald could have been in the middle of a knock-d own-drag-out divorce, and the killing was the result of one snide remark that took Jamie over the edge. For all he knew, Maggie might have held a million-dollar life insurance policy with Jamie as beneficiary. For all h e knew, Jamie MacDonald could have been the consummate actor. But he didn't think so.
"You've lived in Cummington for the past sixteen years, you've been marrie d for eleven of those, and your wife was suffering a long and painful deat h. You were overcome with emotion and distraught and in a moment of weakne ss you killed your wife, hoping to put her out of her agony." Graham smile d tentatively. "Not guilty by reason of temporary insanity." Jamie knew better than to tell Graham it hadn't been quite like that. Still, he did not know if he could put his faith in a lawyer so new at his job that his cordovans squeaked a bit when he walked the length of the room. Sensing Jamie's hesitation, Graham sat down on the edge of the desk in front of him. "Did you sleep last night?"
Jamie glanced up. "No," he said.
"Why not?"
Jamie stared at this man, this gift from an unknown benefactor, as if he we re crazy. "Because I'd killed someone I loved hours before? Because I kept seeing those few minutes every time I closed my eyes? Take your pick." He t urned away, disgusted; angry at Graham for being such a novice, angry at hi mself for revealing even that much. For a few moments neither man said a wo rd. When Jamie spoke again, he had to strain to hear his own voice. "Becaus e it was the first time in eleven years I had to sleep without her next to me."
Graham grinned. It took all his self-control not to jump off the corner of the desk. "That is why we're going to win this case." Jamie shook his head slowly. "They have a body, a signed confession, fingerp rints, scratches."
"Maybe so," said Graham MacPhee, "but we have you." 71
Martha Sully, one of the magistrates at the Wheelock District Court, was a sassenach, but she usually agreed with Cam when it came to setting amounts for bail. She sat behind her podium desk reading Cam's arrest and custody r eport, noted that the complaint was based on "information or belief." She h ad already asked Jamie to enter his plea.
"So," she said, glancing up at Cam. "Been busy out on your end of town?" Cam grinned. "You could say that."
He liked Martha Sully; he liked her clipped English voice, with its trillin g
"Tell me again," Jamie said, pacing in the small booking room. "Who hired you on my behalf?"
"A friend. Someone who wants you free."
"I don't have any friends in this town." Jamie thought of Allie, and Angus-neither of whom would have access to the funds necessary to retain a crimina l defense attorney.
Graham was beginning to lose his patience. This was his first real case--a w hopper of a court case, at that--and his goddamned client didn't even want t o defend himself. "Look, it doesn't matter if your fucking fairy godmother h ired me. I think we can get you off the hook for this and I intend to do so." Jamie remained very still for a moment, and then, as if all the energy had sim ply left his body, he slowly folded into a chair.
Graham sighed. "Tell me what happened."
For forty-five minutes, Graham took notes on a yellow legal pad. Finally, when Jamie fell silent, he drummed two pencils on the table and reviewed what he had written. And as he did, Jamie MacDonald watched Graham throu gh lowered eyes, his head bent down, tracking Graham's moves. Graham wond ered what he was getting himself into. In criminal defense, it was common for an attorney not to trust his client; this was the rare case where th e relationship seemed to have been turned around.
Jodi Picoult
Then Jamie locked his gaze on Graham's, and Graham froze. He found himsel f thinking about what kind of man could have done what Jamie had done. Wa s it really out of love? What else might have provoked it? For all he kne w, Maggie and Jamie Mac-Donald could have been in the middle of a knock-d own-drag-out divorce, and the killing was the result of one snide remark that took Jamie over the edge. For all he knew, Maggie might have held a million-dollar life insurance policy with Jamie as beneficiary. For all h e knew, Jamie MacDonald could have been the consummate actor. But he didn't think so.
"You've lived in Cummington for the past sixteen years, you've been marrie d for eleven of those, and your wife was suffering a long and painful deat h. You were overcome with emotion and distraught and in a moment of weakne ss you killed your wife, hoping to put her out of her agony." Graham smile d tentatively. "Not guilty by reason of temporary insanity." Jamie knew better than to tell Graham it hadn't been quite like that. Still, he did not know if he could put his faith in a lawyer so new at his job that his cordovans squeaked a bit when he walked the length of the room. Sensing Jamie's hesitation, Graham sat down on the edge of the desk in front of him. "Did you sleep last night?"
Jamie glanced up. "No," he said.
"Why not?"
Jamie stared at this man, this gift from an unknown benefactor, as if he we re crazy. "Because I'd killed someone I loved hours before? Because I kept seeing those few minutes every time I closed my eyes? Take your pick." He t urned away, disgusted; angry at Graham for being such a novice, angry at hi mself for revealing even that much. For a few moments neither man said a wo rd. When Jamie spoke again, he had to strain to hear his own voice. "Becaus e it was the first time in eleven years I had to sleep without her next to me."
Graham grinned. It took all his self-control not to jump off the corner of the desk. "That is why we're going to win this case." Jamie shook his head slowly. "They have a body, a signed confession, fingerp rints, scratches."
"Maybe so," said Graham MacPhee, "but we have you." 71
Martha Sully, one of the magistrates at the Wheelock District Court, was a sassenach, but she usually agreed with Cam when it came to setting amounts for bail. She sat behind her podium desk reading Cam's arrest and custody r eport, noted that the complaint was based on "information or belief." She h ad already asked Jamie to enter his plea.
"So," she said, glancing up at Cam. "Been busy out on your end of town?" Cam grinned. "You could say that."
He liked Martha Sully; he liked her clipped English voice, with its trillin g
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