when they saw each other in the ER. Matt wished he knew more about this man whose job he was taking, whose car he was driving . . . and whose fiancé he was accused of murdering. Right now, it was sort of like wearing a suit belonging to a dead man.
It just didn’t feel right.
TEN
After an internal debate that lasted much longer than it should, Matt moved to his desk and picked up the phone. He knew it was probably hopeless, but he had to try one more time. If Jennifer would just listen to his story, maybe he could convince her that this was all a big mistake. Surely his lawyer would get it straightened out quickly.
He’d already tried Jennifer’s home number and cell phone. When the calls rolled over to voicemail, he’d left the same message: “Jennifer, we need to talk. It’s important. Please call me .” She hadn’t responded, though.
All that remained was calling her at work. She’d told him never to do it, but he felt as though he had no choice. He had half the number dialed when he had a thought. If he dialed her direct line, caller ID would betray him. He hung up and found the main number for the district attorney’s office. A woman answered on the second ring, and he asked for Jennifer Ball.
“Who may I say is calling?”
Matt hadn’t thought this far ahead. He wasn’t very good at improvising, and lying had never been a part of him until now. He took adeep breath and plunged in. “This is her brother. She gave me her direct number, but I’ve lost it. I’m only in town for a—” He stopped when he realized there was ringing on the line. Either his story had worked or the receptionist hadn’t really cared.
Jennifer answered on the second ring. “Felony Trial Division, Jennifer Ball.”
“Don’t hang up!” Matt hoped the desperation in his voice would keep Jennifer on the line.
“I told you not to call me, especially not at work.”
“Jennifer, you’ve got to listen. I’m innocent. This is all a mistake.”
In the silence that followed, Matt could almost see Jennifer thinking, her finger rubbing her chin, her brow furrowed. He’d seen that gesture so many times. It was one of the things he loved about her—or, at least, thought he loved. Now he wasn’t so sure.
When Jennifer spoke again, the soft voice had hardened. “Matt, I’m sorry this happened to you. I wish I could help. But if you keep calling, you could get me in trouble . . . big trouble.” Was there a catch in her voice? “Good-bye.” The last words were almost too faint to understand.
Matt sat for a moment, holding the dead phone, until the strident stutter tone startled him from his reverie. He hung up in the middle of the recorded voice telling him, “If you want to make a call . . .”
He’d never felt so alone in his life. There was one person who might help him think this through—one person who he knew would support him. Although Matt had put it off until now, he really needed to get in touch with Joe, even though his brother was in a remote area of South America. In the past, Joe had always initiated contact when he was within reach of a fellow missionary’s satellite phone or if his travels took him to a city large enough to provide a phone or an Internet connection. Matt had an email address for Joe, but there was no telling when the message would get to his brother.
Matt dug through his desk drawer until he came to a set of papers clipped together. They gave Joe’s location, which meant nothing to Matt, whose knowledge of geography outside the US was rudimentary at best. Toward the very bottom of the second sheet was a notation that, in case of emergency, Matt could call this number. They’d get in touch with Joe and have him contact Matt.
Matt put the paper aside. He’d make the call in a minute, but right now, he needed some sense of contact, some way for Joe to affirm him. Then he recalled his last email exchange with his brother, a message he’d sent while things still looked good:
It just didn’t feel right.
TEN
After an internal debate that lasted much longer than it should, Matt moved to his desk and picked up the phone. He knew it was probably hopeless, but he had to try one more time. If Jennifer would just listen to his story, maybe he could convince her that this was all a big mistake. Surely his lawyer would get it straightened out quickly.
He’d already tried Jennifer’s home number and cell phone. When the calls rolled over to voicemail, he’d left the same message: “Jennifer, we need to talk. It’s important. Please call me .” She hadn’t responded, though.
All that remained was calling her at work. She’d told him never to do it, but he felt as though he had no choice. He had half the number dialed when he had a thought. If he dialed her direct line, caller ID would betray him. He hung up and found the main number for the district attorney’s office. A woman answered on the second ring, and he asked for Jennifer Ball.
“Who may I say is calling?”
Matt hadn’t thought this far ahead. He wasn’t very good at improvising, and lying had never been a part of him until now. He took adeep breath and plunged in. “This is her brother. She gave me her direct number, but I’ve lost it. I’m only in town for a—” He stopped when he realized there was ringing on the line. Either his story had worked or the receptionist hadn’t really cared.
Jennifer answered on the second ring. “Felony Trial Division, Jennifer Ball.”
“Don’t hang up!” Matt hoped the desperation in his voice would keep Jennifer on the line.
“I told you not to call me, especially not at work.”
“Jennifer, you’ve got to listen. I’m innocent. This is all a mistake.”
In the silence that followed, Matt could almost see Jennifer thinking, her finger rubbing her chin, her brow furrowed. He’d seen that gesture so many times. It was one of the things he loved about her—or, at least, thought he loved. Now he wasn’t so sure.
When Jennifer spoke again, the soft voice had hardened. “Matt, I’m sorry this happened to you. I wish I could help. But if you keep calling, you could get me in trouble . . . big trouble.” Was there a catch in her voice? “Good-bye.” The last words were almost too faint to understand.
Matt sat for a moment, holding the dead phone, until the strident stutter tone startled him from his reverie. He hung up in the middle of the recorded voice telling him, “If you want to make a call . . .”
He’d never felt so alone in his life. There was one person who might help him think this through—one person who he knew would support him. Although Matt had put it off until now, he really needed to get in touch with Joe, even though his brother was in a remote area of South America. In the past, Joe had always initiated contact when he was within reach of a fellow missionary’s satellite phone or if his travels took him to a city large enough to provide a phone or an Internet connection. Matt had an email address for Joe, but there was no telling when the message would get to his brother.
Matt dug through his desk drawer until he came to a set of papers clipped together. They gave Joe’s location, which meant nothing to Matt, whose knowledge of geography outside the US was rudimentary at best. Toward the very bottom of the second sheet was a notation that, in case of emergency, Matt could call this number. They’d get in touch with Joe and have him contact Matt.
Matt put the paper aside. He’d make the call in a minute, but right now, he needed some sense of contact, some way for Joe to affirm him. Then he recalled his last email exchange with his brother, a message he’d sent while things still looked good:
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