Page 72 of Count My Lies

“Mr. Lockhart—” Javier starts, a pleasant, almost vacant expression on his face.

“I didn’t do it,” I interrupt. He has to know this. It’s the only thing he has to know. “We had a fight, but when I left, Violet was fine! I swear, I had nothing to do with this!”

He smiles kindly at me, nodding. He believes me. I slump back in my chair. For the first time since I got here, I feel relieved. He’s going to help me.

“I talked to the prosecutor this morning, before I came here,” Javier says. “They’ve offered us a plea deal.” He looks at me as if this is good news. When I don’t react, he continues. “If you plead guilty, they’ll reduce the sentence to man one. Fifteen years in prison.”

I stare at him blankly.What?“But I told you, I didn’t do it,” I say, shaking my head. “Why would I plead guilty?”

Javier sighs. He takes off his wire-rimmed glasses and drags his hand down his face, forehead to chin, as if he’s already exhausted by this case.

“Mr. Lockhart, I’m going to level with you. This doesn’t look good for you. If we take this to trial, there’s a very good chance you’re looking at life in prison.”

“But I didn’t do it,” I repeat dumbly.

“That may be the case, but it could be hard to prove.”

I slam a fist down on the table. “Isn’t that your fucking job?”

The placid expression on his face doesn’t change. He looks down at the file in front of him. “Your wife told police before she died that you shot her. Ms. Caraway corroborates this story. That makes two witnesses. Then there’s the life insurance policy.”

I don’t know who the fuck Ms. Caraway is, but I’m too tripped up by the mention of our life insurance policy to give a shit right now.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, leaning forward, my hands on the table.

“The one that names you as the sole beneficiary of her trust. Unless, of course, you were to get divorced.”

Javier pushes a stack of papers across the table.

“What is this?” I flip through the pages.

“Those are the divorce papers. They render the insurance policy defunct. Mrs. Lockhart had them drawn up before you left New York. Prosecution will argue that you were angry when she served you. You tried to talk her out of it, but when you couldn’t, things escalated.”

I shake my head. “No, that’s not what happened! This is the first time I’m even seeing these! But”—I look down at the pages, trying to make sense of them—“even if that were true, I would never have shot Violet! I’d never hurt her!”

“There’s been a history of physical altercations, correct? The police came to your house on a domestic disturbance call last year?”

“Because she threw a glass at me!” I run my hands through my hair, pulling at it. I feel like I’m losing my mind. “The neighbors heard us arguing and called the cops. I never touched her!”

“Listen, I’m not saying you did. But it could be seen as a pattern of behavior. At least, that’s how the prosecution will present it. And the fact that you were found next door, that you were planning to take your daughter without the consent of her mother—”

My mouth drops open. “Take her? I wasn’t there to take Harper. I…” I stop abruptly. The real reason I was there won’t make things any better for me.

Javier shrugs. “It’s a compelling case against you, Mr. Lockhart.”

I stare at him incredulously. He doesn’t care whether or not I did it. Not even a little.

“Think about it,” Javier says. “Fifteen years if we plead out. You’ll probably only do twelve with good behavior. You’ll be able to see your daughter graduate high school. If this goes to trial, you may not even get to walk her down the aisle.” He shuffles the papers sprawled across the table into a stack and puts them back into a folder. “Sleep on it. I’ll be back in a few days.”

Javier gets up, starts toward the door.

“Wait!” The thought of him leaving, of me being alone in that cell again, lurches me into a panic. “Don’t go!”

He stops, raises his eyebrow.Yes?

“When can I get out of here?” I ask. I want to run to him, clutch at his suit jacket, beg him,Take me with you.

He stares at me for a moment before answering. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lockhart,” he says, shaking his head. “There’s no bail. Not for capital cases.”

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