Page 19 of Nobody's Fool

Just so we are clear: I never violated rules for personal gain or profit or even to expedite a conviction.

I wonder what Neumeier and her boy-band background lawyers really think. Do they honestly believe Tad Grayson is innocent—or is this about a higher cause to them? They looked at the evidence. Sure, they were able to use my downfall to get him loose. But they know he did it.

The question is, what can I do about it now?

“Mr. Grayson has gone through an incredible ordeal and injustice. But he still would like to make a brief statement.”

Kelly Neumeier steps aside for Tad. The streets seem to go quiet.Marty moves closer to me, as though worried that I might make a run at him. I won’t. I feel disoriented and not at all like Impulse Me. I don’t think I could move if I wanted to. A weird, horrible thought enters my head. It is so awful and self-centered I am afraid to say it here, but I can’t help it: If Tad Grayson hadn’t murdered Nicole, my son, Henry, would have never been born. This isn’t a profound thought. It is not a thought that gives comfort or changes anything. In fact, when I think about it, it’s ridiculously trite.

Goodbye, Impulse Me. Welcome, Trite Me.

Tad clears his throat. His eyes are on the ground. He blinks and again he looks old and broken. “There are some people I need to thank,” he says, as though this is an Oscar speech. He names people. The lawyers all nod and give a tight-lipped smile when their names are mentioned. When he finishes with the thank-yous, he stops, lowers his head again, raises it again, does the whole summoning-up-the-strength thing again. Now I can see the rehearsed quality to it. I don’t think the media does though.

“Since the day I was arrested,” he begins, “I have claimed my innocence. I was offered a lighter sentence if I confessed. But I didn’t.”

This is a lie, but never mind.

“I was offered more privileges inside if I confessed. But never, not once in the past twenty years, have I wavered. I will say this again. I didn’t kill Nicole Brett. I know most of you don’t believe me. I do admit that I became obsessed. I do admit that I did things that I’m not proud of. Those awful texts? I sent them. But I didn’t kill her.”

The “awful texts” came in incremental threats, the final one stating “I’m going to put a bullet in your brain,” which is exactly what happened. Nicole didn’t tell me about the texts. Tad Grayson was a mistake, she said. An obsessive ex and harmless. She had it handled. When I noticed him hanging around, when I wanted to sneak up on him and send him a message—yes, beat the living shit out of him—Nicole admonishedme for my sexism. Did I think she couldn’t handle herself? Did I think she needed a man to protect her?

So we stopped talking about him.

A reporter shouts out, “Do you blame the police for this? The prosecutors?”

Guess what Tad does? He lowers his head, raises it. The dude is half marionette. I wonder how he will handle this question. Finally he says, “I’ve thought about that a lot.” He manages a wry smile. “You get a lot of time alone to think when you’re in a cell for twenty-three hours a day. I have looked at it from every conceivable angle. I have gone through the gamut of my emotions—and the emotions of others. There were times of great anguish and of great resolve.”

I get up on my toes to whisper in Marty’s ear. He bends down to meet me halfway. “Does this sound completely rehearsed?” I ask him.

“He had to be expecting the question, to be fair. And like he said, he’s had plenty of time to think about the answer.”

I frown.

“In the end, I don’t know for sure, and I’m confident that my attorneys will tell me that their actions were malicious, but I think the authorities honestly believed that I was the killer. I’ve been told that is too generous a response.”

I almost stick my finger in my throat to indicate that what this lying scuzzball is saying makes me want to hurl.

“And this certainly doesn’t excuse their actions. But at the end of the day, I didn’t kill Nicole. That means whoever did may still be out there.”

Another reporter shouts out, “Are you going to swear to find the killer?”

Another adds: “Like OJ?”

That leads to some snickers. I like that. Tad, I can see, does not. He opens his mouth as though he’s going to reply, but then Neumeier putsher hand on his back and steps forward and says no more questions. She leads him to a car. He slides into the backseat. She slides into the backseat. They pull away.

And that’s it.

I’m just standing there with Marty.

The news crews grab their microphones. I don’t move. I just stand there. Marty gives me the space. I watch as the news vans drive away.

Then I say to Marty, “You were saying about my dropped pin.”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“You were in Connecticut.”

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