Page 17 of Nobody's Fool

The sickening power of money. “Yes,” I say.

“This is worse.”

“Just tell me, Arthur.”

“I just got word. They’re releasing Grayson this morning.”

My heart sinks. Molly spots the expression on my face. Grayson is Tad Grayson, the man who has—or, I guess,had—been serving a life sentence for murdering a police officer named Nicole Brett.

At the time of her murder, Nicole Brett and I had been engaged.

“He’s…” I can barely say it. “He’s going to be free?”

“Yep, the judge ordered his release last night.”

I see the concern on Molly’s face. She’s heard enough to figure out what Arthur is telling me. We knew this was a possibility, and I had tried to brace myself for it. After my dismissal for cause from the NYPD, attorneys and activists started poring through my old cases, searching for or making up “misdeeds” to claim I was being, to quote that article, “erratic and dangerous,” not to mention, I guess, corrupt. So far, three people who had been serving time—guiltypeople, no matter what the court now says—had already been released. Worse, an advocate group called the Equitable Liberty Initiative (ELI, like the name, for short) had started poking into the seemingly solid Tad Grayson conviction, especially when it was discovered that I had participated in the investigation and conviction of my own fiancée’s murderer. Attorneys working pro bono for ELI claimed any evidence recovered by the police, even if it hadn’t been collected by me personally, should be deemed fruit from the poisonous tree and thrown out.

I swallow. “So when does Grayson get released?”

“At eight.”

“Wait.” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Eight this morning?”

“Yep.”

I check the clock on the nightstand. It’s almost seven. I swing my legs out of bed.

“Don’t go, Kierce,” Arthur says to me.

“Okay.”

“You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” I say before disconnecting.

Molly moves toward me. “Are you okay?”

I am sitting on the edge of the bed. I nod.

“You’re going to watch him walk out of prison?”

“I have to.”

“What good will it do to see that?”

“None at all,” I say.

Molly sits next to me. She takes my hand. For a moment or two,we don’t move. Then Molly asks, “Does this have something to do with where you were last night?”

“No,” I say. “Nothing.”

She stares out, stays silent.

“I know this sounds crazy,” I continue, “but last night involves something that happened to me when I went to Europe after I graduated college.”

She makes a face. “You went to Europe after Bowdoin?”

“It wasn’t for long.”

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