Page 112 of Don't Say a Word
“Okay,” Mom said. “But when you have solid, actionable evidence, we turn it over to the police.”
I agreed.
“One more thing to discuss,” Mom said. “I met with Madison O’Neill’s legal team. I’m inclined to take the case. The arrest was a rush to judgment by the police, and the indictment is weak. I’m not saying she’s innocent, but this is the reason I became a lawyer—to maintain the integrity of the justice system. Because I was a prosecutor and then a private defense lawyer, I am uniquely qualified to assess the evidence. If we take it, I need all of us on board. It’ll be weeks of work—maybe months. Work that will fund pro bono cases like Elijah Martinez. I’m going to write up what I know, then we will vote.”
“Mom,” Tess said, “we trust your judgment on this.”
Mom was looking at me, and I read between the lines. “We start soon, don’t we?”
“I need to give them an answer next week. But it’s important that all three of you are on board.”
“Do you think she’s innocent?” Jack asked.
“She says she is. And I want you all to assess what we have. If any of you are uncomfortable with it, we’ll pass on it.”
“Fair enough,” Jack said.
I didn’t need to assess anything—the O’Neill case sounded interesting.
Mom said, “Tess, send me everything you have on the Jimenez family and the Bradford investigation. I’ll go through the legal documents, see if anything else jumps out at me.”
“It’s your birthday, Mom,” Tess said.
“And I said I’d take tonight off,” she countered. “Besides, you’re having the party, I just have to show up, right?”
Tess glared at me. “You’d better help.”
“I’ll be there at five thirty.” I jumped up and made a beeline for the door.
“Where are you going?” Jack asked.
“To talk to a friend of Megan Osterman’s. She might know who she was close to before she died.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Angie Williams
Angie sat at the top of the volleyball stands and watched Gina and the team warm up. The next three games were away, and Angie wouldn’t be able to go unless she got a ride with Gina’s mom.
She’d heard nothing from the PI since she gave her the yearbooks the day before. The police had unsealed Mrs. Clark’s office yesterday. Mr. Parsons was still on leave. Detective King hadn’t talked to her again. Angie had no idea what was happening, and it was disconcerting.
A teacher had beenmurdered on campusonly three days ago, and other than some whispered gossip, everyone was going about their business.
Andy and Peter walked up the stairs to sit with her. “Hey,” they said.
“Hi.” She glanced at Peter. “Don’t you have your internship thing?”
“The guy I apprentice for is going to a wedding in San Diego and took a couple days off.” Peter shrugged. “They said come back Monday.”
“How’s it going?”
“Good,” he said, noncommittal. “You still planning on going to U of A?”
She shrugged. “I dunno.”
Angie, Elijah, and Andy had all talked about going to U of A. They’d already applied—early applications opened September 1. But Angie didn’t know what she wanted to do. Nothing seemed important anymore.
“The PI talked to us yesterday morning,” Andy said. “She didn’t say much, but I think she was surprised that the police didn’t have his backpack.”
