Despite Marge Arnold’s urging, Elsie skipped the Dennis Thompson funeral.
She opted to cover the office, instead; even answering the phones, so the clerical staff could attend. Elsie had no interest in Dennis Thompson’s last rites. Truth be told, she was glad he was dead.
And though she dreaded an ugly confrontation with Madeleine, she’d avoided it so far. Madeleine was on leave. An indefinite leave of absence. The McCown County Commission had appointed Chuck Harris as acting prosecutor in her absence. So there was that.
The two weeks that had passed since Elsie walked into the EconoMo Motel flew by in a blur of activity, which led to a landmark day: Elsie had been summoned to Federal Court, to appear before the grand jury.
Walking into the federal courthouse for the first time felt very strange indeed.
The security personnel, two stern-faced men wearing navy blazers and striped neckties, bore no resemblance to the affable deputies who guarded the entry of the old stone courthouse in McCown County. Elsie had to stand patiently and wait without comment as they examined her driver’s license and the contents of her briefcase, searching for what, she didn’t know. Weapons, maybe. Or explosives. Or contraband.
The elder of the two security guards spoke to her. “You’ll need to hand over your phone, ma’am.”
Startled, she pulled it from her bag. “Will I get it right back?” she asked.
“When you leave the courthouse.” He gave her a reassuring smile, which made him seem far less forbidding. “I’ll give you this wooden token. You’ll exchange it for the phone when you leave.”
She looked at the token she held in her palm. It was numbered: 13. She frowned. “We don’t do anything like this at the courthouse in McCown County. I never heard of people giving up their cell phones.”
“Only lawyers can take their phones into Federal Court,” the man said.
Elsie felt the heat rush into her face. “I’m a lawyer.”
The guard didn’t dispute her claim. He remained polite and businesslike. “May I see your Bar Association membership card?”
As she dug the plastic card from the bowels of her battered wallet, Elsie pondered the changes she might make to pass as a barrister in this town. Maybe she should cut off her hair; she was past thirty, after all. Or maybe it was finally time to invest in a new suit.
With her cell phone safely tucked back inside her briefcase, she walked in a circle around the small lobby area. Elsie wasn’t familiar with the layout of the building. She had to study a map near the elevator to figure out where she needed to go.
When she stepped off the elevator, en route to the U.S. Attorney’s Office, she spied Desiree Wickham and her mother in the hallway. They were groomed for the cameras, it appeared. Desiree’s curly hair had been fashioned into loose corkscrew curls; and Kim wore a full face of pancake makeup, with bright red lipstick on her mouth.
When Kim Wickham saw Elsie, she let out a screech. Running over, she clutched Elsie in a tight embrace.
Calling over her shoulder, she said, “Des! Get over here! It’s our hero.”
But Desiree hung back, looking shy. Elsie broke free from Kim’s hold and walked up to Desiree, taking the girl’s hands in hers and clasping them.
“You look wonderful, Desiree. How are you feeling?”
Desiree met her eyes and managed a wobbly smile. “Better. Good.”
Kim joined them, placing her arm around Desiree’s shoulder. “Good? We’re great. I don’t know if you heard, but Lifetime has been in touch with us. They want to buy Des’s story. For a made-for-TV movie. For television.”
Kim punctuated the announcement by planting a kiss on her daughter’s cheek; then paused to wipe the red lip print away with the pad of her thumb.
Elsie caught Desiree’s eye. “Wow. National television.”
With a look of resignation on her face, Desiree shrugged her shoulders in response. “Mom thinks it’ll be good for my career.”
Studying the girl, Elsie considered the price of fame. Be careful what you wish for, she thought.
She glanced around the hallway, trying to gauge the activity around them. “Have you testified yet, Desiree?”
Desiree shook her head. “I’m real nervous.”
Elsie squeezed her hand. “Oh hon. You have the heart of a lion. Testifying before a grand jury is gonna be a walk in the park for a fierce woman like you.”
Desiree’s eyes shone with a glassy sheen of tears. She threw her arms around Elsie’s neck with a muffled sob.
A young man with a neck like a pencil appeared behind Desiree’s shoulder: the assistant U.S. attorney, Steven Bennett.
“Hey, ladies. Miss Wickham, Ms. Arnold, right? We’d best separate you all. Don’t want it to look like you’re colluding over your testimony.”
Elsie stepped back thinking, As if I don’t know better than to compare notes with another witness. She was tempted to snap at the man. But she held her tongue. She gave Desiree an encouraging grin and shot her a wink.
“Go get ’em, baby.”
Desiree nodded. As she walked away, escorted by the U.S. attorney, she gave Elsie a backward look.
Elsie found a bench in the hallway and dropped onto it, looking around. The federal structure was fancier than Barton’s old courthouse; it had a glass atrium overhead, and under foot, a carpet emblazoned with the seal of United States Courts Western District of Missouri. But she wished that the federal courthouse in Springfield had a friendly coffee shop, like the one in the basement of the county courthouse in Barton. She could use a jolt of caffeine. And an encouraging word. As she gazed up and down the hallway, hoping to see a familiar face, her phone hummed.
She pulled it out of her bag: Marge Arnold.
“Hey, Mom. What?”
Marge’s voice soared out of the phone. “Springfield is only thirty miles down the highway. I can be there in forty-five minutes, tops.”
Elsie smiled into the phone. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she said, “Mother. You’re a sweetheart, honest to God. But I told you before, I don’t need you to babysit me at the courthouse. I’m a trial lawyer.”
“Not today, you’re not. Today, you’re a witness at a grand jury hearing. And a victim of crime. I’m ashamed to think you’re sitting up there alone, when you should have the support of your family.”
Elsie shook her head. They’d gone around and around on the topic the night before, over supper.
“Your dad wants to be there, too. But he says we should leave it up to you.”
Despite her denials, Elsie took comfort in her mother’s voice. And the mention of her dad made her eyes sting with a sudden wash of tears.
“Mom, you should be at home, staying off your feet. You’re still recovering. I still can’t believe you wrestled that Thanksgiving turkey onto the table. We shouldn’t have let you do it.”
“I’m not ready for the nursing home yet. And you were real good help this year.”
The thought of her feisty mother in a nursing home made Elsie laugh, in spite of the somber surroundings. “You’re the best, Mom. You and Dad. But he’s right; it’s my call. And I’ve got this.”
She could hear Marge’s disapproval radiating through the iPhone. “All right, then. Is Bob Ashlock there?”
“I think so. He’s surely around somewhere. I texted him yesterday.” Elsie did a one-eighty, her eyes searching the hall for a sign of him. They hadn’t talked in days. And she hadn’t seen him in well over a week. Recently, communications with Ashlock were sparse, and had been conveyed by text.
The silence between them had grown increasingly troubling as the days slipped past. At first, she was able to rationalize his absence. He had traveled to the Bootheel for the four-day Thanksgiving weekend; of course, he was out of pocket. And since then, they had both been busy. Elsie, Chuck, and Breeon ran the McCown County Prosecutor’s Office in Madeleine’s absence; and Ashlock was part of the federal child pornography case, as well as the abduction and trafficking cases. Although she tried to reassure herself that nothing was wrong aside from overwork, it nagged at her. What was up with Ashlock?
Her thoughts were interrupted when a young man approached her, walking her way with a determined step. Looked like she was about to be tapped.
“Mom, I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, baby. I love you.”
Love you, too, Elsie thought, as she tucked the phone away.
The young man appeared at her elbow. “Ms. Arnold?”
She looked up. He was just a kid, too young to have completed law school and passed the bar exam, though he dressed the part. Elsie gave him a suspicious eye.
“Yeah?”
“Ms. Arnold, I’m Conor Wadle, an intern in the U.S. attorney’s office. Mr. Bennett asked me to find you.”
She stood, dropping the phone into her bag. “I’ll follow you to the courtroom. I don’t know my way around this building.”
He smiled. “You won’t be in court, ma’am. The grand jury meets in a conference room. There’s no indictment yet.”
A blush crept up her neck. She felt like a fool; why hadn’t it occurred to her that the testimony would be outside of the courtroom? She knew that grand jury proceedings were secret, and that court proceedings were a matter of public record.
In a voice that was deceptively casual, she said, “Of course. At the county level, we don’t use grand juries too often. We have a preliminary hearing before the associate circuit judge.”
“I know.” He gestured down the hallway, and she fell into step with him.
“So where do you go to school?’
“Wash U. I’m a junior.”
“Oh, Wash U. St Louis. Fancy.”
“Yeah, the campus is nice.” He moved a half step ahead of her. She had to walk fast to keep up, a difficult trick in her high heels.
It made no sense that she wanted to prove herself to the college kid, but she chattered on, nonetheless. “Seems like the U.S. attorney handles a lot of drug cases around here. White-collar crime, too. I’m a trial attorney. Mostly violent offenses.”
“I know.”
That surprised her. “How’s that?”
“I interned at the Southern District Court of Appeals last summer. I read two of your trial transcripts.” He winked at her. “You’re funny. Cracked me up more than once.”
Elsie decided to take the comment as a compliment. Finding that the boy was growing on her, she said, “You sure are getting some plum internships for an undergraduate student.”
“Yeah. My dad is a federal judge.” He said it without vanity, just a statement of fact. They turned a corner and reached a pair of closed doors in the hallway marked Private. He pointed with his index finger.
“That’s where the grand jury sits. There’s a small office connected to it. Kind of a waiting room. That’s where Mr. Bennett wants for you to sit and wait.”
“Okay.” He opened a door and she followed him inside. An FBI agent was seated in the waiting room; Ashlock sat next to him. At the sight of Ashlock, Elsie caught her breath.
The intern held the door open, regarding Elsie with a curious eye. “Are you okay?’
She exhaled. “Sure.”
“Take a seat, then. They’ll call you when they’re ready.”
Elsie stepped into the room, the door shutting behind her.
“Hey, stranger,” she said.
Ashlock stood. “Would you like my seat?”
“No. I’d like a minute of your time, though. Whenever you can spare it.”
He turned to the FBI agent. “Karl, this is Elsie Arnold. She’s with the McCown County Prosecutor’s Office.”
The man extended his hand for a shake. “I read your statement.”
“Nice to meet you, Karl. So, Ashlock. What you doing after the hearing?”
Their eyes locked. She could see the wheels turning in his head, as he contemplated his reply. Waiting, she felt beads of sweat form on her upper lip.
Just as he started to speak, the door adjoining the grand jury cracked open, and the U.S. attorney stuck his head into the room.
“Detective Ashlock? We’re ready for you.”
Ashlock stepped to the doorway, turning his head to give Elsie a departing look. She couldn’t read his face.