After she finished up her hearing at the courthouse, Annie Whitman walked to the lobby, checking her phone, hoping to hear news from the D.A.’s office about Bruce’s case. As she’d told Bruce, they had to hope he didn’t go with felony charges, but given that it was an election year, they had to be prepared for anything. Prosecutors were always particularly tough on crime when their jobs were up for a vote.
Annie’s phone lit up. She got the official word: Tom Colton planned to file felony aggravated assault and attempted sexual assault charges.
“Damn it,” Annie cursed under her breath as she scrolled through the message. “Felony sexual assault!”
A few lawyers huddled together in the lobby of the courthouse, looked up, startled. She shrugged and then went back to her phone.
She took a deep breath. Calm down, she thought. Maybe this is a good thing. Because Tom Colton was crazy if he thought he could prove felony sexual assault beyond a reasonable doubt. No jury would convict, especially after she got through with them.
“Colton, you just overplayed your hand,” she murmured under her breath.
She walked past the metal detectors and out the courthouse door. There could be another way to play it: If they laid low, and Bruce didn’t do anything crazy between now and election day, they might even get a plea deal together well before trial. If she worked it just so, Bruce would probably get a slap on the wrist, no more than community service.
She tried to call Bruce’s number, but got no answer. She dialed Jessica, but that also went straight to voice mail. Where was everyone?
Annie got into her car and decided to drive to Bruce’s house. She needed to talk to him and calm him down. Plus, at a time like this, he’d need a friend.
She was glad he called her one.
On the way over, she decided she’d have to tell him how important it was that he keep a low profile. If he kept a stellar record—not getting even so much as a speeding ticket—this could all still work out. They just had to play it smart and wait. Nothing crazy between now and trial time—nothing that would make headlines that could push Colton into a corner—and Bruce would walk.
The more she thought about it, the more upbeat things seemed. Annie grinned to herself. She loved that she could really help Bruce.
Annie arrived at Bruce’s front gate and slid through the paparazzi bunched up at the property line. She was sure it would jam up even more when word got out that the D.A. was pursuing sexual assault charges.
Annie buzzed Bruce’s gate and waited to be let in. As she drove up the drive, she noticed his black Porsche was gone.
She parked her car and walked up to his driveway, ringing the bell.
Mme Dechamps answered, looking surprised.
“Where’s Bruce?” Annie asked the cook.
“So sorry, madame,” Mme Dechamps muttered in her broken English and then paused, searching for the right words. “He…” She trailed off and then gave up, making a motion with her hands like a plane taking off.
Annie wasn’t sure she understood. Bruce in a plane? Her stomach dropped.
Just at that moment, Annie’s phone lit up with a message from Bruce:
SORRY TO LEAVE YOU WITH A MESS, ANNIE. I JUST COULDN’T TAKE THE RISK. TELL JESSICA I’M SORRY, TOO.
“He left the country?” Annie muttered, the enormity of what he’d just done only beginning to sink in. That would mean…Oh, no. No, no, no. Please. Not that. Her hopes of a plea deal vanished before her eyes.
“Country…yes,” Mme Dechamps nodded. “On his plane, yes? Far, far away!”
All the air went straight out of Annie’s sails. Oh, God, Bruce, you don’t know what you’ve done, Annie thought. He’d committed the worst mistake a criminal defendant could possibly make.
Because everyone knew this simple fact: Only guilty men run.