I spent a few sleepless hours in a freezing holding cell before being transported to court, where I was placed in another freezing holding cell to wait for a lawyer. I hadn’t showered since Dubai, and I’d had nothing to eat. I had to wait to use the bathroom until a female officer was available. I was desperate to talk to Connor, but they wouldn’t let me make a phone call. I couldn’t wait to get to court, so I could talk to him. I didn’t understand what was happening, and why they’d arrested me for Nina’s murder. But Connor would know. He’d have a lawyer with him. They’d have information, a plan, a change of clothes. They’d get me out of this nightmarish place.
Hours passed. Nobody would tell me what the schedule was. The uncertainty sent me into a kind of grim coma. I was practically catatonic, so exhausted that I tried to sleep on the hard, grimy metal bench. At least, as the only female prisoner going to court that day, I had a small cell to myself. The female guard came back with a plastic cup of water and a ham sandwich. She told me to hurry up and eat because my lawyer was waiting for me in the courtroom.
“Don’t I get to talk to him before we go to court?”
The guard shrugged.
Ten minutes later, I was brought in an elevator to a crowded courtroom, where I was seated in the jury box with two male prisoners. One was muscular and heavily tattooed. The other was slight, much older, and might’ve looked distinguished had he not been unshaven and wearing prison blues. They both nodded politely to me.
The judge, an African-American woman who wore pearls over her black robe, was already on the bench, hearing another case. The courtroom was full, but I didn’t see the one face I was searching for. Connor must be here somewhere. Maybe he was in the hallway, talking to my lawyer.
A woman approached the jury box and leaned down to whisper. She had a round face and dimples and looked younger than I did.
“Hey, Tabitha, I’m Courtney McCarthy. I’m a lawyer for Levitt Global. Your husband asked me to represent you today at your bail hearing.”
“Oh, thank God. Where is he?”
I craned my neck to see past her, scanning the benches for Connor.
“He asked me to send his apologies. He couldn’t make it to this hearing.”
Anxiety beat in my chest. First like a flutter, then, as I absorbed her words, like the roar of a giant wave.
“What? No! No, that’s not possible. I’m in jail. How could he just leave me here?”
She glanced up at the bench nervously, motioning with her hand for me to keep my voice down.
“I’m sorry. He didn’t share his reason with me. There is kind of a media circus outside the courthouse right now. Maybe he thought it wouldn’t be helpful for him to contribute to that?”
“I’m arrested for murder, and he doesn’t show up to court because he’s afraid of getting his picture taken?”
What could that mean? Was he abandoning me? Did he believe I was guilty? I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I doubled over, holding my stomach, tears prickling behind my eyes.
“You go call him. Call him right now. Tell him I need him here.”
“Uh, I’m worried they’ll call the case when I’m out, and I’ll get in trouble with the judge.”
“What are you, five years old? Do it.”
She flushed. “Fine, if you insist.”
She left the courtroom, returning mere moments later.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t get through,” she whispered.
“Did you really try?”
“Yes, I tried. And look, I know it’s disappointing, but he’s very busy.”
“He’s my fucking husband, and I’m arrested for murder. What reason could he possibly have for not showing up?”
“I’d be speculating to answer that. I honestly don’t know the reason. Looking on the bright side, I’m here, so you’re represented. Though I ought to advise you, I’m really a corporate attorney. My only criminal background is one course in law school, and I’m wondering if it wouldn’t be smarter to—”
The judge pounded her gavel, glaring at my lawyer. “Silence. We’re conducting a hearing here, Counselor.”
Courtney blushed crimson. “I apologize, Your Honor, but I needed to speak to my client, so—”
“If you wanted to talk to your client, you should’ve asked the marshal to let you back to the holding cell. You don’t take up my time in my courtroom. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do it again, and I’ll sanction you. Now, sit down.”
My lawyer slunk away and took a seat in the back. I couldn’t help remembering Hagerty’s words in the car last night. Ask yourself, Tabitha—who will that lawyer work for? You? Or Connor? I had to face the facts. Connor was not here for me, and that was a bad sign. The lawyer he’d sent seemed barely qualified, and that was an even worse sign. I wouldn’t have the advice I needed to defend myself against the charges. For some reason, Connor didn’t want me to defend myself. Could he be washing his hands of me, because he believed I was guilty? Or—worse, to the point of being unthinkable—could he be guilty himself, and looking for me to take the blame in his place?
“That one’s out of her league,” the tattooed guy said under his breath. “You say they got you up on a murder charge?”
“That’s what they said when they arrested me last night. I can’t believe it. I’m completely innocent.”
He shook his head. “That’s some heavy shit, sister. And that lawyer you got is green as grass. Is she the best your husband could do?”
“I don’t know. He’s not here. I can’t believe he’s not here to support me.”
“That shit happens all the time. I’m lucky my girlfriend stuck by me. Plenty of guys get dumped the second they get locked up.”
He blew a kiss to a young woman sitting in the stands, who took the hand of the toddler sitting in her lap and waved it at my seatmate. I’d done just what he was talking about—dumped Derek when he was in jail. He deserved it. For lying to me, getting me arrested, being an abusive jerk. But in my weakened state, I started thinking this was karma, and my eyes misted over. I would never have a decent life. Connor wasn’t here for me. He’d abandoned me in my moment of need, possibly for nefarious reasons. Our marriage was over. My baby would be born in prison. Hysteria was building inside me. I felt like screaming or beating my head against the wall.
The older prisoner was staring at me. I raised my manacled hands to wipe away a tear.
“What are you looking at?” I said defiantly.
“I’m feeling sorry for you, young lady. You need to get yourself a better lawyer right away. This is a very serious predicament you’re in. It would be a huge mistake to rely on someone inexperienced in criminal law.”
“You’re right. But what can I do?”
“The public defender ain’t half bad,” the tattooed prisoner interjected.
The older man looked me up and down. My jewelry had been taken and catalogued when they booked me. But I still wore my street clothes from the plane, complete with the cashmere shawl from the duty free.
“I doubt she qualifies for free legal assistance,” the older man said.
“Not if they count my husband’s money, I don’t.”
“Then you can pay?”
“He can. But the fact that he sent this Levitt Global lawyer makes me wonder if he plans to.”
“Levitt Global. I’m familiar with that company. Who’s your husband?”
“His name is Connor Ford. He’s—”
The judge rapped her gavel again.
“Marshals, separate those prisoners immediately.”
Two guards marched up to the jury box. One of them grabbed my arm and hustled me into the back row. The other prodded the tattooed prisoner to move over several seats, then took the older man out of the box and brought him to the defense table up front. I’d already felt alone, but now my spirits plummeted. My jailhouse companions at least seemed to know what they were doing, and cared to help me, in contrast to the lawyer Connor had sent.
Slumped in my chair, with no windows in the courtroom, I lost track of time. Cases were heard, but I was lost in my misery, and barely paid attention. Eventually, the judge called a lunch break, though to me it already felt like ten o’clock at night. The older prisoner, escorted by two guards, passed by on his way to detention, and winked. Our conversation of an hour ago felt like it had happened in another century.
I was brought back to my solitary holding cell and given a second ham sandwich. I knew I needed to eat, but I took a bite and gagged. The thought of food was repugnant to me. I saw no way out of my predicament. I put the sandwich down, hung my head, and cried.