Free Trace of Innocence by Erica Orloff

help.” Someone else had driven that car.
    In the midst of all the chaos, I managed to call Jack. He arrived with his new partner about a half hour later and started buddying up to the various police on the scene, smoothing things. Next thing I knew, I was “free to go.”
    Jack pulled me to the side. “You done with this?”
    “Now I am. We got the results today. He’s innocent.”
    “I mean these Justice Foundation people. Maybe the next time you clear some guy for murder you won’t be so lucky.”
    “Look, I still have to call my father, and then there’s Lewis over there. And I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before my brother calls me collect to nag me. Not you, too, Jack.”
    He shook his head. “We’ll discuss this later. Vic and I have to wrap some things up on a case. I’ll call you tonight.”
    “Can hardly wait,” I said sarcastically. Then I stopped. “I’m sorry. Thanks for all your help, Jack. I mean it.”
    Jack took off with his new partner. His old one had had a heart attack about six months before and ended up taking early retirement.
    After the police finished questioning me, I called my father so he could notify Tommy’s family that he’d been shot. I was standing in the lab parking lot with Lewis, whose shirt was covered in blood. My car had been impounded as evidence by the police. I was shivering in the cold—and from nerves.
    “Billie,” Dad said. “Jesus Christ…is Tommy going to be okay?”
    “I don’t know, Dad.”
    “It could have been you.”
    “I know.”
    He was quiet for a moment or two. “I almost didn’t survive losing your mother, Billie. Be careful. Have Lewis take you home.”
    I closed my cell phone. “Well, Lewis, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to take a hot shower and go to bed.”
    “Is that a come-on?”
    “Shut up.”
    The two of us walked to his car, a much-driven and much-loved classic Thunderbird in sky blue that Lewis had owned since college and restored and kept up himself. We both climbed in and I leaned my head back against the seat.
    “Can we not talk about this, Lewis?” I begged, heading him off.
    He sighed. “Sure thing.”
    “I can’t believe you’re not arguing with me.”
    “I felt a man’s life pulsing through my fingers tonight. I may have left academia for the lab, but…this was heavy. I need a stiff bourbon.”
    “Me, too. Come on, drive me home and we’ll have one together.”
    We drove to my place, and while I got outtwo glasses and ice, and bourbon from my cabinet, he borrowed one of my brother’s sweatshirts that I’d somehow kept over the years, and took a shower and changed. I poured us both a glass, and set them down on my coffee table. He sank into my couch and turned on the television.
    “Think your father can get me a deal on a flat screen like yours?”
    “As long as you don’t mind the no-receipt thing, Lewis.”
    “I’m getting used to such concepts.” Lewis’s father was a retired judge in New Orleans, his mother a lifelong homemaker and member of the Junior League.
    “I’m going to go shower.”
    In my small bathroom, I turned on the hot water in the shower and climbed in, letting the steam rise and the hot spray hit my back where the knots of tension were. I stayed in there until the water ran lukewarm, then started to get chilly.
    I climbed out, toweled off, combed out my hair and pulled it into a ponytail. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a rugby shirt, which had also been my brother’s. Then I went out to the couch. Lewis was watching Nickelodeon.
    “Can I ask why we’re watching Sponge-Bob? ” Lewis was a major newshound, and it was usually the History Channel, CNN, MSNBC…or something on PBS.
    “I tried the news. We’re on it.”
    “Ugh.”
    “Precisely. So we’re watching SpongeBob .”
    “Here’s to the pineapple under the sea.” I took my bourbon and clinked glasses with him. “We should call Joe and C.C. They’ll be worried.”
    He