Free Hanging on a String by Janette M. Louard Page B

particularly sensitive to the criticism leveled at me that I had sold out. As far as I was concerned, I could do more working from the inside than I could protesting against “the system.” My friends did not buy it, but nevertheless, I contented myself with the knowledge that I always counseled my client to do the right thing, even if it ended up costing the client a lot of money.
    The Daniel Brown case, however, was different. I was convinced that Daniel was a victim of the increasingly common phenomenon—police brutality. This case was the only case in my career that I’d tried to get the hell off of as quickly as possible. Chester had insisted that I remain, and Raymond had backed him a thousand percent on this.
    I’d try to reason with myself that even a creep like Pileski deserved good representation; after all, our system was built upon the basic tenet that the accused was innocent until proven guilty. God knows that he had stated loudly and consistently that he was wrongfully accused. His words provided no comfort, however, when I had to look into the eyes of Daniel Brown and his mother.
    Now Mariah Brown had called me to declare her innocence. I understood why she wouldn’t call the police. This was a woman who firmly believed that the police were responsible for almost killing her son. She would not turn to them for any kind of assistance. But why call me? I wondered. There had to be others she could turn to. Why would she turn to the lawyer defending the cop who was accused of brutally beating her son? What about her own lawyer? Why hadn’t she called him?
    I looked at my desk and saw Detective Claremont’s business card. If anything comes to mind, Miss Spain, please give me a call. I was certain that a call from the woman suspected of murdering Chester Jackson qualified. I felt nervous about calling him. I was attracted to him, and that was unsettling. It had been a long time since I’d been attracted to anyone. My dating life was sporadic at best. The crazy hours I worked didn’t leave much room for romance—not that I was planning to have anything romantic with Marcus Claremont—but the memory of those amber eyes and that sexy smile could make a sister weak. I got his voice mail and left a message asking him to call me. I told him that I’d explain more when we spoke. Hanging up the telephone, I had to admit that I was disappointed. I’d been looking forward to hearing that deep, sexy voice. Oh well, I thought as I pushed thoughts of Marcus Claremont out of my mind.
    I then did something I’d done several times before that day: I called my sister. I’d tried to reach Thea all day but to no avail. I’d tried her cell phone, and no one answered. I’d called my home and was likewise unsuccessful. I was worried sick about her, but I also knew she needed some space. Thea was the kind of person who needed to work things out in her own head. I’d determined to give her the space she needed, but the sister in me couldn’t stop from calling her again.
    I still had a hard time believing that Brooks would cheat. Why would he cheat on Thea? I wondered. She’s gorgeous, kind, funny, smart, and totally devoted to her family. But I knew that many other gorgeous, kind, funny, smart, and equally devoted women fell prey to cheating husbands. Unfortunately, I knew this from personal experience. Still, bad things weren’t supposed to happen to my sister.
    The telephone kept ringing, and I finally hung up when my answering machine clicked on. I’d already left Thea seven messages, and I was certain that message number eight wouldn’t be answered, either.
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    Raymond came to my office door at eight o’clock that evening.
    â€œFound anything interesting?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “The only thing I’ve learned, and which you already know, is that Chester was probably the most organized, anal-retentive attorney who