The Victim (29 page)

“
Hell,” Mandy chimed in, “she was convincing the first time she came in here, man.”

Anton hadn’t thought about that. Was Bryan really innocent? Had he been so consumed by fear that he had failed to consider whether Daniella was telling the truth or just trying to get into his head? She had already lied so many times he could no longer delineate between what was real and what wasn’t.

She may have figured that she could play on his morals. Convince him that she had made up the story about Bryan only to goad him into coming clean about what had happened eleven years ago.

“
The client’s useless,” Anton said. “He doesn’t remember a thing. But then again, she apparently roofied him.”

Mandy shook his head doubtfully. “That’s if she actually did. Otherwise, maybe he popped a Xanax or two before he went out to meet her. Just like you initially thought. Now you don’t know what’s true and what isn’t. Whether Bryan was lured into her apartment and sat there like a moron while she went into the bedroom and choked herself with a belt or whether he barged in and attacked her. He’s got no recollection and she’s your only witness. Problem is, you can’t trust her.”

Jack held out his hands, putting a stop to the rhetoric. “Anton. The bottom line is that if you decide to clear your conscience and come forward about what you say happened eleven years ago on some highway in Arizona, you’re going to lose everything. Your confession coupled with the physical evidence and your name on the rental agreement, and you’re going to prison. Not DUI manslaughter. We’re talking murder. You’re looking at twenty-five to life, easy. You’re going to lose your license to practice law. Charlotte’s gonna grow up without a father.”

That one put him over the edge. He crumpled to the floor, trying to palm away the tears. “I’m fucked. I’m totally fucked. She’s got my confession now. She’s probably on the phone with the cops out in Payson ready to send it over to them—”

“
Wa-wa-wait!” Jack interrupted. Anton rolled into a seated position. “Payson?”

Anton sniffled. “Yeah, so?”

Jack’s face was pained, his eyes shifting toward the ceiling as if trying to recall something otherwise forgotten. “And what was the date of this incident?”

Anton realized that he had not mentioned the date nor the specific location. He had only told them Arizona, eleven years ago.

“
March 16, 2003.”

Jack’s bronze face ran pale. His mouth dropped. “Jesus Christ, kiddo.” He shook his head, his idle stare suggesting that he was mentally somewhere else. “Talk about coincidences. Osvaldo Garcia, that murder case I handled ’bout ten years ago? He was arrested in Payson. Same day as your little incident out on the highway.”

CHAPTER 31

Anton promised Jack and Mandy that he would drink the entire pot of coffee before even attempting to drive home. He sat at the table in the suite’s kitchen, unwrapping half of a Subway sandwich one of the associates had left in the refrigerator. He ate it, downed half the pot of black coffee, and sat for a good hour before he realized he was sober.

He was maniacal about it, never having to make that judgment call ever again. To err on the side of caution he went into his office and sat in his chair for another hour, aimlessly swiveling back and forth, shifting his view from his office to the city lights behind him.

He grabbed his briefcase and sport coat and rode the elevator down to the lobby. Morton’s was filling up with dinner patrons. He thought about grabbing a booth in the back and quietly ordering up a New York strip but nerves swelled in his stomach, made him feel fuller than he was.

He thought about the coincidence. Jack’s client, Osvaldo Garcia, arrested on March 16, 2003, in Payson, Arizona. The same day as the crash. Such a random location, too. Jack shrugged it off, chalking it up to chance. Still, Anton was bothered by the closeness of the events. To think, while he was out there committing his crime, Osvaldo Garcia was somewhere nearby, committing his.

The valet sprinted to the garage when he saw Anton step outside. The cold snap had lifted but it was still winter in Miami. A cool breeze careened through the Brickell corridor.

The valet brought the Lexus to a jerky stop. Anton slipped the guy a single and got inside. Daryl Hall and John Oates were singing “Out Of Touch.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he navigated through the after-work traffic to the 95 onramp, laughing to himself about how mercilessly Gina made fun of his affinity for 70s and 80s soft rock. She often compared the playlists on his phone to a repertoire you might hear while sitting in the lobby at the dentist’s office.

His cell phone rang, the BlueTooth kicking in, disrupting the radio. He saw the number flashing on his navigation screen. The call was coming from a Miami-Dade County jail.

After accepting the charges, he answered, “Hey, Bryan.”

The sound of teeth clicking poured from his speakers, filling the car. “Shit, man. Who the fuck is Bryan?”

Anton grimaced and slapped the steering wheel. He had been neglecting Quincy Arrington’s case for the past few weeks.

“
Hey, sorry, Quincy. Thought you were someone else.” He merged onto the 95 onramp and accelerated along the flyover.

“
Goddamn, man, them niggas be fittin’ to lock me up fo’ life n’ you be off somewhere else when you oughta be gettin’ me ready fo’ trial!”

“
Quincy, relax. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“
Says you. You ain’t the one locked up.”

Anton changed lanes, trying to slalom around the slower traffic. I-95 northbound was a sea of brake lights. “I understand your frustration. But do you want things done quickly, or do you want them done right?”

“
I want my lawyer. See these goddamn public pretenders up in here every day. Shit, man, my auntie done paid you like nine thousand. Spare a little time then.”

“
You’re right, Quincy. I’ve been preoccupied. I know your case is a priority. I’ll come and see you first chance I get.”

***

“
I want my lawyer. See these goddamn public pretenders up in here every day. Shit, man, my auntie done paid you like nine thousand. Spare a little time then.”

“
You’re right, Quincy. I’ve been preoccupied. I know your case is a priority. I’ll come and see you first chance I get.”

Even through her computer speakers she could hear the bullshit in his voice. She dragged the toolbar back and listened again.

“…
see you the first chance I get.”

“
Why is there so much static?”

“
He’s probably in his car, on his BlueTooth.”

She craned her head over her shoulder. “You sure this is live?”

He was wearing just his boxer briefs, hovering over the open refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle of water and twisted the cap. “
Oye, mami
, I’ve been doing this a long time.” He shut the refrigerator door, the rubber sucking air as the gasket caught. He took a sip. “I programmed it right, just like you asked.”

Daniella looked at the phone and then at her laptop. The phone was a prepaid, a cheap Samsung flip phone that he had picked up for her at a kiosk at the Dadeland Mall. Paid cash. In addition to his contacts inside the Miami Beach Police Department, he knew some DEA guys who did nothing but wiretaps. An old buddy had installed a data-activated encryption SIM card on the prepaid with symmetric-key algorithms that changed every fifteen minutes. Text messages could be sent and then deleted before the recipient even knew they’d arrived.

Daniella shook her head, still baffled. “I just don’t get how this works.”

Mandy walked over to her desk and picked up the prepaid, unfolding it, showing her the screen and the keypad. “It’s not space age stuff. It’s standard operating procedure in my line of work; just gotta be careful. It’s illegal to record someone without their consent in Florida.
Mira
, once the software is uploaded on the phone you just send a text to the number whose calls you want to listen to. The text message is sent and then self-destructs before the recipient can read it. But sending the message is what activates the ability to listen. So now, we pair the software on your phone with your laptop, and any calls he makes or receives will play here.” He pointed to the tiny speakers in the back of the laptop. “So his line is active. If you don’t want to listen to his calls anymore, just send another encrypted text and that’ll disconnect.”

“
And it can’t be traced?”

“
That’s why we’re doing it on this prepaid, not your iPhone.”

This was all new to her. He had already downloaded a call recorder app on her iPhone a few weeks earlier that allowed her to record conversations. Now she had the ability to record conversations remotely.

He kneaded her shoulders with his calloused hands. She closed her eyes with delight, rolled her head back as he worked all the right spots. She reached behind and ran her fingernails up and down his muscular forearms. He wasn’t normally her type. He was quite a bit older. All those tattoos. Sure was cute, though. She thought so the first time she saw him that afternoon in Anton’s office. That night, he called her, said he wanted to
discuss the case
. She invited him over and they
discussed the case
until he left at six the next morning. Since that night, Mandy Guerrero had been coming over nearly every night.

She knew he was aware of what had happened with Anton. They had both sworn they would keep things strictly casual but when he had shown up at her apartment about an hour earlier, she could tell that he knew. Maybe it was the snide comments or the sarcasm, thick in his voice. No matter how passive aggressive he may have been, that sure didn’t stop him from jumping into bed with her.

She turned in her swivel chair. He stood before her, his shoulders wide and rounded. His thick chest coated with black and silver curls. She swept her fingers up and down his thighs, hard as carved stone. There was a twitch of movement in his boxer briefs.

He stroked her hair through his splayed fingers, angling her face up so he could look her in the eye. “You’re really getting inside the kid’s head.”

“
Good.”

She hooked her arms around his neck and brought him down for a kiss. She squeezed his firm biceps.

“
So you get what you want, now do I get what I want?”

She trailed her fingernails up his leg, bit him on the earlobe. “You bet,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 32

He wanted to tell her.

He held the secret deep in his belly. It stung with acidic resolve, causing him to wonder whether it had materialized into something more than just guilt.

Anton sat at the kitchen table, shoveling spoonfuls of carrot puree into Charley’s mouth. She wore a bib but it did little good. She was covered with orange goop. Streaked in her hair, in her nose, in her ears. She opened her mouth and Anton popped in the spoon. Her face scrunched with concern as she smacked her lips before spitting it out, letting it dribble down her chin. Samson circled her highchair, lapping up the drippings off the floor.

“
You didn’t say anything about the music,” Gina said, stirring the pot of pasta on the stove. Steam wafted up and washed over her face.

Anton hadn’t noticed. His mind was plagued with
what ifs
. Part of him was waiting for federal agents to kick down his door. He had even mentally prepared himself for it. Daniella was going to leverage this.

But another voice in his head tried to quell those fears. Daniella wasn’t about to take his presumably taped confession and run to the cops.

What fun would that be?

“
Earth to Anton Mackey.”

He whipped his head around. “Huh?”