I finally got up and went to the door, but my head swirled and the room tilted. My legs began to buckle. Not here, I begged.
Then I felt Raleigh supporting me. “Lindsay…you all right?” He was looking at me, worried, unsuspecting. I saw Jill there, too.
“You all right, Lindsay?”
I leaned against the wall. I willed my legs to work. “I’m okay.” I whispered, holding on to Raleigh’s arm.
“I just hate that bastard,” I said, and walked out of the interrogation room. I was very weak, swaying. I barely made it to the ladies’ room.
I felt faint, then nauseated, as if some angry spirit were trying to claw out of my lungs. I closed my eyes, leaned over the sink.
I coughed, a raw, burning stinging in my chest, then I shook and coughed some more.
Gradually, I felt the spell recede. I took a breath, opened my eyes.
I shuddered.
There was blood all over the sink.
Chapter 93
FOUR HOURS LATER, in District Criminal Court, I felt well enough to watch Nicholas Jenks be arraigned for murder.
A buzzing crowd filled the halls outside the courtroom of Judge Stephen Bowen. Photographers flashed cameras blindly, reporters surged for a glimpse of the sullen, shaken bestselling writer.
Raleigh and I squeezed through, took a seat behind Jill in the front row. My strength having returned, the riot in my chest subsided. I wanted Jenks to see me there.
I saw Cindy, sitting in the press section. And in the back of the courtroom, I spotted Chancellor Weil and his wife.
It was over before it began. Jenks was led in, his eyes as dead and hollow as craters on the moon. The clerk read the docket, the suspect rose. The bastard pleaded Not Guilty. What were they going to argue, that all the evidence was inadmissible?
Leff, the consummate showman, was unusually respectful, even demure before Judge Bowen. He made a pleading case for release on recognizance based on Jenks’s stature in the community. For a moment, the killer’s accomplishments almost even swayed me.
Jill fought him head-on. She graphically detailed the savagery of the murders. She argued that the suspect had the means and the lack of roots to flee.
I felt a surge of triumph rippling through me when the judge struck his gavel and intoned, “Bail denied.”
Chapter 94
NOW WE WERE CELEBRATING.
It was the end of the day, a day I had long waited for, and I met the girls for a drink at Susie’s.
We had earned this. Nicholas Jenks had been arraigned. No bail. No consideration of the court. The four of us had pulled it off.
“Here’s to the Women’s Murder Club,” Cindy cheered, with her beer mug in the air.
“Not bad for a collection of gender-impaired public s
ervants,” Claire agreed.
“What did Jenks call me?” I shook my head and smiled. “A fucking ice bitch?”
“I can do ice bitch,” Jill said, grinning.
“To the ice bitches of the world,” Cindy toasted, “and the men who cannot thaw us out.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Claire. “Edmund thaws me just fine.” We all laughed and clinked beers.