Something in the Way (Something in the Way 1)

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“You’re suspicious. I’m sorry.” He took off his glasses and set them on the paperwork. “If you don’t tell me where you were, if nobody can vouch for you, then the police are going to think you’re hiding something. They want guys like you to be guilty so they can close it and move on. Give me something to work with. Otherwise, guilty or not, there’s a chance you’ll go away for this.”

I lowered my chin, meeting his eye. Under the table, my knee bounced up and down. I wasn’t naïve, not even when it came to the criminal justice system. It’d done right by me in the past, but I came from a line of bad men. Maybe based on that alone, I should be put away. Before I really did hurt someone the way my dad had. For fuck’s sake, I’d almost taken advantage of Lake that night. Maybe I deserved this, but either way, being charged with a crime I didn’t commit seemed like a cruel joke.

I’d already given Grimes my story, though. At least what I was willing to share. I opened my hands on the table. “I got nothing, man.”

Grimes nodded slowly, studying me. After a few seconds, he peeked in the file and back at me. “Who’s Lake Kaplan?”

Time as I knew it came to a screeching halt. The air in the room evaporated, fluorescent overhead lights became blinding. Lake was off-limits. Period. How the fuck had he even gotten her name? My hands twitched with the urge to grab Dexter by his mayo-stained lapels.

“I take it by your silence you recognize the name,” he said.

“Where’d you hear it?”

“She left a message with my office a few hours ago.” He opened and closed the arms of his glasses. If he was preparing to gloat, he didn’t seem happy about it. “I called back, but nobody answered. The machine belongs to a family.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Goddamn stubborn Lake. I knew she’d try to help, but I’d hoped the threat of making things worse would be enough to stop her. The thought that Mr. Kaplan could’ve picked up the phone made me sweat. I wiped my palms on my scrubs. “Please don’t tell me you left a message.”

“Lake mentioned it was sensitive, so I didn’t. She sounded young, Manning. So now I have to ask why a young girl has information I need.”

I looked at the table. “She’s nobody. My girlfriend’s little sister.”

“How little?”

“Sixteen.”

“I see.” He proceeded slowly, as if deliberating over his words. “What’s her involvement?”

For what felt like the hundredth time in three days, Lake’s face came to mind, her big, blue, gullible eyes, the way her chin ended in a point, like a heart. She’d looked terrified when I’d last seen her. Then hurt when I’d dismissed her to get Tiffany. Making her feel like a kid was the only way I could get her to leave.

Somehow, I’d dragged a girl, who was younger than Maddy would’ve been if she were alive, into my mess. I laced my hands together. “Nothing else to tell.”

“Whatever you say stays between us, Manning. If . . . something happened with her—”

“Nothing happened.”

“But if I know what occurred in those two hours, I can start building your defense. I need the truth.”

“I told you. Nothing . . . fucking . . . happened.”

“All right, then.” He scooted his chair closer to the table. “We have to discuss your options before they call us up. The way things are headed, I think we’d better talk about the plea bargain the prosecutor is offering.”

I lifted my head, drawing my eyebrows together. “Isn’t that if you’re guilty?”

“If you’re likely to be convicted, then it’s best to take a deal to soften the blow. Less time, for one.”

“But I’m innocent.”

“This is no longer about innocent versus guilty. It’s a game, and you need to play.”

“That’s bullshit,” I said. “The law’s the law. I didn’t break it.”

“We can argue mistaken identity,” he continued, “but since the victim ID’ed you in the line-up, and she claims she turned the lights on, I can’t promise it’ll turn out how we want.”

“She picked me out?” I sat forward. “The other guys weren’t as tall as me. Maybe she’s remembering it wrong.”

“Maybe. I’ll need more time to look over all this.” He scratched his jaw. “Luckily, you have no priors. The max for attempted robbery in the state of California is four-and-a-half years.”

I laughed from my gut, harder than I had in a long time. “This is a huge misunderstanding.”

“The D.A. is offering to reduce the charge to first-degree burglary with a low-term sentence of two years. With good behavior, you’d be out in less.”

Whatever he was talking about went in one ear and out the other. I crossed my arms. “I’m not going to jail for something I didn’t do.”