The Perfect Mother Read Free Page A

nodded.
    “My name is José Sancho Gomez. I am a criminal lawyer and I’ve been asked to consult with you about your daughter’s case,” he said in perfect, unaccented English, which sounded slightly foreign only because of its formality.
    “Thank you so much for coming. I was hoping I could see Emma before anything else. Can we arrange for her bail?”
    “I think perhaps it will be better if we talk a bit first.” He offered to carry her hand luggage and she gave it to him. The driver took her suitcase. “Spanish law is a bit different from yours,” he said, steering her toward the exit. “Bail is rarely set for a murder case. But Emma is not arrested and has not been charged. The police have the right to hold her for seventy-two hours. If they don’t find any evidence that she is guilty, they cannot hold her longer and they will release her. This could all be over in two more days.”
    “Oh, thank God. When can I see her? She needs to know I’m here.”
    “I understand. We will go to the police station in a little while and they will let you see her. I have already been there and she is coping well. They are questioning her again now, so we have a little time to talk before they will allow you in. Why don’t we use that to explain the situation so far? Since I am from Madrid, I have no office here, but we can talk in a colleague’s chambers.”
    They had reached the exit, and leaving her suitcase with her, the driver left to get the car.
    “But shouldn’t you be with her when she is questioned?” Jennifer asked.
    “Yes, of course she must have a lawyer with her, but my colleague is accompanying her. He is from Sevilla; he knows the prosecutor and the investigating magistrate. It will be better for him to be there at this stage.” A black Peugeot pulled up at the curb and José led her to it.
    She didn’t speak during the fifteen-minute ride to the center of the city, lost in her thoughts and concerns. José, however, emitted a steady stream of local trivia, as though she were a tourist. His patter irritated her and she tried to ignore it. As they reached the center, however, she glanced out the window. She’d never been to Seville and understood immediately why Emma loved it. The city was exquisite. The sun shining so brightly on the Gothic cathedral felt like a good omen. Still, she was determined to resist the city’s charms. But the heat and humidity, unusual for this time of year, were inescapable. She took off her light cotton jacket, grateful she had remembered to dress in layers.
    They crossed the river at the Puente de San Telmo, passed the Plaza de Cuba, and stopped in front of 66 Calle Sanchez del Aguila, a well-kept four-story building. As they entered, Jennifer noticed a brass plaque affixed to the door. José saw her looking at the engraving, which read ABOGADOS. “It means ‘law office.’ We are going to the second floor,” he said, ringing for the elevator. “Actually, that would be your third floor. In Spain, we don’t count the main floor as you do in the U.S.”
    The elevator was small; it had room for no more than three people and even two felt cramped, and the hallway on the third floor was dark with small leaded windows just below the ceiling. The office, however, was cozy, with a large mahogany desk dominating the room, two black leather client chairs, a small couch, and several antique maps of Seville on the walls. José sat at the desk and she sat facing him. He offered her a cup of tea, which she refused. He took a cigarette out of his pocket and asked her if she minded if he smoked. She did, but said she didn’t.
    “How much do you know about this case?” he asked.
    “Nothing. My daughter called us in the middle of the night and said she was in trouble. She went to a party. She thinks she ate some brownies laced with hashish, and somehow she ended up being suspected of murder. We’ll do anything to help her. We want to bring her home.”
    “Your husband is not