Trophy Widow Read Free

frustration.
    I reached across the table and laid my hand on top of hers. “We’re going to fight it, Angela. We’ll have plenty to say by the time of trial.”
    She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. After a moment, she stood up and moved to the window. Pushing the curtain back, she peered out.
    I waited.
    She turned to me. “If that tramp wins, I will have Michael Junior and Sonya file their own Son of Sam claims. They are Michael’s children, too. His only real children.” She nodded decisively. “I’ll bet that lawyer never considered that.”
    He didn’t need to , I thought to myself. The Missouri legislature already had. The Son of Sam law barred any claim by a family member of the victim who also happened to be a family member of the killer. But I said nothing. No need to further demoralize my client this early in the case.
    Instead, I explained our various defenses. She was interested to hear about the constitutional challenge to the statute, which would be led by the New York law firm representing her publisher. If we could convince the court to throw out the statute as an abridgment of the freedom of speech, the case would implode and we’d never have to worry about equitable adoption or our other defenses. She listened attentively, asking questions along the way.
    When I finished explaining the legal issues, I went over a few more items regarding pretrial matters, including timing issues and the like. Then I had the deputy warden come in so that we could work out a confidential but efficient way for me to communicate with Angela by mail, phone, and fax—essential procedures given that St. Louis was a four-hour drive from Chillicothe.
    I checked my watch after the deputy warden departed. We still had a few minutes before I had to drive back to Columbia for Benny. I had one more topic to broach. I wasn’t quite sure how to begin, or where to go once we started.
    Angela must have sensed it. “What is it, Rachel?”
    I gazed at her for a moment. “I reviewed the file.”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œYour case. Everything. Court transcripts, pretrial motions, homicide investigation. Whatever I could get my hands on.”
    She frowned. “Why?”
    â€œGood question.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not sure, Angela. I started with the trial transcript. Initially, I suppose I was looking for any stray evidence on the equitable adoption issue.” I shrugged. “Maybe to see whether Samantha said anything back then about Michael’s relationship with her son—back before her lawyer concocted this adoption theory.”
    â€œAnd did she?”
    I shook my head. “Not really. Oh, she said he loved to play with Trent, took him fishing once, gave him a tricycle for Christmas—that sort of thing.”
    I paused.
    â€œAnd,” Angela said.
    â€œAnd I saw other things.”
    â€œWhat things?”
    â€œI’m not a criminal lawyer, Angela, but over the years I’ve had to look through a few homicide files. Yours was unusual.”
    She leaned forward, curious. “How so?”
    I paused, searching for the right words. “There were loose ends.”
    â€œSuch as?”
    â€œSuch as the murder weapon. It’s not the sort of weapon you’d expect a housewife to use.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThe serial number was filed off. The gun was untraceable. It’s the kind you’d normally expect to find with a professional hit, the kind you’d buy from an illegal gun dealer.”
    She rubbed her chin, trying to remember. “I think they asked me where I bought it.”
    â€œThey did. It’s in the arrest report. You told them you’d never owned a gun.”
    She nodded. “That’s true.”
    â€œSo where’d you get it?” I asked.
    She shook her head. “I have no idea.”
    I studied her for a moment.