‘Thomas White?’ he asked.
Not for much longer. He’d be ditching his stepfather’s last name as soon as possible. He was sure the bastard was the reason his mother had turned her back. Part of him wondered what his stepfather had needed to do to force her to write that letter. Part of him worried about his mom. Part of him was too tired to care.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded.
‘I’m your lawyer,’ the man said blandly. He turned to the guard. ‘Uncuff him. Please.’
The way he said please wasn’t polite. It was . . . imperious. Commanding.
‘If you’re sure,’ the guard said with a shrug.
‘I’m sure,’ the lawyer said.
Thomas gritted his teeth when the guard jerked his arms under the guise of unlocking the cuffs. ‘One move from you, kid,’ the man growled in warning.
Rubbing his sore wrists, Thomas glared and said nothing.
‘That’ll be all,’ the lawyer said, waiting until he and Thomas were alone to roll his eyes. ‘All right, then, Mr White. Let’s start—’
‘Thomas,’ Thomas interrupted. ‘Not White. Just Thomas.’
‘I can do that. For now, anyway.’ The lawyer rolled his wheelchair to the table, appraising Thomas with too keen an eye. ‘Have you been eating?’
‘No.’
‘I didn’t think so. I don’t have to ask if you’ve been sleeping. You’ve got bags under your eyes.’
Like you care. This guy, with his expensive suit and lord-of-the-manor attitude. ‘Who are you?’ Thomas asked again, more rudely this time.
The man pulled a silver business card case from his breast pocket and gave one of the cards to Thomas. ‘My name is James Maslow.’
The card was sturdy and not cheap at all. Maslow and Woods, Attorneys at Law.
No way I can afford this guy. ‘I have a lawyer already.’
‘I know. The public defender. If you choose to stay with him, I’ll honor your wishes. But first let me explain to you why I am here. Your history teacher and my law partner are brothers. Your teacher asked me to speak with you, as a favor. He thinks you’re innocent. I reviewed your case and thought he might be right.’
Mr Woods talked to this lawyer? For me? Why? His lungs expelled air in a rush. ‘You believe me?’ he asked, his voice small and trembling, because no one else had.
Maslow nodded once. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’ Thomas’s voice broke on the single word.
Maslow’s smile was gentle. ‘For starters, because your teacher told me what really happened the day you defended that young girl from Richard Linden’s advances.’
‘Mr Woods will lose his job,’ Thomas whispered, remembering the principal’s barely veiled threat. Had that been only six days ago? Really?
‘He decided to risk it,’ Maslow said, and there was a spark of pride in his eyes. ‘Mr Woods has written a letter to the school board on your behalf.’
‘Wow.’ Thomas cleared his throat. ‘That’s . . . really nice of him.’
‘Well, he’s a really nice guy. I think you probably are too.’
Thomas lifted his chin, stared Maslow in the eye. ‘I didn’t kill Richard Linden.’
‘I believe you, but the prosecutor thinks he has a case. He wants me to tell you that he’s offering voluntary manslaughter. Eight to ten years.’
Thomas came to his feet, shoving the chair backward. ‘What? Eight to ten years?’
Maslow patted the table. ‘Sit down, Thomas, before the guard comes back.’
Thomas sat, his body shaking. Tears burned his eyes. ‘But I didn’t do it.’
‘I know,’ Maslow said soothingly. ‘But I’m required to tell you whatever they offer. Let’s discuss your case and then you can decide what you want to do about representation.’
Thomas rubbed his eyes roughly, clearing the moisture away. ‘I can’t pay you. I can’t even make bail.’
‘Don’t worry about my fees. If you agree, I’ll be taking your case pro bono. That means for free.’
Thomas frowned. ‘I know what it means,’ he snapped. ‘I got seven-eighty on my verbal.’ Not that his SAT scores mattered anymore. No college would take him now. Nor was it this guy’s fault. He drew a breath. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m . . . tired.’
‘You look it,’ Maslow said sympathetically. ‘You’ve also made bail.’
Thomas’s mouth fell open. ‘What? Where did my mother get the money?’
‘It wasn’t your mother. I’m sorry about that.’
His stomach pitched. Not my mom. ‘She really has cut me off, then.’
Maslow’s brows crunched in a disapproving frown. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘That’s why I don’t want to be White. Her husband changed my name when he married her. I want to change it back. Take back my real father’s name.’
‘What name was that?’
‘Thorne. I want to be Thomas Thorne.’
One
Present day
Baltimore, Maryland,
Friday 27 May, 5.30 p.m.
He sat back in his chair, waiting patiently as one of his most trusted aides walked into his office with a bright yellow folder. He truly hoped Ramirez would deliver, but he didn’t really believe he would. Which was unfortunate indeed.
‘Here’s the information you asked for,’ Ramirez said, placing the folder on his desk, looking as relaxed as he usually did.
That Ramirez had been betraying him for so long . . .
If he hadn’t seen the evidence with his own eyes, he never would have believed it. Ramirez was like a son. A trusted son.
‘Have a seat,’ he said, using his normal tone, unwilling to give away what he knew just yet. He opened the folder, flipped through the contents. And sighed. ‘This is incomplete.’
Ramirez frowned. ‘It is not. I compiled the data myself. That is everything that anyone knows about Thomas Thorne.’
‘It is not,’ he said, intentionally repeating his clerk’s words. ‘I know this because I also had Patton do the same search. The file he compiled is twice as thick. What you’ve given me is less than I could have gotten from searching Google myself.’ He deliberately closed the file and folded his hands. ‘What do you think I should do about this?’
Ramirez licked his lower lip, his first sign of nerves. ‘Do? About what?’
‘About you, my friend.’ From his drawer, he pulled out the photos Patton had taken of Ramirez. And Thomas Thorne. Conspiring together. ‘Care to explain?’
Ramirez drew a breath. ‘You had me followed?’
‘I did. Thorne seems to know a great deal about my operations. I wondered how he’d gotten all that information. I had all of my inner circle followed – by the person who’d get their job should they be shown to be the betrayer.’ He smiled. ‘Patton was extremely thorough. He’ll make a very good head clerk.’
Ramirez swallowed hard. ‘I never betrayed you.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Patton photoshopped those pictures.’
He turned on his cell phone and swiped through the photos he had stored there. ‘Ah, here it is. You with Thorne.’ He held his phone out so that Ramirez could see the image. ‘I took this one myself.’
Ramirez paled. Then he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, acceptance of his fate in his eyes. ‘My wife had nothing to do with this.’
He shrugged. ‘Then it’s a pity she has to die too.’
‘No.’ Ramirez leaped from his chair, reaching out as if he’d strangle him with his bare hands. But at the sight of the gun aimed at his head he stopped abruptly and froze, breathing hard.
‘Why?’ he asked the clerk simply, holding his gaze. ‘Why did you give Thorne information?’
‘I didn’t,’ Ramirez insisted.
‘You’re going to die either way, old friend. I can make it quick or make it last. I can also do the same for your lovely wife. Quick or slow torture? Tell me why.’
Ramirez closed his eyes. ‘You killed my nephew.’
He lifted his brows. ‘I did?’