“He went to the store. Why don’t you go get some breakfast and a shower? I’ll put Mia and Ava on the bus.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.” With a backward glance at the happy children, Morgan turned toward the house.
After a hot shower, she felt almost human. She dressed, combed her hair, and brushed her teeth. Returning to the kitchen, she refilled her coffee mug. Movement pulled her gaze to the kitchen window. At the end of the driveway, the girls and Gianna waited for the school bus. Mia and Ava wore pink-and-purple backpacks. Gianna held Sophie’s hand, obviously having learned the hard way the day before just how fast Sophie’s tiny legs could run.
Morgan looked across the street. Bud and Nick’s house looked dark. How had Nick fared overnight? Had he been booked and transferred to the county jail, or was he still in the holding cell at SFPD?
She was relieved when the front door opened and Sophie burst into the kitchen. There was no better distraction than a three-year-old. Gianna was right behind the child.
“Gianna says I can be a kitten today.” Sophie bounced on her toes.
They spent the next few hours digging through the craft supplies and fashioning a crude kitten costume out of black felt and leftovers from last Halloween. The morning passed quietly. Grandpa came home and fell asleep in his recliner. At noon, Sophie ate three bites of her peanut butter sandwich and set it aside.
When the doorbell rang, Morgan jumped. Leaving Gianna and Sophie at the kitchen table, Morgan looked out the window. “It’s Bud.”
Gianna held her hand out to Sophie. “It’s almost nap time. If we go into your room now, I’ll have time to read two stories.” Gianna plucked a tissue from the box on the table, but Sophie bolted down the hall before Gianna could wipe the child’s nose.
“Thank you,” Morgan said, then went to the door and opened it. “Come in.”
“Are you sure?” Bud stepped into the house. His face was gray, his eyes bleak. “I don’t want to overstep.”
She waved him in. “Where did you stay last night?”
“My assistant manager let me sleep on his couch.” The police had spent the entire night completing their search of Bud’s house.
“Are you allowed back in today?”
Bud nodded. “I haven’t been inside yet. I don’t even know what they took.”
“They’ll give you an inventory of all items removed from the property,” Morgan said. “Tell me what’s happening with Nick.”
“He had an arraignment hearing this morning, but it wasn’t anything like I expected. Nick didn’t say anything. There was a lawyer there he’d never met. I haven’t been able to find him a private one yet. I applied for a mortgage over the phone, but the approval is pending. I’m hoping there’s enough equity in the house to at least cover a retainer. I don’t have much in the way of savings.” Bud followed Morgan into the kitchen. “Anyway. They didn’t even ask him if he was guilty or anything. The whole thing only took a couple of minutes.”
“Nick is charged with a class A felony. The initial arraignment is really just a formality. He’ll have a chance to issue a plea later.”
“I couldn’t even hear most of what they were saying. The judge set his bail at a million dollars. The bail bondsman said I need a hundred thousand in cash to get him out. There’s no way I can come up with that kind of money. Even if the mortgage is approved, I’ll need every cent of that equity to pay a lawyer. How can they lock him up when he hasn’t been convicted of a crime?”
“Nick is charged with a violent and particularly heinous murder.” Morgan shuddered, remembering just how heinous. “He will be held in custody pending a formal indictment by the grand jury, which should happen within six days of his arrest, which will be Tuesday.”
But even the grand jury was a formality. Morgan knew Bryce. The DA wouldn’t have charged Nick if he didn’t have enough evidence for a conviction.
“What about after that? How do I get him home?”
“I don’t know. His attorney can petition for a bail reduction.”
“But you don’t sound like that’ll happen, which means he’d have to stay in jail until the trial, right?”
“Yes.”
“How long will that take?” Bud asked.
“It could be a year before the case is brought to trial.”
Bud’s face went gray. “And Nick will have to stay in jail that whole time?”
“It’s possible.” Morgan didn’t add that the case could take even longer than that.
As a prosecutor, Morgan had always believed that the vast majority of people arrested were guilty. She’d never felt that she’d put an innocent man in jail. But there had been cases in New York of innocent people who’d spent years in jail waiting for their trials. Though the percentage of innocent people held unjustly was low, when someone you cared about was included in that small minority, the situation was suddenly intolerable.
“I don’t know what to do. I’ll never come up with enough money to pay for years of legal expenses, and if the lawyer who represented Nick today is any indication of what he’ll get from the state . . .” Bud looked lost. “I already got the feeling the attorney thought Nick was guilty.”
“Public defenders carry large caseloads, but many are actually very good.”
Many, but not all. Large caseloads meant less time, less attention on each case. Nick could very well sit in jail for the next year. There wasn’t a special, safe place to hold people awaiting trial. He’d be in with the other inmates. Innocent or guilty, young Nick was going to be locked up with real criminals. His fledgling business would fail. He could be assaulted. He would definitely be traumatized.
Nick’s life could be ruined. At a minimum, he’d be changed forever.
Morgan’s next words were out of her mouth before she could think. “What if I offered to represent Nick?”
What was she doing? The Dane family put criminals in prison. They didn’t get them out. Her father would roll over in his grave. And she didn’t even want to think about how Bryce would react.
Bud’s head lifted. “You would do that? I don’t have much money to pay you.”
“We’ll work something out,” Morgan said. What else could she do? Nick had no one else. “There is no guarantee I can make a difference, but I can promise that I will do everything in my power to prove Nick is innocent.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
Morgan pictured Tessa’s body, the gruesome image as clear as the night she’d found her. “I can’t believe Nick would do such a thing.”
After Bud left, Morgan opened the refrigerator and stared at its contents. She needed lunch, but her appetite had been dimmed by her decision. Her mind whirled as it processed what she’d done.
She’d agreed to defend Nick. Her new job—the very thing that was going to pull her out of her current hole—was history.
Her grandfather shuffled into the kitchen. “So. I eavesdropped.”