The world seems to be spinning at high speed right in front of my face, and I can’t get my bearings. Why is Connor being pinned for murder and what did the girls have to do with it? Why do I have blood on my hands, but can’t remember how it got there?
After the police collect all the evidence they need off my person, Jim leaves me to talk with Connor. An hour later, a husky female officer came to tell me I was free to go. Finally, after hours of waiting, sipping disgusting coffee and jumping every time I heard a set of doors open, Jim emerges from the back of the building where they’ve been questioning Connor. His expression reveals nothing, but his dark hair is a little disheveled as if he’s just run his hand through it. Otherwise, his suit looks clean and crisp as if he’s just dressed and even though it’s evening his face reveals no signs of a five o’clock shadow. He looks good. I look like I feel. Like shit. After they had taken my clothing, they gave me a T-shirt that’s way too big for me and a pair of basketball shorts I had to roll at the waist five times. I stand, but he gestures telling me to sit, then he takes a seat beside me, the old wooden bench creaking with the addition of his weight.
“Is he okay?” I ask, fighting the tremble in my voice.
Jim tugs hard at his tie, loosening it as he lets out something between a sigh and a groan. “He’s in a lot of trouble, Demi. They’re charging him.”
“Already?” I gasp.
Jim releases a deep breath. “It’s bullshit.”
With a deep breath, I blink back the tears burning my eyes. “Did he tell you what happened?”
“He did,” he answers with a nod, then he looks at me peculiarly. “You really don’t remember anything?”
“Nothing,” I confirm. I wait a moment, hoping he’ll continue, elaborate on what Connor told him, but when he doesn’t I ask, “And? What happened, Jim?”
“He asked me not to discuss it with you.”
In an instant, the tears clear and my mouth drops open. I blink a few times, digesting his words. “Why?”
“You’ll have to ask him,” Jim replies stiffly. “What I can tell you is his bail hearing is tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.”
“Do you think he can make bail?”
“Doubtful,” Jim admits. “Sometimes small towns have small minds; once a felon, always a felon.”
I pinch my lips together, hating that he’s right. No matter what evidence there is, Connor is as good as done. His past coupled with his bad boy looks won’t do him any favors.
“You have to get him bail,” I insist.
“And if he does . . . it’s going to be hefty.”
“I don’t care how much it is,” I say. “I’ll pay it. Just make it happen, Jim. And I’ll send a retainer to you as soon as possible.”
Jim turns his head and meets my gaze. If he’s trying to hide his opinion, the one that says I’m a fool, he isn’t doing a great job at it. When he gets a good look at me, his demeanor seems to soften some. I know my eyes are puffy and swollen. I’m exhausted. He pats my back and nods once. If you were anyone else, I’d tell you not to waste your money, Demi.”
My stomach twists with his words. “What does that mean?”
“It means Blake wouldn’t have wanted you to give up, so you shouldn’t.” I swallow the knot in my throat. Jim and Blake had become close in his last few months. Blake had built himself a pretty successful freelance business and in addition to handling Blake’s will, Jim also assisted in the sale of Blake’s business.
He flips open his briefcase and pulls out a card from a pocket inside, then hands it to me. “This is a good bondsman. I’d advise you to call tonight, let them get your information. Might make things go smoother after the hearing. But Demi,” he pauses, “don’t get your hopes up. There’s a very good chance he won’t make bail.”
Ignoring him and his pessimistic warning, I murmur, “Let’s hope you’re worth your pay, Jim.”