I wondered whether he’d reveal the true reason for her presence on the case. Was sincerely curious. I said, “I know you send some trial lawyers from your litigation division to lend a hand to inexperienced county prosecutors. When they need help with big cases. But that situation doesn’t apply to Robert Reeves, our DA. He’s not a novice.”

  “True. But Eleanor Lindquist, well, she’s got qualities that Reeves lacks. She’ll add a different dimension to the trial. She’s already establishing rapport with the State’s primary witness.”

  “I see.” Actually, I did see. Strategically, it was a smart move. “So y’all are thinking that a woman at the prosecution counsel table will counter sympathy for the doctor. Juries sometimes have a soft spot for female defendants. And when your thirteen-year-old witness testifies, being questioned by a woman will make the direct examination less awkward.”

  He nodded, shrugged. “You always had an instinct for strategy, Mary. One of your strengths.”

  “Hmmm.” I was growing weary of the conversation. There was no pleasure in tripping down memory lane with Dick Winston. “When are you heading back to Montgomery? I know you’re a busy man.”

  Take the hint, I thought. Maybe he did. He cut the shit, got to the point.

  “This case in your circuit is really blowing up, Mary. Isn’t it? Eleanor and I were talking about it on the way down here today. It’s not surprising, because feelings run high on the issue. I feel that, personally. I’m pro-life, I make no secret. I believe that abortion is murder.”

  I sat there. Didn’t respond.

  He said, “Eleanor’s young, she’s not as conservative as I am. She told me that she personally believes we could benefit from more leniency in our Alabama law. But it won’t affect her ability to represent the State in this case.” His voice was deliberately casual when he said, “What do you think?”

  I sounded perfectly chill. “She’s your employee. You know best.”

  “No, no, no—I mean, where do you stand on the issue? Of abortion?”

  “Well. That’s a personal question, Dick.”

  He edged forward in his seat. “Come on, Mary—it’s a fair question. No one really knows your position on these issues! You’re running as a Democrat on the ballot for your reelection campaign for circuit judge. But where do you stand? No one knows for sure what your position on abortion is. Hell, I don’t know. And we’re old friends.”

  I was getting hot. Didn’t let it show, not then. “I’m a judicial candidate. I can’t make statements about issues of law that will come before my court. Can’t commit to ruling in a particular way on the bench. You’re well aware of that.”

  “Mary, it’s just the two of us sitting in here.”

  Lord, he was trying my patience. “Dick. I know what you’re doing.”

  He sat back. Smiled at me. “What am I doing? I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

  The condescension was biblical. It always has been, with him.

  “No, you’re not! You’re trying to coerce me into making a statement that you can use to pry me out of my position as the judge overseeing this case. Even though you are perfectly aware of my obligation to remain politically neutral. You want a statement? Here it is: As circuit judge, I’ll uphold the law. In the case of State v. Gaines, I will preside in a fair and impartial manner.”

  We had a brief standoff after that, a short period of strained silence. When the AG finally spoke, he’d dropped all pretense of civility. “Let me tell you what’s gonna happen here, Mary. Dr. Gaines will be convicted. We both know that, don’t we? It’s open-and-shut. And the jury will recommend a sentence. I’m projecting nothing less than twenty years. Hell, they may give her life.”

  No easy exit. That was the problem with having a shithead like Dick Winston sitting in my chambers. It was my territory, so I couldn’t just get up and walk out. I needed to kick him out of my office before I lost it. After all, he was the state AG.

  I was devising a good line to get him up from that chair and out the door when he dropped the bomb. “After she’s convicted, a lot of money will be spent—whatever it takes—to be absolutely certain you’re no longer a circuit judge. You’ll lose everything.”

  That did it. No point in fake civility. We were past that. I pushed away from my desk and stood up, because I was determined to get that man out of my space. Even if I had to haul him out by his shirt collar. “Well, at least I’ll have the family farm.”

  “Careful, Mary. You might lose that, too.”

  Son of a bitch. “What’s that? What you say about my farm?”

  I don’t want to hate anybody, truly. But I hated Dick Winston’s guts. I stalked around the desk toward him, ready to smack that smirk off his face. Maybe he could see my intention, knew he’d gone too far.

  He hustled out of the chair and threw the door open. “Mary, I’m just bullshitting you. Trying to push your buttons. Got to go now! Thanks for receiving me in your sanctum sanctorum.”

  I watched him run past Luna’s desk. After the door shut behind him, I muttered, “We’ve had a reckoning coming for a long while. You’d best stay out of my sights, Winston.”

  My heart was so bitter, I could feel it burning inside my chest.

  CHAPTER

  34

  Bria Gaines

  UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA

  Bria read through the final page of the police report. Turned it upside down on top of a stack of documents resting on a rickety metal desk. She was sitting in an office Ben Meyers was renting, a small space in a mostly deserted strip center on the outskirts of Union Springs.

  When Bria looked up, Meyers was watching her. “You made it through? Read all the way to the end?”

  “Of course I did.” Bria rubbed her eyes. She’d been reviewing police and medical reports through most of the afternoon.

  “You buzzed through that file pretty fast. That’s all.” Meyers picked up the stack of paper and slid it into a folder. “I don’t want you to miss anything that might make a difference to our defense.”

  “I’ve read that file so many times I could quote it back to you chapter and verse. Do you actually think I’d ignore the evidence against me? I’m not an idiot.”

  Meyers looked down. “Did I imply that? If I did, I apologize.” He flashed a smile at her.

  The man had a dangerous amount of charm. Bria knew it would be useful at trial, but she’d put up a wall against it. Getting a schoolgirl crush on her defense attorney would lead nowhere good.

  She stood up, eager for a break from the unforgiving office chair. A coffee maker sat on a plastic table in a corner of the room. The pot held a scant inch of inky brew. Bria stepped over, poured it into a mug. She made a face.

  “Sorry,” said Meyers, “that’s from this morning. Should I make a fresh pot?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. I think this might have solidified.”

  Meyers walked over to the corner and pulled out a bag of Peet’s.

  “How come you haven’t joined the coffee pod cult?” asked Bria.

  “I like making coffee,” said Meyers. “It’s one of the few domestic skills that I’ve mastered.” He measured the coffee into the basket and set the control to Brew, then leaned back against the counter. “So what do you think of Nova’s story?”

  Bria shook her head. “Tragic. Heartbreaking. I know I’m the one on trial, but you and I both know what’s criminal about this whole thing—the fact that the law requires a child to bear a child.” She leaned against the sink. “You want to know why I became a doctor?”

  “I do. And if you’re about to tell me that there was a time in your life when you had to terminate a pregnancy of your own, I absolutely understand. I’d never judge you.”

  Bria blinked. Meyers was being a little too presumptive. And way too personal. She decided to ignore it. Maybe it was just his way of saying he was on her side. She took a beat and plunged ahead.

  “I grew up in Alabama. Working class, seven kids. I was number six. Churchgoing family. My mama and daddy tithed. Ten percent of their gross income—not net!—went into the collection plate. Didn’t matter what we needed. The car broke down, shoes had holes, no difference. The church came first.”

  Meyers nodded. “I knew a lot of families like that growing up.”

  Bria went on. “My folks didn’t have medical insurance. If we got sick, we had to suck it up. Don’t make a fuss.”

  She took a deep breath. These were painful memories.

  “I liked boys, but I was careful. Because I’d seen what could happen. My sister Bailey, three years older than me, she got pregnant in high school. Fifteen years old. Carried to term. Begged to keep her baby. Of course, that couldn’t happen. And, oh, my Lord! You should have seen all those fine Christian friends of ours turn their backs on her.”

  “Is she okay now?” asked Meyers.

  “She’s alive. She functions in the world. But what happened back then did something to her, messed her life up, and she never really got it back. That’s why I went to med school. I wanted to be on the side of young women. Especially poor women. No matter what their circumstances.”

  “Coffee’s ready,” said Meyers. He pulled the carafe from the base and poured Bria a fresh cup. “Sugar? Cream?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” said Bria. “I want to judge it on its own merits.”

  She took a small sip, then another. She smiled. “You’re right, Benjamin Meyers. You are domestic.”

  Meyers poured a fresh cup for himself. “So what do you think of Nova’s story, the one she gave to the cops? About how she got pregnant?”

  Bria toyed with the handle of her mug. “I feel for that girl, you know that. I keep her in my heart, even with everything that’s happening. But—that story doesn’t ring true.”

  “How come?” asked Meyers. “In her statement to the police, she said she didn’t know who got her pregnant. Says she was drinking at a high school party and passed out. That doesn’t sound credible to you?”

  “I think what she described is a common occurrence. But it’s not what happened to Nova.”

  Meyers carried his coffee mug over to the desk. “Based on what?”

  Bria followed him and sat down. “Based on what she said that night, in my office. During the procedure.”

  “I’m listening,” said Meyers.

  “During the physical exam, I asked Nova some basic health questions, explained the procedure to her, made sure she understood what was going to happen, got her consent. At that point, she wasn’t volunteering much information. Pretty much just one-word answers.”

  Meyers didn’t interrupt. Just gave an encouraging nod.

  “The procedure I performed that night was an aspiration abortion, because Nova was less than fourteen weeks. She was just under the line. It took me about fifteen minutes, maybe a little longer.”

  “Wait,” said Meyers. “You said she was talking during the procedure. Wasn’t she sedated?”

  “No. It’s standard to perform that procedure without sedation or anesthetic. She was awake. A little uncomfortable, but not in pain.”

  Bria closed her eyes. It was all coming back, she could see it like a reel playing in her head. Nova in the stirrups, gripping the sides of the examination table with both hands. Tears running down her face.

  “She kept saying, ‘This ain’t my fault! You done this! I hate you, I hate you!’”

  “Hate who?” asked Meyers. “She never said a name?”

  “No name. But she kept repeating that she should’ve fought back. I remember her saying: ‘I shoulda kicked the way the Dora Milaje do it. Just like in Black Panther. Like a warrior.’”

  Meyers shook his head, like he didn’t get it. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Bria pushed her chair away from the desk. Stood up, paced the small office. “She didn’t talk about it like a girl who had no memory of what occurred. To me, it sounded like she knew exactly who it was that assaulted her.”

  “Bria, even if you’re right, and even if we had the name of the attacker, it wouldn’t make any difference for you. It doesn’t create a defense. There are no exceptions for abortion under Alabama law. Not even for age or rape or incest. You know that.”

  “We need to talk to Cocheta Bass. She was the one Nova talked to first. Maybe she knows something I don’t.”

  Meyers shook his head. “Cocheta Bass isn’t going to be any help to us.”

  “Of course she will. Cocheta and I have been friends since I moved to Union Springs.”

  Bria saw Meyers dip his chin toward his chest, like he didn’t want to meet her eyes. “Ben! What’s going on? What do you mean she won’t be any help?”

  Meyers looked up. “Bria, she’s testifying against you. Cocheta is a witness for the State.”

  In shock, Bria dropped back into her chair. She clutched the edges of the desk, felt the metal dig into her fingers. “No! She wouldn’t!”

  “Reeves just notified me today. They offered her a deal for deferred prosecution on the mandated reporter charge in exchange for her testimony in the felony abortion case against you.”

  Bria couldn’t speak. Cocheta had turned on her.

  Just like everyone else in town.

  She let go of the desk. Her hands dropped into her lap and lay there, inert.

  Meyers scooted his chair closer to hers. “Bria? You all right?” He leaned in closer. “Look, I know it’s a shock. It’s okay to cry. People feel better after they cry, sometimes.”

  Bria lifted her chin and sat up straight in her seat. “No, thanks. I’m all cried out. Didn’t make me feel any better.”

  CHAPTER

  35

  Twenty minutes later, Bria and Ben walked into a barbecue joint in Union Springs. Honestly, she didn’t know why she’d agreed to go. She certainly wasn’t hungry. After Ben dropped the bomb about Cocheta turning State’s witness, Bria’s stomach turned so sour, she didn’t think she’d ever eat again.

  But Ben said they needed to get out of the office, to have a change of scene. Get some air. He said it would give Bria a lift. Make her feel better.

  He escorted her to a two-top table in the far corner, away from other customers. Ordered her a beer and a pulled pork sandwich.

  Service was fast. The waitress delivered the food and drink in record time.

  Bria ignored the sandwich. She drank the beer while they sat in silence.

  When Bria drained the final swallow of beer, she spoke. “We can’t win. I don’t have a prayer.”

  Ben’s shoulders relaxed. He breathed out, sliding down in his seat. “Thank God. You’ve regained the power of speech. I thought I’d lost you.”

  She glared at him. “Seriously? You were worried about my health. So you brought me to a bar?”

  He chuckled. “I had a friend, he practiced law in Atlanta. Met him right after I got out of law school. When the chips were down, he’d say, ‘It’s a beautiful day! Let’s go someplace dark.’”

  Bria waited, assuming there’d be an uplifting sentiment in the story. But that was it.

  She looked around. It was dark inside the bar. And the gloomy atmosphere was intentional. It was the kind of establishment that covered the windows, to prevent the light from shining in.

  “We can sit here in privacy.” Ben bit into his sandwich.

  She scoffed. “There’s no privacy in this town. Not for me.”

  After he swallowed, he said, “Okay, then—relative privacy.” He nudged the plate that held her untouched sandwich. Pushed it an inch closer to her. “You should try it. It’s delicious. Spicy. It’ll put some fire in you.”

  “Not happening. The fire’s out. Extinguished.” She studied her empty beer glass. “I’d take another drink. That might make me feel better.”

  He looked doubtful. “Is that a medical opinion? Because in my experience, more alcohol isn’t always better—”

  “Oh, shut up.” Bria raised her glass to signal the waitress. When a fresh beer appeared in front of her, she took a sip. Just to show him she was in control.

  “I’ve made up my mind, Ben,” she said. Her voice sounded thoroughly professional. One glass of beer couldn’t shake that. “You’ve been extremely noble, coming in from Atlanta and taking this case on. But it’s hopeless. We can’t win, so what’s the point of going to trial? There’s no benefit, none that I can see. I may as well plead, I’m ready to go there. What’s the best plea bargain offer you think you can get? I don’t expect the DA to recommend probation, there’s no chance he’d do that. The case is too political.”

  “Bria…”

  She kept talking, couldn’t stop. “But if he’d offer a reasonably low sentence, and take no position on probation? I think I’d have a shot. My record is clean, I’ve done a lot for the community. And Judge Stone, she’ll be fair. I sincerely admire that woman. The judge seems genuinely compassionate.”

  “Bria, stop.”

  He didn’t raise his voice. But when he spoke the words, her breath caught. He wore the expression she’d often seen in the medical profession. When a doctor had to break the terrible news.

  He didn’t sugarcoat it. Evenly, he said, “It’s not an option for you. Reeves doesn’t intend to offer us a deal. I already inquired, just raised it as a standard question, like I always do. He made it very clear. No plea bargain in this case.”

  The revelation shocked her into silence. Bria wasn’t naïve. She knew that she faced an uphill battle in the case, and that the DA would never offer her a sweetheart deal. But the stark refusal to consider a plea bargain at all?

  She picked up the beer. Didn’t sip it, took a deep swallow. Wished it were something stronger.

  When she started shaking, Ben put his hand on her arm. It steadied her. He said, “We’re going to trial, Bria. There’s no reasonable alternative. But we’re going to fight this. I believe in you, and I’m going to do everything in my power to see that you get justice.”

  She couldn’t look at him, didn’t permit himself to meet his eye. She was afraid of what she’d see, what she might read in his face.