Page 52 of Thicker Than Water
“Do you have more details on the Henry Hendrix arrest?” I ask when he answers, no time for greetings. “You said you were going to check the police report. Is that something you can forward me?”
As I speak, I highlight Henry’s name in my spreadsheet—a bright, obnoxious yellow. But even that looks too cheery, too sunny and tranquil. I change it to red.
“No, sorry,” Lou says. “I don’t have it yet. I can work on that later, but—”
“Okay, but you said Henry complained to the police about Gavin committing fraud. So does that mean he knew about the tax evasion—the same shit Gavin busted Henry for? If so, that would be huge, right?”
Lou’s pause whistles over the line. “I’m sorry, Sienna. I don’t know the specifics of Hendrix’s complaints, and I’m in my car right now, going to meet another client. There’s been a development in their case, so I’ll be unavailable for a—”
“There’s been a development inJason’scase. Shouldn’t you be with the Hillstead PD? You said you were going to fight this.”
“I will. But perhaps I wasn’t clear. I’ll be fighting it in court.”
“Incourt? Lou—the whole point is to keep this fromgoingto court.”
“Well, yes, that would be the best-case scenario, but I have to be honest with you, Sienna: given the evidence at play right now, I don’t see another outcome.”
“What are you saying?” I ask. “You think he did it?”
I clench my jaw at the echo—exactly what I said to Julia at the hospital. It’s a question I never expected to ask once, let alone twice, especially of people who are supposed to be on Jason’s side.
Lou’s hesitation is searing. “What I’m saying is: I think you should prepare yourself for what happens next. When Jason wakes up, the arrest warrant will be served, and a prosecutor will likely bring charges against him. And that’s when I’ll get to work.”
“Oh,that’swhen?”
“Once I can speak with Jason,” Lou continues, ignoring my slap of sarcasm, “we can hammer out the particulars of his timeline, and from there, I’ll start building his case. Now, I’m sorry, but I really do have to go. I’ll talk to you—”
I end the call.
I know Lou can’t devote all his time to Jason’s case, but it sounds as if he’s devoting none of it now. Doesn’t he care that my brother has suffered a brain injury, that the stress of an arrest will only impede his recovery? I grab my mug, hands hot against the ceramic, even though the coffee has long since cooled. Lou’s plan is bullshit, and I’m not waiting until Jason’s in jail to get to work.
I google Henry Hendrix.
Wading through old news stories, I read about the man’s downfall, dump the info into my spreadsheet: after Gavin turned him in to the IRS, Henry was sentenced to pay an enormous fine, on top of repaying the amount he’d evaded; he declared bankruptcy soon after; finally, his business went under. The cells in my spreadsheet bulge with text, but it’s too dry, dispassionate; none of these details, two years old at this point, are the ones I really need. And Henry’s previous brushes with the law are much less important to me than his one from a couple weeks ago.
I need that arrest report, need to read the witness statements, see exactly what Henry yelled at Gavin. “Fraud” is a vague complaint—could be a shot in the dark about a man who’d stabbed him in the back—but if Henry said anything to suggest he knew about Gavin’s tax evasion, then that means he had even more motive to hurt him.
I could call Wyatt, pump him for the specifics he refused to give when he first alluded to Henry’s drunk and disorderly. Or maybe I should try to see him. Sipping my cold coffee, I indulge the image: skimming my lips along his, withholding the kiss until the answers I want slip right off his tongue.
But then I think of his face this morning. Each time I resisted him, each time I insisted that sleeping in his arms was a mistake, his expression closed a little tighter, pinched with an almost visible ache. Remembering it now, I feel an ache of my own, my chest raw as a rug burn. I rub against the pain, applying pressure to the space above my heart, until the rubbing hurts worse than the memory, until I believe what I told him, just hours ago:it’s nothing, we’re nothing.
I’d have no self-respect, saying something like that, only to return to him now, begging for something.
Beside me, my phone chirps with another email, and when I see that it’s from Julia, my breath catches. Then I squint at the screen.
She’s responded to Dale.
But Julia never responds to Dale. He was rude to her in our first meeting, skeptical of her quiet presence.You always let her speak for you?he challenged her. Challenged us. I tried to let her answer, I counted out the seconds, hoping she’d prove to Dale—to herself—that she does have a voice, but her lips slid inward, and I had to save her with a lie about laryngitis.
As I read her email, I’m surprised to find it strikes exactly the right tone, professional but firm, as if she’s been fielding the Dales of our inbox for all these years. My heart swells with love for her, with pride, and even though we’re not in the same room, it feels like this email was her way of taking my hand, of muttering my mantra, of cutting in so I wouldn’t cuss Dale out.
But when I look back at my laptop, my spreadsheet, my browser in the background with tabs of research, I consider how different Julia’s afternoon must look from mine. Because Ididn’tcuss Dale out. I swept him to the side, a response to him less urgent than looking for leads. So what is Julia doing? Working, like it’s any other day? Like her husband isn’t facing an arrest?
When I left her in the hospital, I promised Julia I’d prove Jason’s innocence. Still, I didn’t consider how heavy it would feel, carrying that burden alone.
I swipe out of her email. Then I close my browser, my spreadsheet, and scramble away from my desk. Because if I’m going to save my brother, it won’t be with Safari and Excel. I need action, need movement, and if I don’t have Julia, or Wyatt, or even Lou to rely on, at least I still have myself.
Chapter FifteenJULIA
