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people they encountered, and he’d had an easy, laid-back manner for everyone but her. She’d half expected him to try to stay with her, not that she’d have allowed it, but he hadn’t, merely saying he’d be outside in the truck when she finished with Thomas.
Jessica tried not to fidget as she waited for the client, but she couldn’t forget that Thomas Esch had been accused of beating a woman to death. Any normal woman would feel a sliver of anxiety in this situation. The table was only about three feet wide. If he decided to come after her, how long would it take the guard to get to her?
Nonsense. She’d certainly confronted worse during the three years she’d spent as an assistant D.A., prosecuting domestic-abuse cases. She’d burned out on that, finally, unable to look at another battered woman, knowing chances were good that the woman would change her mind about prosecuting at the last minute and go right back to her abuser, maybe ending up dead.
There’d been value in the work, certainly, but nobody could do it forever. Her father had been relieved that she had come to her senses, as he put it. From the day she passed the bar, he’d been ready to set up a position for her with a good firm. There’d also been his unspoken opinion that she wasn’t tough enough to deal with criminal cases. Unspoken, maybe, but it had come through. Too bad he hadn’t had the son he’d always wanted to follow his footsteps.
The door creaked, startling Jessica into an involuntary flinch. It opened. Two burly guards dwarfed the boy they ushered into the room.
At her first glimpse of Thomas Esch, the apprehension slipped away. He was nothing more than a boy, with frightened blue eyes in a round face and blond hair that looked as if someone had put a bowl on his head and cut around it.
She stood, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Hello, Thomas. I’m Jessica Langdon. I’m the lawyer Mrs. Morgan hired to defend you.” She held out her hand.
Thomas looked at the outstretched hand as if it held a trap and then cautiously shook it. His palm was hard with calluses, and her opinion pivoted again. He might look like a boy, but he was strong as a man.
Strong enough to beat a woman to death? Thomas was innocent until proved guilty in the eyes of the law, if not the community. He deserved that same assumption from his attorney.
She sat again, nodding to the chair opposite her. Still looking uncertain, Thomas slid onto the seat, moving back as if to get as far away from her as possible.
She waited until the door closed behind the guards, its slam resonating through the bare chamber. She focused on the client, keeping her mind away from the locked door.
“Thomas, do you understand that Mrs. Morgan wants to help you?”
He nodded, eyes still very wide, not blinking.
“Good. She’s helping you by retaining—hiring—me to represent you with the law.”
He looked down at his hands. “Mrs. Morgan is very kind.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple moving.
At least he could talk. His speech was formal, like that of the young pair in the buggy, and she remembered Trey’s doubts over her ability to represent the boy when she knew nothing of his culture.
That was ridiculous. The law was the law, no matter what the defendant’s background.
“Thomas, I want you to understand that anything you say to me is private. I can’t tell anyone, and you can trust me.”
His only answer was to stare at his hands—big hands, bony and strong. Strong enough to kill. Did he get any of this? She couldn’t be sure, and her frustration rose.
“Mrs. Morgan wants me to help you,” she tried again. “But I can only do that if you talk to me about what happened.”
He looked at her face then away again. “My parents—they would not want me to be involved with the law.”
Trey had said something like that, but she’d disregarded it. Apparently she should have paid more attention. “Mrs. Morgan spoke with them about hiring me, and they agreed. And I’m afraid it’s too late, anyway. You are already involved. The police believe you killed Cherry.”
There was no mistaking the emotion behind his expression now: fear. She expected a denial, but he was silent.
“Did you and Cherry see a lot of each other?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes at parties she would talk to me.”
“Were you dating? Did you go out just with her?”
He shook his head, the muscles in his face working.
“You were found alone with her. Did you go out together that night? Saturday night?”
Again he shook his head.
“Thomas, you were found with her. You must have gone out together, or how did you get there?”
“The other lawyer. He said not to talk to anyone. Not to answer questions.”
“He’s not representing you now. I am.”
His face took on a mulish expression. “Mr. Frost said not to talk to anyone. Not to answer questions. I know him.”
The implication was clear. Thomas didn’t know her. He didn’t trust her. Would it do any good if she could arrange for Mrs. Morgan to talk with him? She could imagine Trey’s reaction to that.
“Suppose I talk to Mr. Frost. If he tells you it’s all right, will you answer my questions?”
The big hands tightened briefly, then relaxed. He nodded.
She blew out a breath. Patience. Obviously that was what was required just now. Plenty of patience.
“All right, then. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll bring Mr. Frost to vouch for me.” She stood, repressing the instinct that wanted to demand answers, to move, to get on with the case. She could do nothing without her client’s trust.
He looked up at her, his eyes as wide and innocent as a child’s. “They took away my clothes.”
“I’m sorry. You will get them back, if…when you are released.”
“It is not proper. For an Amish man to be dressed this way.” He touched the front of the orange jumpsuit he wore. “Not proper,” he repeated.
“People who are being detained by the police are required to dress that way. I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“If you told them I need my clothes…”
“It wouldn’t do any good. They won’t change their minds.”
He just stared at her, eyes wide with expectation. She’d said he could trust her, but she couldn’t do the first thing he asked of her. Clearly he didn’t understand the situation he was in.
And just as clearly, she didn’t understand him. Trey had been right about her. She didn’t know enough to defend this boy.
TREY SAT IN THE TRUCK, waiting for the Langdon woman to come out of the red sandstone building that was the county jail. With those circular Norman towers, it looked more like a castle. Its builders had intended it to impress everyone who looked at it with the weight and majesty of the law. No doubt it intimidated a kid like Thomas.
With the radio on, he was treated to the views of the local station’s public, conveyed through the station’s call-in show. Opinion was running high—all of it against Thomas, it seemed. There were always those who harbored a prejudice against the Amish, just because they were different. Thomas’s arrest was feeding that feeling.
He switched the radio off. Neither Jessica Lang don nor his mother had a good grasp of the situation.
Trying to explain to his mother was useless. She wasn’t swayed by facts. She believed in Thomas, and she would do what she felt was right.
Jessica wasn’t in this for idealistic