Chapter Text
“What took you so long?” Ari Cantor spat, anger and tension in the lines of his face that told the story of a case gone bad before it had even started.
“I was having shabbat dinner with my mother and grandmother. You’re lucky I came at all—consider it a mitzvah,” Trevor argued back, having had no patience for Ari since he fumbled a robbery case two months back that meant the criminals walked free.
(Though Trevor had personally found the flapper, Flower, who was one of the prime suspects, to be an absolute delight, and was not particularly sorry that she got away with it.)
“This doll is impossible!” Ari said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder at the interrogation room. “She already fired George, the lawyer she already had on retainer, for incompetence. Then she asked for the best representation money could buy, and when I showed up, she laughed right in my face! Said she didn’t want me anywhere near her after the Hudson Valley Citizen’s Bank case imploded.”
Smart woman, Trevor thought, but seeing the furious glint in Ari’s eyes made him think better of commenting out loud.
“At least she knows her rights,” Trevor offered, looking through the one-way glass into the interrogation room.
He saw a middle-aged woman with curly red hair piled on top of her head in a sophisticated up-do, wearing an elegant silk dress that looked like it cost more than Trevor earned in a year—and he was a very good lawyer.
Suddenly, white-hot anger surged inside him as his eyes landed on the metal chain leading from a hook on the table to where a pair of handcuffs were fastened far too tightly around the woman’s thin wrists.
“Why is she chained up?” Trevor demanded, seeing how the handcuffs had already damaged her delicate skin. He wouldn't be surprised if she was bleeding, and that made him so unspeakably angry, he could hardly see into the room past the haze of fury that had entered his vision. “That can't possibly be necessary? She poses no threat to the police when Thorfinn is only a room away. Not to mention, every officer in this precinct has a gun—and she hasn’t even been charged yet!”
Trevor had passed the hulking Norwegian policeman on the way in, and received a pat on his back so heavy that it nearly sent him flying clear across the room. Hardly any men stood a chance against Thor; he couldn't imagine the aristocratic woman beyond the glass would be able to overpower a man descended from actual Vikings.
Ari shook his head in derision as he sneered. “She’s wanted for murder. Or don’t you read the newspaper?”
Trevor read the papers, all right. But to a lawyer’s trained eye, all he saw was a pile of circumstantial evidence that any solicitor worth his salt could have thrown out in a heartbeat.
“I’m asking Thor to uncuff her,” Trevor said, turning on his heel, but he was stopped in his tracks by Ari’s responding laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Trevor seethed, the cruel laughter making the hair on his neck stand up.
“The cuffs aren’t just for your protection, nitwit,” Ari replied, with an amused look on his face that was completely at odds with the seriousness of the situation. “Apparently, when the cops broke down the door, she was trying to kill herself.” Ari made a crude hanging gesture that made Trevor feel sick inside.
Trevor’s eyes snapped back to the window in concern, watching mutely as the woman had started picking at the broken skin around her wrists.
“Good luck with the crazy broad,” Ari spat, hitting his colleague on the back as he left with less force than Thor had, but less warmth, as well. “You’re gonna need it.”
It took some convincing to get Thor to give him the key to the handcuffs, but with the concession that the officer would stay right outside the door in case anything should go wrong, Trevor emerged victorious, swinging the key around his pointer finger as he walked into the interrogation room with the confidence of a peacock.
The woman’s eyes tracked his movements as he approached her, as if he were a wild animal. He could tell it was going to take a lot of effort to gain her trust. She held herself stiffly; her spine was straight as a board, though Trevor suspected that had more to do with spending most of her life in a corset than anything else. His mom was the same—just couldn’t break the habit.
He recalled how relieved his female friends had been when the 1920’s ushered in a new fashion trend that meant doing away with the constraints of the corset. Her teal dress did not scream “flapper,” with no fringe or sparkle to speak of, but rather, it whispered of wealth and status. He imagined she was the kind to cling to tradition, if her Victorian earrings and the length of her long silk dress were anything to go by. She would certainly not be showing any ankle in this decade—of that, he was sure.
(More’s the pity.)
“I asked the police if you could be uncuffed while we talked, and they agreed,” Trevor said, leaving out the part where Thor had called him a fool—in slightly more colorful Norwegian terms—for even suggesting it. “Would you like that?”
The woman’s eyes flickered between him and the door, reminding Trevor distantly of a trapped rabbit.
“The big guy is right outside the room, in case you’re thinking of making a break for it,” Trevor warned, leaning forward. “But between you and me, I think he likes you. He’d never let me uncuff you, otherwise.”
Trevor reached slowly for the chain that connected the handcuffs to a hook on the table, hoping she would understand his intention was to free, and not to hurt, her, but the tension and mistrust on her face told a different story.
“These chains are barbaric, don’t you think?” Trevor tried again, failing in his attempt not to let his anger show as he took in the redness and broken skin they’d caused around her wrists.
“Indeed,” the woman agreed, her voice hoarse as she spoke for the first time. Trevor could’ve kicked himself for not considering her throat may have been injured from her suicide attempt.
When Trevor made no move to pull on the chain—and simply held it loosely in his hands, waiting for her decision—she extended her cuffed hands closer to him without any further hesitation.
“Do you need medical attention?” Trevor asked, trying not to sound too worried as he unlocked the handcuffs. They made a horrible metallic sound as they hit the table. Immediately, her right hand wrapped around her left wrist protectively, cradling it like a wounded bird against her chest.
“That won’t be necessary,” the woman replied, her voice slightly stronger as she proceeded to hide her hands from his view, beneath the table. “I assume you are my new representation?”
Trevor presented his arms wide, as if he were a ringmaster at a circus, before tipping his cap to her. “Trevor Lefkowitz, at your service.”
The woman’s icy blue eyes raked over him before returning to meet his gaze. “Hetty Woodstone. Though I am certain you already knew that.”
Trevor knew her name, all right. Everyone did.
Inclining his head, Trevor replied, “I know you’ve been the talk of the town for a while. Lots of people are jumping to conclusions about your situation. Conclusions I don’t share. Would you like to tell me your side of the story?”
Hetty’s eyes remained wary, flitting between Trevor and the door as she said, “I already told the police I had nothing to do with my husband’s disappearance.”
“The police aren’t interested in the truth; they’re just interested in closing the case,” Trevor said, feeling only slightly guilty for painting the hardworking officers of Ulster County in such an unflattering light. “Whenever someone goes missing, it’s always the husband or wife who is suspected first. Elias Woodstone was a notorious gambler, drunk, and womanizer. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that would create some strife in your marriage.”
Hetty’s eyes flashed. “I hardly think my marriage is any business of yours.”
“You are my business,” Trevor said, flashing her a charming smile that usually worked on the ladies, but her eyes only narrowed in response. “You’re my client, and there need to be no secrets between us if I’m going to be representing you at trial.”
A shadow fell over the sharp features of her face. “Trial?”
“Yes.”
“How can I be put on trial when they have no evidence against me?” Hetty said through clenched teeth, banging the palm of her hand lightly on the table in defiance.
“You resisted arrest,” Trevor explained, unable to stop his eyes from wandering to her throat. He felt guilty when Hetty immediately pressed a hand over her collar, as if to help hide what was already hidden by her clothes. “The prosecutor will argue that implies guilt.”
“All it should imply,” Hetty said with a ferocious snarl of her lips as she lowered her hand and returned it to her lap, “is that I would rather die than go to prison for a crime I did not commit.”
Trevor tilted his head. “I won’t pretend to understand why you tried to do what you did. I’m in no position to judge, even if I think I would rather live to fight another day, myself. Especially if I were innocent.”
“You’re right,” Hetty said, turning up her nose. “You’re in no position to judge. Pray tell, how can I be arrested for murder, when there’s no body? For all the police know, my husband could be off galavanting in Europe somewhere. This is just completely absurd. Your job is to get me out of here. Quickly.”
“Right now, you’re being detained on suspicion of murder. You haven’t been charged yet,” Trevor pointed out, “which means there’s still a chance this can all go away.”
“Then why did you bring up a trial?” Hetty practically growled, her temper rising as she moved to stand. Trevor heard the door open, and didn’t need to look behind him to know that Thor had entered the room, with a hand on his gun. Hetty’s face drained of color as she slowly sat back down.
“Everything’s fine, Thor,” Trevor said, hoping his voice sounded casual enough as to not raise suspicion. “Sometimes emotions run high when people are arrested without cause.”
“No cause?” Thor repeated, furrowing his brow. “Property search just finished. Husband's body found in vault. Maid help crack code.”
There was a strange tightness in Trevor’s chest as he watched a flurry of emotions flash across Hetty’s face, from shock, to sorrow, to fear, to confusion.
“What?” Hetty whispered harshly, panic suddenly in her eyes. “He’s been in the mansion this whole time? But we don’t even have a vault!”
“I’d advise you to stop talking,” Trevor said quickly, holding up his hand to stop Hetty before moving to stand. Placing himself between Thor and Hetty, Trevor continued, “Excuse me, but attorney-client privilege states you can’t be in here while I’m talking to my client. She’s invoked her right to counsel, and as you can see, she is not threatening me or herself. You can leave.”
“Elias is dead?” Hetty repeated the news in a hollow voice as her eyes found the wedding ring on her left hand. “I thought he’d just run off with one his many floozies!”
“I know this information comes as a great deal of a shock,” Trevor said, his head on a swivel as he looked between Thor and Hetty. “But I need you to understand, Mrs. Woodstone, that every word you say in front of police can and will be used against you, even when you think it proves your innocence.”
“If lady want to confess, let confess! Confession good for soul. Less guilt,” Thor said, taking a few steps towards Hetty, but Trevor moved with him, blocking him with his body as best as he could so as not to let him get any closer. “Elias bad man. Hurt Hetty many times. Good to kill bad man. Thor proud.”
“Thor, I swear on my brother’s life, if you don’t get out of this interrogation room right now, I’m going to tie this police department up in so much litigation, you won’t even be able to leave your precinct without a court order!” Trevor said, not liking the direction Thor was going with his theory of the crime. Cold-blooded murder was one thing, and hard to sell to a jury when there was little evidence, but if the police spun the tale that Hetty killed Elias in self-defense, and brought out all the evidence that proved Elias deserved it, it would be much harder to convince the jury she played no role in his death.
Thor, for his part, looked like he might be willing to risk incurring Trevor's wrath, but when he looked behind Trevor at Hetty, who had buried her face in her hands, his eyes softened, and he relented. Without another word, he left the room, leaving a profound heaviness in the air in his wake.
“Well,” Trevor said, returning to his seat with a sigh. “This changes things.”
Hetty’s head snapped out of her hands, her eyes wild. “How so? I didn’t kill him; you have to believe me!”
“They had no grounds for your arrest when Elias had simply disappeared,” Trevor explained, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Now that his body was found in your home, things get complicated.”
“What about fingerprints?” Hetty argued, raising her hands. “I’ve read all the detective novels, and I know for sure my fingerprints won’t be anywhere near the vault, because, as I said, I did not know of the vault’s existence!”
“What if the vault is in a common area?” Trevor argued, pulling a notebook out of his pocket now that there was a chance he may not be able to leave and take his client with him, as he originally intended. “Then your fingerprints might be near it, or even on it, without your knowledge.”
“Wouldn't I have smelled…” Hetty trailed off, her face turning a sickening shade of green. “Wouldn’t I have noticed a decaying body in the mansion in the months since he’s been missing?”
“I’ll have to get more information about what the police have found, and get back to you,” Trevor said. “Though it’s possible they will immediately be handing everything over to the prosecution, and we’ll only find out what they have as evidence when the trial starts.”
“If the trials starts!” Hetty insisted, her expression frantic. “I must go home, Mr. Lefkowitz. Woodstone women don’t do well in a cage.”
Trevor reached for Hetty’s hand, and was gratified when she let him take it. “Your home is a crime scene,” Trevor said slowly, feeling how cold her hands were and wishing he could bring her some tea to warm them. “Even if I’m able to get you out of here on bail, you won’t be going home.”
Hetty tore her hand out of his, tears welling up in her eyes for the first time since their conversation started. “How can they do this to me? I’m innocent. You do believe me, don’t you?”
Trevor looked deep into Hetty’s watery eyes. Though they were wide with desperation and fear, he detected not an ounce of deception in them.
“Of course, I believe you,” Trevor said, grateful when Hetty met his words with a huge sigh of relief. “It’s not me you have to convince; it’s everyone else.”
“Promise me, you’ll get me out of here?” Hetty implored, reaching to take his hand of her own volition this time.
Trevor knew better than to make promises he might not be able to keep, but looking into Hetty’s tortured blue eyes, he couldn’t help but want nothing more than to soothe her fears.
“I promise.”