Page 55 of Every Step She Takes
Me:I’m being accused of murder. I’m not going to hire someone I don’t trust.
Me:However, I do need legal advice, and I think you owe me.
Me:You might disagree, so don’t consider this a request. It’s a threat. I have a question. I demand an honest answer.
Me:Lie to me or refuse to answer, and I’ll let everyone know what you did. Try getting clients after that.
It takes thirty seconds for him to respond, and I feel the chill in his words.
Thompson:What is your question, Ms. Callahan?
Me:If no one has attempted to arrest me or serve me a warrant, am I committing an offense by not turning myself in?
Thompson:No.
It takes a moment before he expands on that.
Thompson:If you resist arrest or flee an officer, that is an offense. If an officer knocks at your hotel door, identifies himself and you jump out the window, that is an offense. What you are currently doing is not. However, I wouldn’t recommend it.
Me:Thank you.
Thompson:You will be arrested. The longer it takes, the guiltier you look.
Me:I know that.
Thompson:So what is your plan? Please don’t tell me you intend to investigate and prove your innocence. No matter how many times you’ve seen that in the movies, I assure you, it never works in real life.
Me:I’m being framed.
Thompson:Perhaps. But that’s something for me to investigate, as a lawyer with trained investigators.
Me:Goodbye, Mr. Thompson.
I open my phone, take out the SIM card and snap it in half.
Then I toss it into the dumpster and stride away.
I find the nearest ATM and withdraw the limit from my bank card and my credit card. That almost empties both. For years, I kept every spare penny in my checking account in case I needed to flee at a moment’s notice. But I got comfortable in Italy and started investing extra income and keeping my credit limit low. Excellent financial planning… unless you’re a fugitive from justice, needing every penny before your bank records are tracked.
AmI a fugitive from justice?
No. I’m a conscientious objector to the misapplication of justice.
Right…
Iamon the run. Even thinking about that, I want to flee and hide in a dark spot… and I want to come out swinging at the person who murdered Isabella. Murdered her and framed me.
I cannot afford to tear myself apart like that, lost in a maelstrom of terror and rage. So I focus on what I can do, starting with dyeing my distinctive hair.
I’m about to walk into a Duane Reade when I spot an advertisement for a museum exhibit on Marco Polo.
Oh, God.Marco. I haven’t responded to his text, and it’s been hours.
I grab my phone. No SIM card.
Damn it!
I look around for a pay phone and then remember it’s 2019. What I see instead are Wi-Fi hotspot booths. I can connect to Wi-Fi without a SIM card. However, that will not help me make a phone call.
