Chapter 1
Griffin
“Griffin Marsh, please rise.”
I kept my back straight and willed my knees not to shake as I stood. I’d been staring at the polished top of the defendant’s table, but now I raised my eyes to meet the judge’s cool gaze. She frowned down at me.
“Mr. Marsh, you’ve pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter for your role in the accident that killed Linda Bellingham. This hearing is not to further assess your guilt, but to determine your sentence. Do you understand this?”
I cleared my parched throat. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“You’ve heard the victim impact statements presented by Linda’s family?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Her seventeen-year-old daughter wanted me crucified for knocking her mother’s car down the embankment, but Linda’s husband had been calm and measured and kind enough it brought tears to my eyes. He’d even said, “I’ve looked away from the road to reach for something a time or two. I was lucky my carelessness never resulted in disaster. Linda and Mr. Marsh weren’t that lucky.”
I wish I could go back. I wish I’d pulled over before reaching down for my fallen phone. I wish, I wish, I wish.I grittedmy teeth, choking down the tide of regret, because at fifty-six, I knew very well there was no way to turn back time.I wish I’d crashed my own damned car down the embankment and missed hers.
The judge nodded slowly. “Your pleading guilty to the misdemeanor charge, rather than demanding a trial on the potential felony, gives me fairly wide leeway in deciding your sentence.”
That didn’t seem to demand an answer, and anyway, I wasn’t sure what I would say. A small, ashamed part of mewantedto go to prison, to be punished properly. Even the misdemeanor could put me behind bars for two years. I deserved that, didn’t I, for ending the life of a bright, healthy, vibrant teacher and mother of two? But the bigger part of me was terrified of prison, desperate to stay free. I’d hired a top lawyer and done everything she suggested to avoid that punishment.I’m a coward.
I sucked slow breaths past my clenched teeth. My knees shook despite my determination, and I clutched the edge of the table.
“You have no prior convictions, not even traffic citations.”
That was pure luck, because I liked to speed—hadliked to— but I’d never been caught. A blessing now, when every little flaw mattered.
“Your contrition as expressed during your statement seems genuine, and I applaud your establishment of an education fund for Mrs. Bellingham’s two daughters. Six-hundred-thousand dollars is well above the maximum fine I can levy for this crime.”
I heard Linda’s teen daughter in the audience shout, “I don’t want his money!” and be shushed by her father. Her younger sister wasn’t present, thank God. Looking at a grieving seven-year-old would’ve broken me. I hoped their father wouldconvince them to take the cash. It was all I could offer, almost all of the savings cushion I’d accumulated after three decades of not-quite-rockstardom. I had enough left to pay my lawyer, plus the maximum fine, which was a petty seven thousand dollars, and leave enough to live on for the next few months.
If I’m not headed to prison.My vision went a bit wavery, the judge’s face a blur. I tried to meet her gaze.Keep it together, you wuss.
“I do not believe any useful purpose will be served by having you undergo a term of incarceration at this time,” the judge said.
Thank you!I shuddered with relief, still white-knuckling the table.
“I therefore sentence you to two years, suspended, to be served on probation, plus five-hundred hours of community service, and a fine of six thousand dollars. I further direct that your community service be performed at one or more long-term rehabilitation and nursing homes, the type of facilities where Mrs. Bellingham might’ve ended up if she had survived the accident. You and your probation officer are to complete a plan and submit it to this court no later than the fifth of next month. In addition, your driver’s license will be suspended for the next twelve months. Do you understand your sentence as I have described it to you?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” My voice came out squeaky and I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
She picked up her gavel and rapped sharply. “This hearing is adjourned.”
As the judge pushed to her feet, the bailiff intoned “All rise.”
My lawyer, the prosecutor, and the few spectators stood with rustles and shuffling. When the judge had left the room, my lawyer turned to me, her hand held out. “I told you we could keep you out of a cell.”
“Yes, thank you.” I was aware of my damp palm as we shook hands, but she didn’t react. I was no doubt far from her first nervous client. She probably had wipes and sanitizer in her briefcase. “What happens next?”
“You’ll be assigned a parole officer, and a community service plan. That likely won’t happen until next week at the earliest. Once you do have a parole officer, remember his or her word is your law. Donotmiss meetings or blow them off. Screwing up your parole will land you back in front of a judge.”
“I won’t. I swear. And right now, I do what? Just drive home? But my license was revoked.” I felt totally adrift. My whole existence had been on hold until this day and now the worst hadn’t happened, but the ground had still shifted under my feet.
“Your license will be seized but you get a seven-day temporary to wind up your transportation needs and move your car to a secure location before you lose the right for a year. I’ll walk you through that process.”
For an additional fee, no doubt. But I was super lucky to have been able to afford her. I bet a public defender wouldn’t shepherd their client along the way Ms. Fisher had guided me.
Her cool expression eased into something warmer. “I’m glad for you, Griffin. I’ve defended a lot of people over the years, and you’re one of the ones I felt privileged to help.”
