“Romano!” someone screamed from the end of the row, and a jingle of keys walked down the hall where I couldn’t see.
I stood from the bench and walked to the front of the cell. The corrections officer pulled the ring of keys off and unlocked the cell.
“Marcus Romano?”
I nodded.
“Your lawyer is here with your mother.”
Shit.Shit shit shit. This all over again. So they could be embarrassed and humiliated. I stepped out into the hallway and he locked the door behind me. He held out the cuff, and I whimpered.
“Can you not put those on me? I puked on shoes from them before.”
“Oh, you’re the puker. Okay, yeah, fine. They told me you were basically compliant anyway.” He motioned me down the cell-line hall and to the door that lead out of the area into the private conference rooms.
My mother was off her feet and pulling me into a huge hug before I was all the way into the room. The correction officer pushed us the rest of the way in and closed the door.
“Marcus—”
“I didn’t do shit, Mom,” I said.
“I know you didn’t,” she answered. “I know. This is just college crap all over again.” She stepped back and motioned to the two men in the room. “Your boyfriend sent reinforcements.”
I laughed. “That’s what he said he was going to do.”
“Mister Romano, I’m Vincent Bertrand. This is Kyle Tormundsen. Chase—that is, Mister Garcia—has retained us to represent you in this matter.”
Shaking the proffered hands, we all sat down around the small table there. Both men were already holding copies of the warrant. I saw a police report on the table, and what looked like a witness statement.
Kyle tossed a look at Vincent. “So, we’re going to—”
Holding up my hand, I stopped him. “I have not yet heard the full charges against me from New York and Kings County and by whom. Could we start there?”
“They didn’t—” Kyle scribbled something down, and nudged Vincent.
Unfolding the warrant, Vincent sighed and read what was there. “You’re being charged with Rape in the First Degree, Criminal Sexual Act in the First Degree, and Predatory Sexual Assault.” He pulled out the police report from the pile in front of him. “It says here that Edward George Roberts filed the complaint, on June twenty-fourth, while in care at St. Vincent’s hospital. He alleges that you attacked him at the Sonic Boom Studios in—”
My mother held up a hand. “Ed Roberts?”
“That’s the name, yes.”
My mother stood up and punched the wall. She managed to dent the wallboard, and make both Vincent and Kyle jump. She turned back around and sat. “You need to contact Giles Heurbach, in Boston. He’ll have a file you need—all about the last time Ed Roberts pulled this horseshit on my son.”
I laid my hand over hers. “Mom.”
“I’m not going through this again.”
“Neither am I,” I said. I turned back to the two lawyers. “My mother will give you the name of the lawyer in Boston, and you can read over the files. Could you please read what he alleges happened?”
“That when you were alone in your studio with him, you raped and beat him.”
Mom snorted. “Oh, and beat him now…”
“Mom. Stop. Let me deal with this,” I snapped. “He went to the hospital?”
“Two days later. It says here he was ashamed he had been raped by a man.” Vincent looked up, and stared at me. “There is a list of his injuries. I have to tell you, Marcus. This is pretty damning stuff.”
I folded my hands. “This isn’t the first time he’s tried this.”
