Mercy(White Collared Part 1)(4)

Resting along the wall, she carefully appraised the space. It appeared almost identical to the one she’d set foot in ten years ago. No bigger than twelve by ten, the room contained three folding chairs and a rectangular metal table bolted to the worn beige linoleum floor.

Mr. Trenton tossed her a perfunctory glance as he sat beside Mr. Deveroux. “This is my assistant, Kate Martin.” He directed his attention to the detective who had positioned himself at the head of the table. “I assume you took Mr. Deveroux’s statement at the scene?”

Not having a chair in which to sit, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She couldn’t interrupt or Mr. Trenton would likely fire her, but he had brought her to work. With no alternative, she crouched and quietly unzipped her briefcase, retrieving a pen and legal pad to begin taking notes.

The detective nodded. “We did. He didn’t ask for a law—”

“I’ll want a copy of that statement.”

She watched her boss closely, marveling at the way he spoke with confident authority despite his inexperience in criminal law.

“Of course,” responded the cop, his lips curled with derision. “We’ll get it to you as soon as possible.”

Her heart continued to beat wildly from the combination of the resurgence of long-forgotten memories, the danger of standing in a testosterone-laden room with loaded guns, and a man suspected of brutally stabbing his wife to death.

Her boss softened his demeanor and lowered his voice. “What is the status of Mrs. Deveroux?”

“We’re currently still processing the body. The M.E. will transfer it within a couple of hours after my men have completed taking their photos.”

Mr. Deveroux slapped his hand on the table, startling her with his sudden outburst. “That body is my wife, Detective. She is not an it,” he shouted and then muttered under his breath almost to himself, “She never was.”

The room grew uncomfortably silent except for the laughter coming from the hallway and the quiet buzzing of the florescent lights. Torn between the inappropriate urge to applaud him for having the guts to speak up for his wife against the insensitive officer and the even more inappropriate desire to wrap her arms around him to console him, she did neither and instead chewed on the cap of her pen.

Detective Lawrence tipped his head to the side and folded his hands in front of him on the table in an obvious attempt at appearing remorseful. “Jaxon, I’m very sorry about the loss of your wife. I assure you, I will find the person responsible. I realize you’ve already answered some questions at your home, but I’m going to have to ask them again for the record. But in order to do my job to the best of my ability, I need you to be honest with me. If you don’t understand a question, please let me know and I’ll rephrase it for you. This interview is being video recorded as is our precinct’s policy. Do you understand?”

Mr. Deveroux shifted in his chair and crossed his legs. “Yes. But before we begin, will you please get Ms. Martin a chair? I do believe the young woman is part of my legal team and, therefore, has earned the right to sit at my side during this interview.”

Squirming, she tried to flatten herself against the wall. Both the detective and her boss glared at her as if they’d forgotten she was in the room. Maybe they had. But not Jaxon. Her chest filled with a foreign sensation, something bubbly, like she’d drunk a pop too fast.

    As Detective Lawrence left the room, she pretended to examine the dusty floor, unable to find the courage to check if Mr. Trenton’s expression registered his disappointment.

This internship meant the world to her, and she’d do anything to keep it. She’d tracked Nicholas Trenton’s career since he’d made headlines by becoming a full senior partner in the state’s top law firm at age thirty, a feat never accomplished by anyone before or since. At that time, she’d been a junior in college with aspirations of becoming an attorney, and she’d chosen him as her future mentor. Everything she’d done in undergraduate and law school was in preparation to work by his side.

Detective Lawrence returned and placed the additional folding chair next to Mr. Trenton. He sat, annoyance evident in every wrinkle on his face. “I need you to tell me everything that happened in the last twenty-four hours leading up to the time you found your wife.”

She forced herself to keep her head held high as she took her seat, telling herself she belonged here. With Jaxon’s acknowledgment of her, she almost believed it.

Jaxon slid a questioning glance at Mr. Trenton, who nodded his permission to speak.

“Up until this morning . . .” His voice caught, and he coughed, clearing his throat. “I was in Chicago on business. Yesterday I had a breakfast meeting in the morning with potential investors and spent the afternoon closing a deal at the firm of Lebowitz, Hoffmyer, and Gold. I ate dinner in my hotel room around seven. This morning, I woke early and drove home.” He paused. “I came in through the garage, and Lyssa’s car was still there. I was surprised because she has a standing appointment to have her nails done every Tuesday morning, but I wasn’t worried.” He slid his wedding ring up and down his finger. “I called out her name as I climbed the stairs, and she didn’t respond. When I entered the bedroom . . . I . . . she was . . .” Her boss placed a hand on Jaxon’s back and whispered something in his ear.