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Chapter 93
FOUR HOURS LATER, in District Criminal Court, I felt well enough to watch Nicholas Jenks be arraigned for murder. A buzzing crowd filled the halls outside the courtroom of Judge Stephen Bowen. Photographers flashed cameras blindly, reporters surged for a glimpse of the sullen, shaken best selling writer. Raleigh and I squeezed through, took a seat behind Jill in the front row. My strength having returned, the riot in my chest subsided. I wanted Jenks to see me there. I saw Cindy, sitting in the press section. And in the back of the courtroom, I spotted Chancellor Weil and his wife. It was over before it began. Jenks was led in, his eyes as dead and hollow as craters on the moon. The clerk read the docket, the suspect rose. The bastard pleaded Not Guilty. What were they going to argue, that all the evidence was inadmissible? Leff, the consummate showman, was unusually respectful, even demure before Judge Bowen. He made a pleading case for release on recognizance based on Jenks's stature in the community. For a moment, the killer's accomplishments almost even swayed me. Jill fought him head-on. She graphically detailed the savagery of the murders. She argued that the suspect had the means and the lack of roots to flee. I felt a surge of triumph rippling through me when the judge struck his gavel and intoned, "Bail denied."
Chapter 94
It was the end of the day, a day I had long waited for, and I met the girls for a drink at Susie's. We had earned this. Nicholas Jenks had been arraigned. No bail. No consideration of the court. The four of us had pulled it off. "Here's to the Women's Murder Club," Cindy cheered, with her beer mug in the air. "Not bad for a collection of gender-impaired public servants," Claire agreed. "What did Jenks call me?" I shook my head and smiled. "A fucking ice bitch?" "I can do ice bitch," Jill said, gri
Chapter95
IN THE COLD, CRAMPED CELL, Nicholas Jenks paced anxiously. He felt as if dynamite were about to explode at the center of his chest. He hadn't done anything. How could they destroy his name, attack him with those wild fictions, disgrace him all over the news? It was dark and he was freezing. The cot in his jail cell wasn't fit for a monk. He was still in the damp clothes they had brought him in. A cold, unrepentant sweat began to break out on his palms. He'd make the little inspector-bitch pay. One way or another, he'd get her in the end. That was a promise. What was his fucking poodle of a lawyer doing? When would Leffget him out of there? It was as if all reason had been sucked out of his world. What the hell was going on? Or at least, Phillip Campbell thought, that's what Jenks ought to be feeling. What he thought the bastard would be saying in his mind. Campbell sat in front of the mirror. Time for you to go away. Your work is finally done. The last chapter's been written. He dabbed a wet cloth in a bowl of warm water. It was the last time he would ever have to play the part. So how does it feel, Nicholas? He pulled out the pins that held his hair and let his locks shake out. How does it feel to be a victim, a prisoner? To feel the same degradation and shame you cast on others? Slowly, he wiped the dark makeup off his eyes, dabbing with the cloth, feeling a sheen begin to return to his face. How does it feel to be helpless and alone? To be kept in a dark space? To feel betrayed? One by one, Phillip Campbell tugged at the hairs of the reddish beard on his chin, until they came out and a new person was revealed. Not able to recognize in the mirror the person you once were? Scrubbing the face until it came out clean and smooth. Unbuttoning the shirt, Nicholas's shirt, and soon, from underneath a body suit a well-defined woman's body came to life: the outline of breasts, shapely legs, arms rippling with lean strength. She sat there, newly revealed, a bright glow in her eyes. This is rich. How does it feel, Nicholas, to be royally fucked? The tables turned for once. She couldn't restrain the thought that it was fitting and fu