Page 30 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Chapter Nine

Gabriel

Monday morning. I should hate it, but somehow, I don’t.

Sure, it’s just the harbinger of another soul-destroying week of exhaustion and overwork, but after a solid weekend to decompress and try to catch up on sleep, I always have a spark of optimism. Maybe this week will be different.

It never is, of course. But maybe it could be?

As usual, I’m the first person in the building, other than the night security. My hard-soled shoes make a solid click on the atrium’s floor when I enter the building, echoing grandly around the empty galleries of the floors above. I couldn’t even begin to explain why I love that sound so much, but I do. It never fails to make me grin like a lunatic, when there’s nobody here to see.

It’s the last bit of the weekend. The tail end of any sort of quiet relaxation in my life for the week, and I do my best to enjoy this time every Monday morning.

I stop off in the break room and get a pot of coffee started, then it’s on down the hall to my office. I should have at least an hour to sit back with my feet up and enjoy watching the sun rise over the ocean from that nice big window.

Or… maybe not. Emily Wilson is blocking the entrance to my office.

The young woman leans against the outside of my door, picking nervously at her fingernails. Her eyes are puffy and red, and from the snuffling sounds she makes I’d say she’d been crying recently.

Okay, now, there’snoway that this can be my fault. I haven’t even said anything to her today.

“Hey,” I say, still about ten feet away. “Are you okay?”

Emily jumps at the sound of my voice, quickly hiding chipped nails behind her back.

“ASA Cooper,” she says, her voice almost a squeak. She swallows hard before continuing. “Can I have a moment of your time, please?”

My first impulse is to tell her to come back during the workday, and set an appointment with Karin, but… no. If I’m ever going to get the loyalty of my employees, if I want them to watch my back, then I’m going to have to start being a better boss.

Emily folds her hands in front of herself as if praying.

“I won’t take long,” she says. “And it’s not about Friday.”

She’s as vague as can be, but she’s also obviously very upset about something. If I can help her out, then perhaps I can start building up that good will I so badly need.

No relaxed sunrise-watching for me this week, it seems.

“Okay, sure, but you gotta let me actually get into my office,” I say, shooing her away from my door and digging for my keys.

Emily follows me through the outer office and into my private space. She stands behind one of my visitor chairs, clutching the seat back in a white-knuckle grip, rather than take a seat unbidden.

I drop my briefcase next to the desk and sit down.

“Shoot,” I say. “I’m all yours. And siddown, for God’s sake. What’s going on?”

Emily sits, finally. Every line of her face and body is taut, stressed to the point almost of vibrating. She spends a long while staring at her knees, pressed tightly together. I let her have the time, and when she’s ready she raises her head and looks at me.

“It’s about my kid brother,” she says. Her voice quivers, and her eyes are on the verge of welling up. “He got arrested Friday night. Late Friday night. Like, right after I left here, I guess.”

I yank out a pen and a yellow legal pad and start taking notes.

“Kid brother. Got it,” I say. “Um. How old is he?”

“He’s eighteen,” Emily answers, her voice hollow, sad. “He just turned eighteen.”

“What’s the charge?”

“Trafficking in MDMA. More than four hundred grams but less than thirty kilograms.” She shakes her head while saying it, and her voice conveys equal measures of righteous indignation and utter confusion.

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