Page 31 of The Wrong Side of the Law

My eyebrows go up in surprise. I’d been expecting a kid caught with a joint or two, but not this.

“He went straight for the big time,” I say, and instantly regret it.

“No! No, he didn’t!” Emily shakes her head vigorously, sending waves of red hair bouncing. “Alright, look, I wouldn’t swear that he’s never smoked a joint before,” she says, leaning forward in her chair. “I’m sure he has, even, but there’s just nowayhe’d do anything more than that.”

“Miss Wilson,” I begin, setting down my pen and leaning forward to rest my elbows on the desk. How the hell do I let her down easy on this? “You realize that I can’t make this go away just because he’s your brother.”

“Of course not! I would never ask you for that!” She seems shocked by the very idea of it.

I sigh, picking up my pen again.

“Whatareyou asking for, then?”

“All I want,” she says, “is for you to have a look at the case yourself. I know it sounds insane has no idea how the drugs got there. He doesn’t use Ecstasy, ASA Cooper. And he’s not a drug dealer!”

“Drug mules,” I tell her, as gently as possible, “are rarely chosen from the type of people who use the product they’re supposed to be smuggling. And drug dealers who use their own product don’t tend to be very successful, financially.”

Emily purses her lips and blinks rapidly, fighting to hold back tears.

“And there’s another thing, too,” I sigh.

“Another… what is it?”

I hate this part, but I’d be a failure as a prosecutor if I didn’t even consider it.

“What you shared with me, Miss Wilson. About your family’s current financial distress. That could be a serious incentive for a young man to…” I hesitate for a moment, considering my next words carefully. “For a young man to want to earn a little money on the side, without looking too carefully at what that job entails.”

Her face blanches.

“No. No!” She hammers one small fist into my desk. “There is nowayhe’d have ever gotten involved with-!”

I cut her short with a wave of my hand.

“I’m not suggesting that’s the case, Emily. Not even a little bit. I’m just…” I sigh. “I’m just warning you.Someoneis going to say it, at some point. And you need to be ready for it.”

She’s had such a sheltered life. Even though her father practiced criminal law, Francis Wilson kept her well separated from the kind of clients he took on. Emily has no idea that this is the same stuff that every single junkie’s family trots out. Poor kid. Both of them, really.

She opens her mouth to protest but stops short before saying anything. My heart goes out to her. It would take a man with a much colder soul than mine to be unaffected by the fear and pain written across Emily’s face right now.

“I get it,” I say. “You truly do believe that the drugs aren’t his.”

“I do.” Emily nods definitively.

“But you know that your beliefs don’t matter.” My words are a blunt instrument, and that was a heavy hit. “I’m sorry,” I say, trying to soften the blow as much as possible. “There’s just no other way to say it. You need to understand that this isn’t going to be an easy time coming up, and you’re his sister. You love your brother. You care about him very much, and that just pours out of you. But youarebiased, and there’s going to be lots of people who will simply discount anything you say, simply because of who you are and how much you care.”

Including me, I don’t add.

Now that we have all that out of the way, though, it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions. Seeing that I’m interested, that I’m willing to listen, perhaps even a bit invested? That might go a long way in terms of a reset with the lovely Miss Wilson.

And of course, you never know: a half kilo of MDMA… that’s going to be close to a thousand pills, if it’s already been cut with something else. If it hasn’t? If it’s pure MDMA? That could be the makings of five or ten thousand. It’s not even a little bit insignificant, and you never know when you might get asked questions in public, after all. Wouldn’t do to look stupid, later.

“Give me the basics,” I say.

“Francis Wilson Junior,” she recites, doing her best to sound detached, yet unable to hide a tremor in her voice. “Eighteen years of age. Arrested as he left the Marquee Theater in downtown Point Lookout on Friday night.”

“The Marquee? Friday?” My pen stops and my eyebrows go up. “He was at the Robert Ferry concert?”

“Yes,” she answers.

---