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Guilty Blood

By Rick Acker

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Jessica Ames was shopping for salmon when her life shattered for the second time.
She was at Safeway. Money had been tight since Tim died, so she bought most of her groceries at Walmart or Trader Joe’s. But Safeway had better fresh fish, and she was treating herself because she had gotten a raise—not a lot, but it was still worth celebrating. The ingredients for a lemon-dill marinade were already in her basket. So was the premade rice pilaf from the deli. All she needed was a good fillet, ideally a tail piece. But the only tail slice in the cooler expired tomorrow, while another piece of the same size didn’t expire until the end of the week. She held one piece in each hand, examining them through the plastic wrap sealing the fish into its blue Styrofoam tray.
Her purse started playing the marimba. She dropped the packages back into the cooler and pulled out her phone. She smiled when she saw Brandon’s picture and name. The picture was from his high-school graduation: she stood to his left, Tim stood to the right, and Brandon was in the middle. They were all vibrant and happy, beaming at the camera. It was a bittersweet image, but she hadn’t had the heart to change it.
She accepted the call. “Brandon! How are you, honey? How are classes going?”
“Mom, I’m at a police station in Oakland,” he said, his voice shaky and small. “They arrested me this morning.”
Fear knifed through her. “What happened? Have you been drinking again?”
“No, I haven’t been drinking. Or doing drugs. I . . . I’m not sure what happened. I was in my apartment studying, and the police started pounding on the door. I answered it, they asked who I was, and they put handcuffs on me and took me away. I was just sitting there at the dining-room table with my chemistry notes in front of me. Then two minutes later, I was in the back of a police car, heading for the station. Ever since I got here, they’ve been asking me about some guy who was killed a couple of weeks ago in Oakland.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure they think I’m the murderer.”
Jessica stood frozen, unable to speak or even think. It was happening again. The familiar waking-nightmare feeling took hold of her. It was unreal, but all too real. She wanted to throw up, to scream, to curl up in a ball and hide, to hug Brandon tight and never let him go. And all she could do was stand rooted to the supermarket floor, staring into a pile of chilled pink fish.
Dear Lord, let this all be a mistake, she prayed. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .
“Mom . . . Mom, are you there?” Brandon said. “I didn’t do it, I swear.”
“I know you didn’t,” she said. The words came automatically, but she knew they were true. They must be. Brandon had made mistakes in the past, but she knew he was no murderer. So how could this be happening? “Brandon, are you okay?”
The line was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know,” he said softly. “They didn’t hurt me. But I’m in shock. I don’t know what to think.”
Neither did she. This must all be a horrible mistake. The police had arrested the wrong Brandon Ames or something. The truth would come out and they would let him go. They had to. But what if they didn’t?
Her brain started to function again. “Did they give you a lawyer?”
“Not yet. I told them I wanted one and they said they’d call the Public Defender’s Office. That’s when they stopped the interrogation and let me call you.”
The public defender. Jessica’s mind conjured up the image of an overwhelmed and underpaid lawyer trying to juggle a hundred cases. A lawyer who would take any deal the prosecutor offered just to get rid of another case—even if the defendant was innocent. Her panic rose a notch.
She couldn’t let this happen. She just couldn’t. There had to be something she could do. Then she realized that maybe there was. She could try to get Nate Daniels. Tim had always said Nate was one of the best courtroom lawyers in the country. He might be exactly what Brandon needed.
She hadn’t talked to Nate in a year, and it would be uncomfortable to ask him for a huge favor. But that didn’t matter. Nate could help Brandon, so she would ask him. No matter how hard or awkward that might be.
She didn’t want to get Brandon’s hopes up. Not until she had at least talked to Nate. “Don’t say anything more to them until the public defender gets there,” she said. “I’m going to try to get help.”
“Okay, Mom.” He paused. “I love you.”
Tears suddenly blurred her vision. “I love you too.”

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