"God, that jail is awful."
Thirty minutes after Scott had bailed Rebecca out, she was still trembling.
"At least I don't have to wear that ankle bracelet."
"Don't jump bail, Rebecca, or I'll lose the house."
Scott had pledged his house to secure her bond and release from custody.
They had driven from the jail to the beach and were now walking along the seawall. Joggers ran past, kids rolled by on bikes, and parents pushed strollers with young children aboard. The Island street scene was nice, and it was decidedly not Dallas. There were no Neiman Marcus mothers, no Armani dads, no Jacadi Paris girls, and no Hugo Boss boys. There were tank tops and cargo shorts and neon flip-flops, beach bums and surfers, and snow cone and cupcake trailers. Galveston was a Wal-Mart town, the poor man's Riviera. But not for long, if the senator had his way.
"Scott, you know how you said prisons are full of innocent people?"
He nodded.
"If I'm convicted, what happens?"
"I'll appeal, try to get the conviction overturned."
"How long does that take?"
"Two or three years."
"Do I get to live out here? While you appeal?"
"No. You go to prison."
"But what if they realize I'm innocent? What happens then?"
"They release you and say, 'Sorry. Have a nice life.' "
But Scott was not worried about that happening because Rebecca Fenney would not survive two or three years in prison. She might be a survivor in society, but not when taken out of society. She would die in prison.
She pondered that prospect for another block then said, "Ike did that."
They stood at 25th Street in front of the famous Flagship Hotel, a seven-story structure sitting atop a pier extending 1,130 feet into the Gulf-or what was left of the Flagship. Barricades blocked off access to the pier because the concrete entrance ramp was missing; one wrong step and you'd be lying on the beach seventeen feet below. The hotel facade had broken off in numerous places, exposing the interior of the rooms. Drapes flapped in the breeze. The Flagship was a derelict now.
"They're going to demolish it," she said, "make it an amusement pier with a Ferris wheel and a carousel… and a casino if the state legalizes gambling. At least that's the rumor."
"Sin City."
"Sin sells."
"Bring back gambling, prostitution, and drugs to the Island."
"It's already here."
"Rebecca… the toxicology reports came back."
Her shoulders sagged. She sat on a concrete bench and stared blankly out to sea. Scott sat next to her.
"Jesus, Rebecca… cocaine? Why?"
"I only did it a few times."
Two years before, her affair with the assistant golf pro at the club had stunned Scott like a blow to the head-he still had a hard time believing she had had sex with Trey during the day then had come home to her family that night-but the thought of his wife using cocaine seemed inconceivable. Shopping till she dropped, he knew that Rebecca Fenney. But snorting cocaine through a straw? That was not the Rebecca he knew. How could she do it? How could anyone do it? How many people strolling the seawall that fine day did it? If Benito's figures were correct-he said the cartels sent five hundred metric tons of cocaine into the U.S. annually-a lot of these people did it. But none of them were standing trial for murder in thirty-five days.
"You know Benito Estrada?"
"No."
"I do. I just met him, before I bailed you out. He sold cocaine to Trey. A lot."
She nodded. "I was really worried about it. He started about six months ago, at least that's when I found out about it. At first he said it was to celebrate a great round, then to get over a bad round, then after every round. He said he had it under control, but the last few months, it was every day."
"He owed Benito five hundred thousand dollars."
"For cocaine?"
Scott nodded. "Benito called him that night, tried to convince him to pay, said he didn't want Trey to get hurt, by the Muertos."
"Who are they?"
"The cartel's hit men."
"Why didn't Trey pay him? He had the money."
"He thought Benito had cheated him."
"You think they killed Trey? Those Muertos? "
"I don't know. Was he stressed out, before his death?"
"No. He won the Challenge the week before."
"Why'd he buy guns?"
She shrugged. "Crime on the Island. So he started carrying a gun in the car."
"Why didn't you tell me, Rebecca?"
"That he carried a gun?"
"That you used cocaine."
"I didn't want Boo to know."
"It'll come out at trial… and it won't be good when it does."
They stood and walked again, but Scott did not hold her hand this time.
Eighteen miles down the beach, Louis walked over to where Carlos was working on two surfboards laid out on the sand in the shade of the house.
"What's a six-letter word for 'entertain at bedtime'?"
"Hooker."
Louis grunted. "Fits." He filled in the blanks on the crossword puzzle then said, "What are you doing?"
"Cleaning these boards. Found them under the house, pulled them out for us."
"What do you mean, us? "
"Me and you, man-we're gonna learn to surf this summer. Boo wants to learn, but the boss said no."
"Why?"
"Guess he figures she might drown."
"No. Why do you think I want to learn to surf?"
" 'Cause we're at the beach."
"I saw that Jaws movie. I figure there's sharks out in that water."
"None big enough to eat you."
"That Jaws shark ate a boat. Reckon they'd be big enough to take a bite out of me." Louis looked out to sea for a time. "One thing I've learned, Carlos, there's always someone bigger and meaner."
Carlos chuckled. "Benito's men?"
"That could've turned ugly."
"Testosterone will do that."
"Mean will do it, too."
" Los Muertos are mean. Think they killed that white boy?"
"They killed a black boy, down in the projects. Figured he was safe down there, that Mexicans wouldn't come into South Dallas. But they did. Armed like the infantry, a dozen of 'em. They found him, chased him down, shot him to pieces. Like in a movie. You know how much he owed? Ten thousand."
"Trey Rawlins owed them five hundred thousand."
"Not no more he don't."
"The cocaine," Karen said. "Scott, that's bad evidence. How can we put Rebecca on the stand now?"
"We can't."
"Which makes conviction more likely," Bobby said.
"What'll happen to Boo then?" Karen said.
They were on the back deck. Rebecca and Boo were down on the beach.
"Scott, I'm not one to butt into your personal affairs-"
Bobby laughed. "Since when?"
"I'm sorry," Karen said. "Never mind."
"Karen," Scott said, "you've been the girls' mother for the last two years. We wouldn't have made it without you, okay? You've earned the right to butt in. What's on your mind?"
She gestured down at Boo and Rebecca. "They seem to be getting close again."
"She's her mother."
"Biological only. Scott, I've been carrying this baby for almost eight months now. There's no way I'll ever leave this child. How could she?"
"Karen, failure is not an option in Highland Park. It can be a tough place-"
"Life is tough. Scott, defending her is one thing, but don't make excuses for her. She abandoned her child. There's no excuse for that. Would you ever leave Boo or Pajamae?"
"No."
"Okay. She shouldn't have left Boo."
"Agreed."
"They were apart for two years, now they're back together for what, two months when the trial's over. What if she's convicted and they're apart again-for five to life? That would devastate Boo."
"I couldn't just leave her in Dallas. She wouldn't have stood for that."
"No, she wouldn't. But it's going to hurt her badly-if Rebecca's convicted."
Scott stared at his daughter and her mother.
"Then we can't let that happen."
Renee Ramirez presented another "Murder on the Beach" report on the ten o'clock news that night. She opened with footage from the arraignment, Rebecca in her jail jumpsuit pleading "not guilty" and Renee peppering Scott with questions in the corridor outside the courtroom ending with "Do you still love your wife?" and Scott's stunned expression. Then Renee went live from Galveston.
"Judge Shelby Morgan set the trial date for July twentieth and bail at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I interviewed Terri Rawlins after the hearing."
Terri appeared on the screen and said, "Now she can sit in jail where she belongs."
Back to Renee: "But Rebecca Fenney is not in jail tonight. Her ex-husband and lawyer, A. Scott Fenney, bonded her out by pledging his Highland Park house. She is now staying with him and his family in a rented beach house until the trial. I've heard about carrying a torch for an old love, but this guy is taking it a bit far." Renee smiled and shook her head. "Confidential sources at the courthouse have confirmed that the toxicology results showed significant levels of cocaine in Trey Rawlins' blood at the time of his death, and also in Rebecca Fenney's blood that same night."
"Damnit!" Scott pointed at the TV. "Who's leaking this stuff?"
"That detective," Bobby said.
Back on the screen: "Earlier today I interviewed Louise, a prostitute who spent three nights in the same cell with Rebecca Fenney."
A hard-looking female face filled the screen. Louise was not a high-priced hooker. She worked the street corners on the north side of Galveston. She said, "Oh, she bad. I seen it in her eyes. She killed that white boy. She guilty as sin."