“Frank Archer, you have pled guilty to the cowardly and despicable act of plotting to have your spouse murdered.” Judge Fitzpatrick’s face was like a stone. “Today’s sentence should send a strong message to cowards who think they can hide by hiring a stranger to commit an act of violence. I hereby sentence you to ten years for attempted capital murder-for-hire, to be followed by two years of supervised release.”
Allison felt a sense of relief. She had an excellent track record, but the previous case she had prosecuted had shaken her confidence. The date rapist had been pronounced innocent, which had left his victim stunned, fearful, and angry—and left Allison feeling guilty that she hadn’t been able to put him away for years. Today, at least, she had made the world a safer place.
A second later, her mood was shattered.
“It’s all your fault!” Archer shouted. He wasn’t yelling at Toni—his ex-wife was too afraid to be in the courtroom. Instead, he was pointing at Allison and Rod. “You set me up!”
Archer was dragged from the courtroom, and Rod patted Allison’s arm. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”
She nodded and managed a smile. Still, she felt a pulse of fear. Ten years from now, would the man come back to take his revenge?
Shaking off the feeling of foreboding, Allison walked out of the court-house—known to Portlanders as the “Schick Razor Building” because of its curved, overhanging roof—while she called Toni with the good news. In the parking lot, she pressed the fob on her key chain, unlocked her car door, and slid behind the wheel, still talking.
Only after she had accepted Toni’s thanks and said good-bye did she see the folded paper underneath her windshield wiper. Muttering under her breath about junk advertising, she got back out of the car and tugged the paper free.
Then she unfolded it.
The professional part of Allison immediately began to take notes. For one thing, except in a movie, she had never actually seen a threat written in letters cut from a magazine. For another, were her own fingerprints obscuring those of the person who had done this?
But the human side of Allison couldn’t help trembling. For all her de-tachment, she couldn’t tamp down her horror as she read the message.
I’M GOING TO RAPE YOU. AND YOU’RE GOING TO LIKE IT. AND THEN I’M GOING TO CUT YOU INTO LITTLE PIECES. AND I’M GOING TO LIKE IT.
MYSPACE.COM/THEDCPAGE
Better Not Let Me Talk to Boys
September 5
Hi! I’m a Senate page on Capitol Hill. This blog will tell about my experiences here in Pageland.
Washington DC is all tall buildings, honking cabs & humidity that feels like someone wrapped you up in a blanket of steam. Plus it smells funky. Like hot garbage.
It turns out that the Vietnam Memorial & the Washington Monument & the statue of Lincoln are all a couple of blocks apart. My stepmom V has been trying to get me to all the famous sites, even though there will be trips every other weekend just for the pages. (Now she’s asleep & I’m writing this in the bathroom of the hotel, which has free wireless.) I can’t believe that the whole time we’ve been here it’s been raining. For some reason, I never thought it would rain in DC. Luckily some guy on the street was selling umbrellas.
After all the sightseeing, we went out to dinner with Senator X. He got me this internship, but I probably won’t see him very much. I’ll be working for all the senators, especially the 50 Republicans, not just him. (Working in the Senate is better than working in the House. I hear they have to stare at hundreds of photos so they can memorize all the faces & names in their party. Compared to that, 50 is a piece of cake.) We ate at an elegant Japanese restaurant, where I had many things that I can’t pronounce. Not only are the Japanese people good at anime, but they know how to cook.
Before our food came, V told these people at the next table to keep their toddler under control. He had a cup of Cheerios & was throwing some on the floor. So of course she had to boss them around. Then V started telling the senator that he had better keep an eye on me & not let me talk to boys. I just wanted to crawl under the table, even though they both pretended she was joking.
Doesn’t she realize that I’m not a little kid anymore? In eight days, I’m going to be seventeen!
PIERCE RESIDENCE
December 14
Allison set the pregnancy test on the edge of the tub. Marshall was in the living room, stretching in front of the TV news, getting ready to go for a run.
All afternoon, this moment had been in the back of her mind, providing a welcome distraction from her anxiety whenever she thought about the threatening note. Rod had come as soon as she called and had taken the document away as evidence. He asked her if she had any enemies, but they both knew the question was a joke.
Of course Allison had made enemies, most recently Archer. She was a third-generation prosecutor, so she knew it came with the territory.