Page 95 of The Right to Remain

“Two more minutes!” Helena said in a voice loud enough for all. “If you need to use the bathroom, better be quick about it.”

Helena took a seat beside Austen and quickly checked her phone. None of the messages caught her attention until she saw the voicemail from her lawyer. She stepped into the hallway and listened to it.

“Helena, it’s Patricia Dubrow. I just received a call from Julianna Weller at the state attorney’s office. Call me as soon as you get this message. Don’t worry that it’s a Saturday night. It’s important that we talk.”

Waiting until after class didn’t sound like an option. She went across the hall to the empty studio, closed the door, and dialed. Patricia answered after one ring and went straight to the point.

“I got an update on that gun your dog dug up.”

Helena felt a chill that went all the way to her toes. “Wait. Why did the prosecutor call you and not me?”

“Very good question,” her lawyer said. “What this tells me is that, for purposes of keeping the victim’s family informed, the state attorney’s office is no longer treating you strictly as a family member.”

Helena’s grip on the phone tightened. “Are you saying I’m a suspect in Owen’s death?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Weller probably doesn’t know how to treat you until a few things are sorted out. Things about the gun, in particular.”

“Like what?”

“Before I get into that, let me say one thing. Our relationship is entering a phase in which you need to understand my philosophy as a criminal defense lawyer. This is very important, and it’s very simple. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me. Do you understand?”

Helena paused, not quite sure what to make of that statement. “I think so.”

“Let me explain,” said Patricia. “Too much information from a client can limit the type of defense a lawyer can present at trial. For example, if the client says, ‘I was home alone sleeping in my own bed the nightof the crime,’ the lawyer might be nervous about calling an alibi witness to the stand who wants to testify that the defendant was out until dawn dancing with him at the clubs.”

“I see,” said Helena.

“Good. With that in mind, I’m going to tell you everything the prosecutor shared with me about the gun. All I want you to do is listen. Then think carefully before you respond. Or choose not to respond. Got it?”

There was a knock at the door. Helena asked her lawyer to hold on and opened the door. It was Isabel, the teaching assistant with the bum knee.

“Ms. Pollard, the class is ready for you,” she said.

“Can you lead them at the barre for five minutes, please? I’ll be right there.”

Isabel eagerly agreed, more than happy to teach for once, rather than just take notes.

Helena closed the door and resumed the conversation. “I’m listening,” she said into her phone.

“The first thing Ms. Weller told me was that the gun is a pistol made by Beretta. A twenty-two-caliber Bobcat. It’s one of those small, palm-sized handguns that women like to carry because they fit in just about any purse. Remember, Helena: Think before you respond.”

“Okay,” said Helena, offering no response.

“The gun will be checked for fingerprints on Monday,” said Patricia. “Then it will be sent to a ballistics expert, who will determine whether the markings on the gun match those on the bullet that was removed from your dog.”

“Okay.”

“The final piece of information the prosecutor shared with me is rather curious,” said Patricia. “The gun has no serial number. And I don’t mean the serial number was scratched off. I mean it has no serial number and never did.”

Helena was silent.

Patricia gave her a moment, then continued. “That’s all the information I have. Is there anything you want to tell me, Helena?”

There was another knock on the door, followed by her teaching assistant’s desperate voice. “Ms. Pollard, the girls won’t listen to me.”

Helena stayed with the call. “Patricia, now is not a good time. Can I call you later?”

“Yes, of course.”