When the door finally opened, it was Detective Wilcox again. She sat down at the small steel table across from Jane and slapped a yellow legal pad on the table.
“Okay Ms. Lehman, here’s what we’ve got,” Wilcox said. “We have evidence that you have been secretly recording girls — your team’s girls — in the university locker room and showers for several years. And that you collect these video images and replay them for your own sexual gratification as well as that of your partner Laura Emerson. We also have information that you have shown these videos to some of your students and former students. Would you like to comment on these charges?”
Tears welled up again in Jane’s eyes. She wiped both sides of her face with the sleeves of her warm-up suit. These charges were true, but she couldn’t admit to it. She had to stay strong, she kept telling herself. And did they already have Laura in custody — and if they did, what has Laura told them?
“Don’t I get a lawyer?” Jane finally blurted out. “You said I could have a lawyer — and don’t I get a phone call?”
Wilcox leaned back in her chair. She didn’t really want to answer the lawyer question, for once Jane ‘lawyered-up’ that was it for questioning her. So, she answered the easier question, “Yes, of course, you get a phone call. There is a payphone in the hallway — you get one free call.”
Jane had heard that you can only call landline numbers from a jail phone, so she asked, “Can I call a cell phone from there?”
“No,” Wilcox responded, “you can only call a landline.”
“I don’t know anybody with a landline; how do I call a cell phone?” Jane argued, trying to take more of an offensive stance.
Wilcox reached into her jacket pocket and handed Jane her cell phone. “Make it quick,” Wilcox said, “the city doesn’t pay my cell phone bill.”
Picking up the cell phone and wiping tears again from her eyes, Jane tapped in Laura’s phone number as fast as possible. She realized this could be a trick, but what else was she going to do?
Laura’s phone went straight to voice mail without ringing, which meant it was turned off. Laura never turns off her cellphone, Jane thought; she probably didn’t even know-how. That must mean that the police already have it. Jane’s heart sank again. If they have Laura’s phone, then they must have Laura. A dark cloud of despair again descended over her.
She had to think. “I have to pee,” she suddenly exclaimed. “Can I at least go to the bathroom; I have to pee.”
Wilcox knew a stall when she heard one, but she didn’t want Jane peeing in the interrogation room. “Yeah, sure,” Wilcox said as she stood up. “Let’s go.”
Jane was relieved that they didn’t put the handcuffs back on, but Wilcox did hold her arm as they headed down the hall. Before they reached the ladies’ room, Wilcox signaled another female officer to join them. The two cops stood outside the stall as Jane went in.
“Hey, I don’t hear any tinkling,” the second cop said only seconds after Jane closed the stall door.
“Give her a break,” Jane heard Wilcox say.
Jeez, they’re doing the ‘good cop bad cop’ thing in the bathroom, Jane thought to herself. I’m in deeper shit than I thought, she said to herself as she drained her bladder. The revelation did at least make her smile for a minute, but as she blotted herself dry and pulled up her pants, she realized how much trouble she was in and firmly resolved that she needed an attorney.
Back in the interrogation room, Wilcox sat down again with Jane across the table; only this time, she seemed warmer and more interested in helping. “Jane,” she said, “I’d like to help you. I’m sure there is just some sort of misunderstanding going on here. But in order to help you, you’ll have to tell me your side of the story. Now you know all that I know, so what’s your side?”
Jane sat stoically for a moment and then said, “Its coach — not Jane. Only my friends get to call me Jane.”
“Jane, I’m trying to be your friend,” Wilcox responded. “But you have to trust me.”
“You said I could have an attorney — I want to see an attorney,” Jane said defiantly.
Wilcox indignantly picked up the still blank yellow pad and pushed back from the table, “Okay Ms. Lehman, that is your right. But remember, I tried to help you. And you’re not the coach here; you’re just a lone player in a very serious game that you’re not going to win.” And with that, she walked out.
Shortly thereafter, two officers in brown jailer’s uniforms came in and took Jane to booking, where she was photographed and fingerprinted. After that humiliation, she was placed in a holding cell along with several other women — skanky women, Jane thought to herself. They all looked as scared as Jane, and no one spoke to one another; they just huddled in separate corners like stray dogs in the pound, uncertain of their future.
As Jane no longer had her watch or cell phone, she lost all sense of time. But eventually, a jailer called out her name, “Lehman — Lehman, your lawyer is here.”
Jane was led to another room that looked very similar to the interrogation room, but without the obvious video cameras and slightly nicer furniture. After sitting alone for several minutes, in walked a short man with pale skin, horn-rimmed glasses, and slicked-back black hair. He dropped his briefcase on the wooden table and extended his hand in introduction. “Hi, I’m Brad Eschew; I understand you need a lawyer,” he said without fully making eye contact.
Jane was somewhat taken back. She didn’t know what to expect, but whatever it was, this wasn’t it.
“Yes,” she said hesitantly as she shook his hand.
He opened his briefcase and started reading from a very thin file. “Okay, I haven’t had a chance to read the file yet, so tell me what’s going on,” he said without looking up.
Jane did not feel comfortable with this guy and wondered if he really was her attorney. “Uh, you’re an attorney?” Jane asked, trying to form an opinion of this guy.
“Yes,” he said, looking up from the file. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulling out a business card, dropped it on the table in front of her. “I’m from the public defender’s office, and I have been assigned your case,” he said with little, if any, human emotion.
Jane, still searching and stumbling for words, said, “Well, I was expecting a female lawyer — this is a female matter — I’d feel better with a female attorney. Is there one available?”
Brad, now finally making eye contact, glared at her for several seconds. Then picking up his business card and slipping it back into his shirt pocket, let out an audible sigh. “Well, there could be. I’ll see what I can do,” he said as he stood, walked apathetically for the door, and knocked twice. As a jailer opened the door, he left without another glance or word.
Jane sat there for an indeterminable amount of time, wondering if she had fucked up again or not. But she didn’t like that guy, and how could he represent her if she didn’t like or trust him, she kept telling herself.
Eventually, there was a soft knock at the door. It immediately opened, and in stepped a young woman with a briefcase similar to Brad’s slung over her shoulder. Like Brad, she was slight in stature and wearing a cheap casual business suit. But unlike Brad, she had a smile on her face, and she immediately made eye contact.