Reclaim: A Recovered Innocence Novel (10 page)

“Hang on a second,” I tell Lila.

I can’t believe she’s not pissed about the video. There’s a look in her eyes that makes me think watching herself on film
excites
her. Repressed, rigid Lila has a kinky side. I saw a glimpse of it last night when she watched that girl get herself off. And then again when she grabbed me and kissed me and begged me to fuck her. That word coming out of her mouth was so damn sexy. I had no idea she could be so fierce and
hot
for it.

I go to my bedroom and grab a couple more condoms. If this is going to go the way I think it’s going to go I want to be prepared. When I return I find Lila standing exactly where I left her except she’s not looking at the screen. She’s looking at me and the way she’s looking at me makes me nearly trip over my own feet. I try to act cool like this kind of thing happens every day for me when the truth is it
never
happens. Not like this anyway.

First of all, I never show my office to anyone. A woman has never set foot in here before Lila. Second of all, I’ve never taped myself with a partner and I’ve certainly never watched myself with one. And third, I don’t think I’ve ever been with anyone as hot as Lila. Seriously. She smokes from head to toe and she has no idea, which just makes her all the more
interesting.
Not just interesting, but
enticing.
When I’m around her I feel like a dog scenting a bone with my mouth open and my tongue hanging out. Do you know how difficult it is to act and sound cool when you’re practically panting all the time?

“Play the tape from last night first,” she says.

“Okay.”

I sit at my desk and click on the wastebasket at the bottom of the screen. Even though I deleted the tape I didn’t empty the trash expunging it permanently. I can’t help but think I did that on purpose, like some kind of unconscious premonition. But that’s dumb. How could I possibly know Lila would want to watch it? The real reason is I wanted to give myself the option of watching it again. I’m not ashamed to admit that. I’m a dude. That’s a dude thing to do.

I locate the file and click on it. Last night I trimmed it so that it starts right as we do—from when Lila grabbed me and kissed me.
God,
it’s even hotter watching it with Lila than without her. When she pulls off her sweater and I get a look at her for the first time…Man, I wish the camera had been on my face so I could see the glazed shocked look that must’ve been there. But then I’d be looking at myself and not at her. I really think I was given eyes just so I could look at her. She’s beautiful—almost otherworldly. Like something so beautiful
can’t
be from this planet.

I can almost feel the weight of her breasts cupped in my hands. I’m so caught by our images on camera that I nearly forget Lila is there until she makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan. Then I can’t look away from her. I wonder if she’s watching herself or me or the both of us together.

“Is there sound?” Her voice gives away nothing.

In answer, I raise the volume until the room is filled with the echoes of us. We watch another few minutes, until I walk her backward out of the room and the video ends. The silence that follows is filled with so many unspoken thoughts and un-acted-upon feelings that I’m afraid to move. I don’t want to influence what happens next.

“Now the front door,” she commands.

I gladly obey, needing
something
to focus on. It takes me a while to find the moment when I opened the door to her earlier. I skip ahead in segments, not wanting to watch us have sex in reverse. I finally find it and hit
PLAY.
This tape is much more surreal than the first one. I haven’t seen it before so the moment when she grabs me and kisses me throws me off guard. The angle again is on her with my back to the camera.

“Turn it up,” Lila says, her request as forceful as the way she kissed me.

The sound isn’t as clear as the office because the room is bigger, but there’s no mistaking her demand for me to
fuck
her. My already hard dick somehow gets harder. She’s all fire in the video. There’s no doubt she wants—no, needs—me. I’m rough with her. I wince at the way her body slams into the door over and over. She clings to me, her face contorted, her mouth open. I can still feel the slide of her on my dick as I pull in and out. She comes and the sound she makes wraps around me like a warm fist. Beside me Lila is silent. If her knuckles weren’t white where she clutches the edge of the desk I would think the scene playing out in front of her is having no effect on her.

Afterward, when I kissed her softly, her expression changed from surprised to confused. I didn’t notice that at the time. Now I wonder about it and the way she didn’t move when I left her to get rid of the condom. She stayed against the door as though she were glued to it. I ask her if she’s okay in the video, if I was too rough. She says no, but everything about her says otherwise.

And then she asks me if we’re going to have sex again. I really wish I could see the look on my face because what she said next was so shocking that I’m sure I’m staring at her all bug-eyed and uncool. Then again maybe not. At least I sound cool and she sounds…she sounds…I’m not sure how she sounds. Not confident, but not unconfident. Intrigued. That’s the word. I didn’t notice it at the time, but it’s almost as though she’s studying the results of some kind of experiment and deciding if it’s worth exploring further.

I’m not sure how I feel about that so I stop the recording right before she tells me that she’s going to let me have sex with her as many times as I want to. A chill races through me. At the time I thought it meant that she wanted it—wanted me—as much as I wanted her, but now I’m not so sure. Was it a pity fuck? A make-up for her calling it off last night? Something she felt obligated to do?

Everything I’d been feeling since we had sex now feels fake and false. Like I cheated on a test and got an A on it but it wasn’t really my achievement. I want to—no, I need to—watch the video again, but I can’t do that with her standing here. If I could replay what she says after I come back from the bathroom over again and watch her face more closely maybe I can get some kind of clue as to what’s really going on here. Because I’m not sure she’d tell me if I asked.

“Are you going to delete them?” she asks.

I should. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but I find I can’t lie to her. “No.”

“Why? So you can get off on them again?”

“No.” I close the window of the recording and pull up the bank statements we got from Martin’s office. “We need to finish going through these and the rest of the stuff we got. We have a case to work, remember?”

For a moment she doesn’t say anything. She stares at me, her head tilted to one side as though trying to read my thoughts. “Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

Maybe she can read my mind. “I don’t know. Is there?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Why don’t you pull up that chair and we’ll see what else Martin might have been hiding?”

She hesitates and then does as I said. I’m not usually this freaked out and confused after being with a woman. There’s always some level of uneasiness when things are new, but never this level of awkwardness. Maybe I’m just being stupid and reading too much into her reactions. I’ve never seen a replay of myself with a woman. Maybe this is all normal. She’s got to be feeling some anxiety about it too. Past agreeing that we want to have sex again, we haven’t really talked about anything.

Normally that’s not a discussion I’d be interested in having, but there are unusual circumstances here. We’re thrown together for the duration, working closely together on Carla’s case. The forced proximity accelerated things in an unnatural way. Maybe it’s time to slow it down and start over. Focusing on the case will give us both room to breathe even though we’re within touching distance.

“Let’s see what other perversions await us on the bank statement,” I say, scrolling through the pages.

Page after page it’s more of the same. Martin had a serious live-porn habit.

“That’s a lot of money flowing into and out of that account,” Lila says thoughtfully. “Where did it come from?”

“He couldn’t have made it being a public defender?”

“Not hardly, no.”

“We can’t pull up his tax or banking records, but maybe there’s something more in his files or on his computer that will tell us where the money was coming from. But right now…” I plug the SD card from the camera into my computer. “I want to see why Martin had his office under surveillance.”

I click the icon for the card to open it. The camera must be motion-activated because the video starts when the door is already half open. John Martin comes into the room and closes the door behind him. Not just closes, he locks it. Odd. He immediately goes behind his desk and drops to his knees, then disappears under it.

“What is he doing?” Lila asks, leaning closer to the screen.

“Maybe there’s a hidden compartment or he’s got something taped underneath the desk. I wish we’d had time to check it out.” I wish I’d
thought
to check it out. Another live-and-learn moment for me that comes too late.

Martin pops back up, shoves a hand into his pants pocket, then immediately goes to the bookcase to the left of the desk and drops to his knees again. He starts pulling books off the third shelf without any concern about where they fall. When the shelf is empty he reaches into it. It’s not apparent what he’s doing at that angle until he sets a piece of wood from the back of the bookcase on the floor.

“A secret compartment,” I say. “What are you hiding Martin?”

Onscreen, Martin reaches into his pocket and pulls something small out.

“A key?” Lila asks.

“Looks like.”

Martin crouches lower, the hand he had in his pocket reaching into the back of the bookcase. He makes a motion like he’s opening a door, then pockets the key again. Leaning down, he stretches a hand into the bookcase and pulls out a box. He lifts the lid and looks inside. It’s hard to tell, but it looks like he’s relieved. Then he replaces the lid and puts the box back. He goes through the whole process backward until the key is back under the desk again.

“What was in that box?” Lila asks.

“I wish I knew. Did you see the look of relief on his face when he lifted the lid?”

“Yeah. Whatever is in that box, he wants kept hidden or safe.”

Martin unlocks his office door and leaves. The video ends a few moments after the door closes behind him. Definitely motion detection. The door opens again after an indeterminate amount of time. Debbie Martin appears in the frame as she closes the door and locks it behind her.

“I thought she said she never went in her husband’s office,” Lila says.

“Well, she’s a liar.”

“But why lie? What does it matter if she goes in there or not?”

“I think we’re about to find out.”

Debbie heads straight for the bust of JFK and the camera.

“Well, son of a bitch,” I breathe. “
She
installed the camera.”

Debbie fiddles with it, then the picture goes black. It doesn’t come back on again until Debbie replaces the bust. As soon as it’s in place Debbie leaves.

“Dang it,” Lila says. “Whatever she did during the blackout will forever remain a mystery.”

“Not necessarily.” I rewind the tape to where Debbie first walks into the room. “Pay attention to the floor in front of the bookcase.” I forward the tape to where Debbie reactivates the camera and then pause the video. I touch the screen. “See that spot there? That wasn’t there when she came into the room, but it’s there when she leaves. I don’t know if she dropped something or something fell off her onto the floor, but she definitely went for the box hidden at the back of the bookcase.”

“So she didn’t trust her husband. Interesting. I wonder if he ever found out that she was onto him.”

“Maybe we’ll find out.”

I start the video again. It continues to where Debbie leaves the room, then goes black. The door opens again. Could be hours or days later. There’s no time or date stamp on the video so there’s no telling when all these events occurred and how far apart.

Martin’s back. This time he doesn’t lock the door after he closes it. He goes to his desk and sits down. He works on his computer for what feels like forever. The video is in real time. I fast forward a bit to where he gets up from his desk and goes to the bookcase. He selects a book from the top shelf. As he starts to turn away he pauses, then kneels down. He picks up whatever it was that Debbie dropped on the floor. His gaze immediately goes to the door. In an instant he’s up. The book falls to the floor. He locks the door, then goes to the desk and ducks down behind it just like the first time. He rushes to the bookcase and shoves the books off the shelf. His movements are hurried and panicky.

Lila and I instinctively lean toward the screen. Martin pulls the box out and lifts the lid. He sits back on his heel, a staggered look on his face. The box falls from his hand. He covers his face with his hands and rocks back and forth. Whatever was in that box is gone and Debbie Martin has it.

“Is there any way to enhance the video, maybe zoom in to see if we can get a glimpse of what was in the box?” I ask Nolan.

I can’t believe what we just saw on the video and I can’t believe I felt sorry for Debbie Martin. She seemed like
such
a sweet lady. What was in the box and why did they both want it so much? Does it have anything to do with Carla’s case or is it something between a husband and a wife? I wonder if Debbie knew about her husband’s porn problem and if Martin’s dalliances ever stepped off the computer screen and into real life. While interesting, in a titillating way, we might be following a bogus lead here.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Nolan says, ejecting the SD card from his laptop. “I’ll work on the other computer while you go through the files you copied from Martin’s computer.” We do some chair shuffling and then he inserts the thumb drive into the laptop in front of me. “Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

He’s cool now, all business, like when I first met him. He said nothing was wrong, but I don’t believe him. Does he regret having sex? He seemed fine right up until we viewed the video. Did he think I was weird to want to watch the video of us? He watched it without me and he said he planned on viewing it again. It was only fair that I got to see it too, right? After all, I was in it.

Maybe it embarrassed him. I mentally replay the video in my head and I can’t see how he could have anything to feel awkward about. Unless he has some hidden hang-up. If I knew him better I might be able to figure out where things went wrong, but I don’t. And right there might be where the problem lies. I don’t really know him at all. This might be his MO—love ’em and leave ’em, don’t get attached and don’t get tied down. That’s fine if that’s the case. I’m not looking for a boyfriend.

But I would like to have sex with him again. I’d also like to record the sex and watch it either with him or on my own. That admission is
so
not like me. Reliving the moments when I was free for what feels like the first time in my life struck me in a way I have a hard time putting into words, let alone comprehending. I don’t know what it is about this man or this apartment or whatever it is that’s changed that makes me feel less like me, but I like it. I like it a lot. That should scare me more than it does. Not being scared should scare me more than it does. This whole situation should have me running in the other direction.

Perhaps if I just tell him outright that I don’t expect this to become a relationship, he can get past whatever it is that’s bothering him.

That’s a good idea. I’ll just lay all my cards on the table, so to speak, and let him know I’m only in it for the experience and nothing more.

“Nolan?”

“Yeah?” His answer is distant and preoccupied.

“About what happened earlier…the sex.”

“What about it?” He doesn’t take his attention off the screen in front of him.

“I don’t want you to think that I expect anything from you whether we do it again or not.”

“Okay.”

“So does that mean you want to do it again or you don’t want to do it again?”

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, we’re going to do it again.”

“All right. Good. Glad that’s settled.” I turn to the computer in front of me.

“And we’re going to film it. From
all
angles.”

For a moment I can’t speak. It’s like he read the thoughts I’d stuffed into the far corners of my mind, too ashamed to admit. I stare at the screen in front of me without really seeing it. “I’d like that.”

“When I finish doing what I can to the video here I’ll set up the cameras in my bedroom.”

My heart drops a beat as though my body stopped working for a split second to fully absorb his words. I force myself to focus on the task I’m supposed to be doing. Thinking about Carla helps. She’s the reason I’m here. We have to figure out what happened to her lawyer and why he didn’t file that motion to dismiss and if there’s anything we’ve missed that could trip us up when we file a post-conviction motion for a new trial. I really want to nail this the first time out and not have it go on to appeal. That would only prolong Carla’s suffering.

I open the thumb drive and glance through the files I uploaded from Martin’s computer. I hold off on the emails for now and open the file marked with Carla’s last name. It opens to another window with a bunch of files in it. These files are not numbered sequentially and don’t disclose anything about their contents. I right-click on the first one, then click on
GET INFO.
This folder was created less than a month before Carla’s trial.

I open it only to find another window with more files. At least these are labeled in a way that makes sense. There’s the coroner’s report, a transcript of Carla’s confession, depositions, Martin’s notes, and other elements of her defense. I already have a copy of the coroner’s report, but something makes me click to open it.

It’s empty. Nothing’s there. Strange. I X out of there and click on the transcript of Carla’s confession. It immediately opens to the text record created by the transcriber the way it should. I click out of that file and open the folder marked
NOTES,
which brings up another set of folders. I go through those and they’re all normal.

I try the coroner’s report again, thinking I must’ve missed something. Nope. Blank. So odd.

“Hey, Nolan. I found something weird here. Or maybe it’s not and I’m giving Martin more credit than he deserves.”

“What is it?”

“An empty folder where the coroner’s report should be.”

“I couldn’t enhance the video enough to figure out what was in the box anyway. Let me see.” He changes seats with me.

I lean over his shoulder to watch. He does some kind of wizardry on the keys, bringing up black windows with white font. He clicks around some more and then reopens the coroner’s report to reveal a folder hidden within the folder.

“Private folder,” he murmurs, then does some more computer magic. “Password-protected.” He somehow manages to get it open.

“It’s gibberish.”

“Not necessarily.” He starts copying and pasting lines of text into a new document. After a few moments he looks up at and me and laughs. “He gets an E for effort, but an F for originality. He hid a message in transposition cypher within html code.”

At my confused look he clarifies. “He wrote a bunch of words backward and tried to hide it within html code, trying to make it look like it was part of the code. Except even a beginning programmer could figure this out. More than likely he did it to confuse someone who doesn’t know html code and wouldn’t know if there were any extra characters randomly thrown in.”

“What does it say?”

He types the words in the correct letter order, slowly revealing the message. “I think it’s an email.”

“How can you tell? There’s no email address.”

“It’s too short and informal. The format is more like an email than a letter.” He finishes typing the message and reads it out loud.
“Got it. Meet you Sunday at three at the usual. Don’t forget to adjust your witness list accordingly. I’m counting on you.”

“What does that mean? Was there any signature, email address, or other identifying information in the code?”

“Nothing. The rest is standard html coding.”

“Coding for what?”

“Let’s convert it to text and see.” He does some more magic and up pops what looks like the home page for the San Diego County district attorney. “What the…This can’t be right.”

He goes onto the Internet, pulls up the website for the district attorney’s office, and clicks on the
ABOUT DA CLIFFORD G. BILLITS
tab. Sure enough it matches the page with the exception of the website banner at the top and the website navigation widget on the side.

Nolan sits back in his chair. “Whoa.”

“I think the words you’re looking for are
holy shit.
”

“Does this mean what I think it means?”

“That the DA wrote this email to Martin? I think so. Why else would he put the email in the middle of the coding for the DA’s
ABOUT ME
page?”

“I wish I could hack into Billits’s email and find out, but that’s a line I’m not willing to cross. Don’t look so surprised,” Nolan says, sounding genuinely affronted. “I do have my moral and legal limits.”

“I know you do. The look on my face was me reacting to my own thoughts, which for a moment actually entertained the idea.” I press my fingers into my eyes. “I don’t know what’s come over me lately.”

“Must be my influence.”

“It is, but not in the way you think. I just…I don’t know. I’m surprised at myself. I didn’t know I had this side.”

“A wild side?” he asks with a sly tilt to his mouth.

“An inappropriate side, a bending-of-the-truth-and-the-law side, a risk-taking side. None of that is me. Or at least I never thought it could be me. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Maybe it was there all along waiting to come out and you’ve suppressed it all these years.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You
like
it.”

I sigh. “I do. And I can’t believe that either.”

“If I do something here or…” He makes a sweeping motion, indicating the office in general, then gestures toward the rest of the apartment. “…
elsewhere
that you’re not comfortable with, let me know.”

I shake my head. “You’re fine. It’s me.”

“I get it now.”

“Get what?”

“Your reactions. When we watched the video I got the feeling that there was something wrong about the way that went down for you. That maybe it was…I don’t know…an experiment and that maybe you weren’t all that comfortable with what happened or perhaps you regretted it. Or that maybe you were using me.”

“Using you?”

It’s his turn to shake his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter now.”

“No. Tell me what you mean.”

“That you were slumming it for the experience.”

I honestly don’t know what to say to him. His words repeat over and over in my head.
Slumming it for the experience.
I’m not sure which of us should be more insulted by that statement—him or me. My emotions war with one another, each making its case to be heard. I don’t know whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement or be furious with him for thinking so little of me and of what we shared. I don’t know how it was for him—I mean, I thought I did, although
clearly
I didn’t—but it was pretty cataclysmic for me.

It obviously wasn’t for him.

“And you were willing to let me
slum it
again for the experience?” I ask, incredulity coloring my tone. “Are you acting out some sort of penance or something? Was it that terrible for you or are you that desperate to get laid?”

“No. No. Nothing like that. Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was just a thought. A stupid, insecure thought that I should’ve kept to myself. It has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“Huh. ’Cause I’m pretty sure it was about nothing
but
me.”

“Just forget I said it, okay? I’m an idiot.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

“It wasn’t terrible,” he says after a long pause. “Far from it. It was fucking
amazing.
”

“It was?”

“Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Okay then. So we’re okay?”

“I honestly don’t know.” And I don’t. “I’m still a little confused by your choice of words.”

“They’re a reflection on me not on you. I think you’re incredible.”

“You do?”

He gives me a sweet, slightly lopsided smile. “Yeah. I do.”

“In that case, yes, we’re okay.”

“Good, because I was looking forward to setting up those cameras later.” He takes my hand and tugs me close.

My whole face goes hot and some other places as well. “Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I lean down and kiss him.

He tries to pull me into his lap, but I resist. If we get caught up all the time we’ll never figure this case out. I tell him that and he reluctantly releases me. My attention goes to the computer screen and DA Billits’s photo. I met him once shortly after finishing law school. He seemed like a nice man. But first impressions can be deceiving.

White with brown hair and blue eyes, Billits matches Carla’s description of the man who paid to have sex with her and popped his head into the room while she was talking to Martin. I can’t help but think that brief visit was no coincidence. That maybe Billits wanted Carla to see him and to know that he was pulling the strings. This explains so, so much about what happened with Carla’s case.

“Can you print me out that photo of DA Billits?” I ask Nolan. “I want to show it to Carla the next time I see her. He might be her mystery man.”

Nolan loses his smile. “Double
holy shit.
”

My thoughts exactly.