Roadside
—So, Mrs. Arronaux, let’s continue. Shall we?
—Okay. But I’d like to add that...
—You made your point clear enough. We’re running out of time here.
A mouth closed shut, knowing insistence is futile. I need to try something else.
—Mrs. Arronaux, can you... Oh, am I pronouncing it right?
—You are.
—Good. Now, can you please tell me if you know Charles Garvey?
—I do. He worked at Bennigan’s before he became an attorney in LA. He has a knack for Irish food. My husband never understood that.
—No, no, please just answer the question. No additional information. We had talked about that.
—Alright.
—Good. You said you know Mr. Garvey, correct?
—Yes.
—What’s his occupation?
An almost childish pout. Furrowed brows. Is he mocking me?
—He’s an attorney. Or rather, he was.
—He was? Do you mean he...
A simple, silent shrug. Urgent whispers. Quickly scribbled notes. Scores of messages sent to DA, not even allowing the words to sink in first. They’re panicked. Good.
—Mrs. Arronaux...
—I know nothing about him except...
—But you just said…
—Listen, I’m not here to...
—No, we won’t talk about that again...
—I want to see my attorney. Now.
Hands running through already tousled hair. A sigh. No, a sharp exhale. And, he’s annoyed. Even better.
—Mrs. Arronaux, do I have to remind you, once again, that the court clerk is doing his best to arrange...
—Fine. Let’s just go on.
A raised eyebrow. Many raised eyebrows. That’s about to get boring.
—Alright, Mrs. Arronaux, can you tell me how you know Mr. Garvey is dead?
—I didn’t see it.
—I’m not asking you if you saw it. I’m asking how you know. Did someone tell you?
—No.
—Could you please...
—He texted me.
—Who did text you?
—Mr. Arronaux.
—You mean your husband?
—Ah, yes, my husband.
—What exactly did Mr. Arronaux say in his message?
—Well, he said he’d take his own life.
—He said he’d commit suicide, Mrs. Arronaux?
—Yes. But he said he wanted to meet Clara first.
—Who is Clara? With her surname, please.
—Clara Smith. She’s a client of Mr. Garvey. My husband had told me. But I always doubted that.
—Why is that, Mrs. Arronaux?
—Because Clara wrote that Mr. Garvey has always worked only with male clients.
—Where have you read this?
—On her Substack.
—What is Substack? I’m asking for clarity.
—Oh, have you ever read the raw transcripts of Carroll vs. Trump? I don’t remember if it was Carroll I or II, though.
—Well, no, ma’am, I haven’t read any of this.
—I believe it was in Carroll I.
—What was in Carroll I?
—She had mentioned Substack there. That’s how I learned about Substack.
—Mrs. Arronaux, please.
—It’s a platform. Oh, I’d actually love to describe it with her words, but I really don’t remember them.
—A platform for writing? Like a blog?
—Yes, something like that. I’ve read about Mr. Garvey’s client preferences in Clara’s article. Its title was “Recreational Traumas: Part 6”.
Eyes squinted with confusion. Impatient taps on the clipboard. A throat cleared to maintain composure. He had lovely eyes…
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