“No, the phone has all my research. I printed a few things out at school, but this has everything.”
“What is it you wanted to show us?” Henry asks.
Jesse says, “The other guy isn’t here today, so I guess you already know one thing.”
“Who’s not here?” Henry says.
“The other lawyer, Chris Ford.”
“What do you mean?” Ella says, beating Henry to the punch.
Jesse shakes her head, annoyed, like she’s dealing with idiots. “You don’t know, do you?” She looks at her lawyers, one at a time. “He didn’t tell you.”
“I’m confused, Jessica,” Henry says. “Maybe you can start from the beginning.”
She thumbs her phone again, then slides it to their side of the table.
It shows yearbook photos. One from Freemont Academy. Chris Ford looking serious in his high school senior picture. He’s younger but it’s clearly Chris. Under the photo it reads: VALEDICTORIAN.
Next to the photo is a second yearbook picture from Union Elementary School. Chris is a gawky twelve-or thirteen-year-old. His hair is uncombed, and he appears malnourished. But it’s him. It’s the name associated with the photo that strips all the oxygen from the room.
Christopher Whitaker.
“Wait, what?” Ella says. “Whitaker … you’re not saying…”
“Chris Ford is Vince Whitaker’s younger brother,” Jesse says. “He was adopted, best I can tell.”
Henry is stroking his goatee. He turns to Julia, raises his eyebrows into a silent question: Did you know anything about this? She’s still recording, her phone trained on Jesse. Julia shakes her head: Don’t look at me.
“I told him yesterday that I know who he is,” Jesse says.
Ella wonders if this is why Chris didn’t come to work today. She studies Jesse. If she’s not guilty, she’s going to make one hell of a journalist someday. Ella also has a feeling that there is much more she doesn’t know about this girl. Things she may not want to know.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Henry says, standing. “I need to make some calls.” He rushes out, probably sensing a potential shit show when the press finds out the Blockbuster murderer’s brother is on Jesse’s defense team.
Ella’s brain is trying to work through the implications. Chris Ford is really Chris Whitaker. What’s it mean? It’s weird, for sure. But she can’t see how it changes anything.
“You said your phone would explain why you were investigating the Blockbuster case, why you think Chris’s brother isn’t guilty,” Ella says. “I don’t see how Chris Ford, or Whitaker or whatever his name is, has anything to do with—”
“Chris isn’t why I was investigating the case. He was just something I uncovered in my research.”
“Why did you decide to investigate the case in the first place?” Julia asks, still filming. Julia seems wired now, probably in shock over the news about her colleague.
Jesse snatches the phone off the table.
“Whoa, take it slowly,” Julia says.
Jesse moves more deliberatively. She pulls up something else on the slab of metal and plastic.
“Did you know that Katie McKenzie had been pregnant?” Jesse asks.
Ella shakes her head. She has a sudden memory: Candy and Mandy huddled in an intense conversation with Katie in the break room, the three abruptly going quiet when Ella came inside. Is that what it was about? Katie was pregnant?
Ella says, “How do you know she was pregnant when she was killed?”
“I didn’t say when she was killed.”
Ella doesn’t understand.
Julia also looks perplexed. She’s lowered her iPhone, recording the tabletop now, though it’s unclear if she realizes it.
Jesse continues, “She gave the baby up for adoption—she was out for most of her sophomore year. You can check the yearbooks.”
The picture is coming together. Katie had moved away for a short period, long enough to give birth.
“Who was the father?” Ella asks. It couldn’t be Vince Whitaker. Katie didn’t meet Vince until she worked at the video store. Ella was at the party where they’d met.
“That’s the question, what I’ve been trying to figure out,” Jesse says.
“How do you know all this?” Ella asks. “Adoption records are sealed.”
Jesse pulls up another file and hands the iPhone to Ella. The document is grainy, hard to read. Ella pulls the screen close to her face. It’s a blurry PDF of some type of government record, by the looks of it. She enlarges the screen and for the second time in less than an hour she’s stupefied: CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH.