Hunnigan couldn't say that she was proud of what she'd done to get the man Helena had assaulted to drop the idea of pressing charges. When she'd found out his name and phone number and texted him something suggestive, he'd quickly responded like the horny idiot she'd expected him to be, and he'd kept messaging with her even after she'd done the whole "oops, wrong number"-routine once she'd gotten him to practically welcome the Trojan horse she'd sent him. She had to give him credit, though; he'd been severely injured but he still kept trying to bed someone who had, as far as he knew, accidentally sent a sext to the wrong number, that level of horny would've been impressive had it not been so nasty.
She'd expected to find nothing than the odd dick pics she could use to extort him with, she could reason that he might end up getting labeled a sex offender if she posted those in his name across his social media profiles. Then she'd found the video of him masturbating with what she assumed had to be a custom fleshlight because it had been made to look like a clown's head. When she'd threatened to expose that, he'd rushed promise he would not be pressing charges (and sworn he'd never catcall a woman again).
That, surprisingly, had been the easy part. The next would be much trickier, and it was something Hunnigan had to let her mother handle, whether she liked it or not... and whether her father liked it or not. The whole reason Isabela had retired and rather focused on teaching law than practicing it in the first place was because her defending the people her husband was trying to put away was beginning to seriously strain their relationship. Hunnigan did feel like she'd somehow stabbed her father in the back by going to Isabela about this, but Helena needed the help, and Hunnigan had no intention of letting her fate fall into the hands of an overworked public defender. Besides, she knew her mother well enough to know that she, much like Hunnigan herself, liked to win, and after all this time teaching rather than practicing, she wouldn't be rusty, she would be ravenous for a win. Frankly, it was beginning to look like Helena definitely needed a ravenous shark to stay out of jail.
"How does the defendant plead?"
"Not guilty, your honor."
"Any thoughts on bail, mister Rutherford?" the judge inquired from the ADA.
"The people request that the defendant be remanded in custody, she is being charged with second degree murder, she has no ties to the community, and because of the opportunities to flee the country guaranteed by her job, we consider her an extreme flight risk."
"My client shouldn't even be here, the only piece of evidence the prosecution has tying my client to the murder is her phone which they discovered at the crime scene. You can't say how or why it ended up there, my client could've been having tea with her old army buddy for all we know."
"There is also the nine-one-one call about a disturbance at the victim's apartment, and the defendant's obvious injuries which could only have resulted from a physical fight."
"There are no witnesses placing my client at the scene of the crime, not at the time of the nine-one-one-call, and not before or after that either. As for her injuries, again, nothing states beyond doubt that she sustained them at Kassandra Good's apartment or even during the same day, she could've gotten those anywhere. My client is a highly regarded agent working for the Division of Security Operations, she is-"
"Oh, so just because someone is a DSO agent, they should get away with murder? I hate to break it to you, but contrary to what everyone seems to think, DSO agents are not above the law!" Rutherford interrupted, scoffing in disbelief as he grew more frustrated and impatient..
"All right, I've heard enough. The bail is set at one million. Miss Harper, you will surrender your passport and you will not leave the state, do you understand these conditions?" the judge asked her.
Helena was about to inquire how the hell was she supposed to work from here and where was she supposed to stay if she wasn't allowed to leave the state, but then she realized it wasn't like she could afford the bail anyway.
"I understand, your honor," she responded and the judge proceeded to schedule the rest of the trial.
"Sit tight," Isabela said to Helena when the bailiff came to escort Helena back to the cell.
"I'll try not to go anywhere," Helena offered a wry smirk.
After Helena had been escorted out, Hunnigan exited the courtroom as well and made a phone call to her brother.
"Seriously? I love that song but I don't think it's worth a million," Nolan chuckled when Hunnigan offered a deal to him; she would sign over her rights as the composer and he could use her work as he saw fit, and in return he would loan her a million.
"You've been obsessing over the song because you're envious that you didn't compose it, and the next best thing to actually having composed it is to own the copyright to it, so just spare me your bullshit. Besides, it's a loan, you'll get it back, the song is just an incentive and interest," Hunnigan said in exasperation.
"I hate you so much for knowing me so well. Fine, I'll have the money sent to you as soon as possible."
"I need it immediately. Oh, and I also need another favor."
"What now, you want the fillings from my fuckin' teeth?" Nolan scoffed.
"I want to use your New York apartment for a few weeks, maybe longer, I don't know yet."
"What the hell is going on, are you hiding from a hitman and preparing to leave the country or something?" Nolan asked and nothing in his tone implied he'd made the comment in jest. Hunnigan smiled.
"No, it's to help a friend," she said, refusing to go into further detail. Nolan sighed deeply.
"Fine. Mom has the keys to the New York apartment.
"Thank you. I'll owe you one."
"More than one."
"I've never lost a case unless my client has undermined me, so if you want to stay out of prison, don't lie to me, and definitely don't give statements without me," Isabela said sternly as she sat down with Helena while they waited for the paperwork for Helena's bail to be processed.
"Understood, ma'am," Helena muttered and Isabela glanced over with a quirked eyebrow, scanning for signs of sarcasm, but nothing about Helena's demeanor suggested she was being cocky, just genuinely defaulting to overly respectful politeness which Isabela presumed was the result of a strict upbringing and years served in the military.
"Aren't you gonna ask me if I did it?" Helena inquired.
"No, because I already know you didn't. If you had, we wouldn't be having this conversation because I would be busy making damn sure you wouldn't ever be able to get within an inch of my little girl," Isabela responded. Helena frowned deeply and remained silent for a long moment before finally asking how Isabela knew she was innocent.
"You may kill out of anger or in self defense, but you're not a murderer, that's not the feeling I get from you at all, and believe me, I know that feeling, I've sat next to actual murderers often enough. At most we're looking at manslaughter here," Isabela said dismissively. "So, in your own words, what happened?"
"I went over there to confront her about something that happened while I was in the army and she was training me. It escalated into a brawl."
"And?"
"...and I... blacked out. I have this thing... there's something wrong with me, when I get angry enough, I just black out, I don't remember what I did. I may have killed her," Helena confessed in a tiny, defeated voice.
"What were you arguing about? Why here? Why now?" Isabela continued her questioning relentlessly, not buying for a second that Helena had randomly come into town for no particular reason.
Isabela already had an idea of what Helena's connection to Good would have to be considering Good had contacted Isabela not long ago and stated she wanted Isabela to represent her. She'd turned Good down after a two minute conversation. The charges alone were a red flag, but what really broke the camel's back was the, for lack of a better word, aura of evil, wickedness and depravity Isabela had sensed the moment she'd stepped into Good's presence. Despite her name, the woman was evil. Irony sure was a dick.
"Nothing big, she just..." Helena mumbled, and Isabela exhaled agitatedly through her nose.
"I told you not to lie to me."
"If I tell you the truth, you can't tell anyone about it, especially not Ingrid. I don't want her to know just how fucked up I am, okay? She's the only real friend I have left in the world, and I don't want to lose her," Helena muttered.
"Everything we discuss is confidential, if I hear something that might help your case, I'd rather we use it but I can't force you to disclose anything you don't want to. So, what happened?" Isabela asked once more.
Helena fell silent, sucked on her teeth and repeatedly took a deep breath as if to begin speaking but then changed her mind about it. Isabela didn't rush her, just waited for the obviously nervous and reluctant young woman to speak up.
"Sergeant Good sexually assaulted me almost daily for the entire duration of my basic training. I won't go into detail because I will not repeat this to anyone no matter what, I'd rather go to jail for the murder."
Isabela nodded, having already figured out as much; it was hardly something people were eagerly lining up to talk about.
The records of Good's trial were sealed (which was something Isabela had found out after trying to access them recently) and even with the promise of no one ever finding out the details of it, the ADA hadn't been able to convince people to testify. Isabela had to wonder just how bad the things Good did must've been for no one (of what had to be dozens if not hundreds) to be willing to even talk about it. Discussing such matters wasn't easy, of course, but considering how many victims there had to be, the amount of silence seemed disproportionate.
"You confront her, you fight, you lose your phone during the fight, but you don't remember her condition when you left the apartment," Isabela recounted.
"I told you, I don't, I don't even remember leaving there," Helena insisted.
"All right. Do you feel up to looking at the crime scene photos with me, see if it'll jog your memory?"
"Sure, I'm not squeamish," Helena sighed and Isabela opened the folder. There was a lot of blood pooled around Good's head and caked to her hair, lips, and cheek, but there were no visible wounds as far as Isabela could make out. Good's head, however, looked somewhat deformed and oddly flat, someone had literally caved her face in.
Isabela went to look at the list of things Helena had been wearing when she'd been arrested.
"Brown leather boots," she read out loud and went to look for the photos of said items. "Did you wear these and only these the time you've been here?" she asked and held up a picture of Helena's boots.
"Yeah," she nodded.
"There's no blood," Isabela muttered as she leaned in to take a closer look. The labs would have to confirm it, but she couldn't see any. If Helena had been at the crime scene during the murder, there was no way she would've managed to walk out of there without getting blood on her shoes, there were plenty of obvious smudges of it on the floor, leading to the bathroom where whoever had killed Good had washed their shoes since there were no prints heading outside. The prints were too messy to make proper comparisons to Helena's boots and their soles, but there should've been blood or water stains on them, and as far as Isabela could see, Helena's boots were immaculate if a little worn.
"You ladies mind continuing this elsewhere?" an officer asked. "Your bail has been posted, you can go," he then said.
"My... how?" Helena stammered.
"Does it matter?" he shrugged.
"I'll wait for you at the entrance. Oh, and just a heads up, there's a lot of press out front, don't make any comments, if someone must speak, I'll do it, got it?" Isabela said as Helena got up and went to be processed.
"Yes, ma'am," the young woman responded somewhat sheepishly. Isabela gathered the police reports and the crime scene photos and headed outside as well. She wasn't at all surprised to see her daughter in the waiting area, impatiently pacing back and forth.
"So, I take it this is the same friend you rushed to save on Christmas."
"What of it?" Hunnigan asked agitatedly.
"Nothing," Isabela shrugged.
Contrary to what she knew her daughter liked to think of her, she wasn't rigid and unimaginative, and she was certainly more perceptive than what Ingrid gave her credit for. She didn't know what had gone so wrong in her relationship with her daughter, why Ingrid's idea of her mother was so different from what she was like, but she'd given up trying to figure it out. She knew she could be blunt and tough, but she'd never said or done anything just for the purpose of hurting Ingrid's feelings or criticizing her for nothing. Regardless of her intentions, however, she knew not to try and discuss Helena with her; Ingrid was already defensive about it, they would just end up arguing.
Isabela couldn't help but smile, though, when she saw the way Ingrid was around the younger woman as she walked through the gates carrying what little of her belongings she was allowed to take back with her in a plastic bag. Ingrid went to her and pulled her into a hug before even taking a moment to greet her, and Helena's arms wrapped around Ingrid's midsection instinctively, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Now, kiss, Isabela encouraged mentally, but they didn't; instead Helena slowly pulled away from the hug and asked why was Ingrid here and how had she managed to bail her out.
"I'll explain later, but for now, let's just get out of here," Ingrid said with a faint smile, her hand still gripping Helena's.
Oh, kitten, you two are so in love with each other it's almost painful to watch this because you're both such oblivious idiots and I know better than to tell you, Isabela mused with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, amazed at how the two had not realized their feelings for each other when she, who hadn't seen them together for more than a few seconds just now, could easily see it.
The moment they stepped outside, they were surrounded by eager reporters clamoring loudly, flashes going off as they tried getting photos, but Ingrid thought fast, Isabela noticed; she shoved her hand deep into the pocket of her long coat and pulled the hem over Helena's head to hide and shield her like she were a wounded bird under her wing.