Chapter Three

There is a popular and intriguing belief that everyone has a twin somewhere out there in the world. Yet, few of us actually are afforded the opportunity of meeting our twin, let alone having that twin defend us on a murder charge.

For a moment, Gary Hobson wondered if he were still asleep and whether the scenario currently playing out before him was a continuation of a dream. Maybe if he concentrated, he could will himself to wake up. Maybe he'd find himself in his own bed in that moment of time just before he hears the sounds of an intrusive alarm clock and the demanding meow of a cat.

The hero took a deep breath then closed his eyes. Time to wake up, Hobson. His inner voice silently chanted. Gary exhaled before opening his eyes once more to the realization that he wasn't dreaming. If Fate did indeed possess a perverse sense of humor, then Gary Hobson was the unlikely beneficiary of that perversion. He was rendered speechless as his eyes locked with the eyes of his mirror image.

Grant was speechless, too. Silence was an uncomfortable oddity for the man with impressive oratory skills often able to seduce a jury in awarding substantial verdicts. Grant hated surprises and discovering that he had to defend a murderer that shared his face was the cruelest of ironies. He was used to exercising control over a situation. He despised manipulation, unless of course, it was he doing the manipulating. But the lawyer couldn't shake the feeling that he was being manipulating by the unknown person footing the bill for this particular defense.

Ariel's eyes darted between the two men, one who she knew intimately, yet at times, felt that she didn't know at all and the other who was a stranger, but who somehow she felt a strange connection.

Perhaps there had been something special captured within her stare for Gary looked at her, his body momentarily relaxed while his eyes silently pleaded for her to help him.

"Sit down, Mr. Hobson," Grant said in an authoritative tone that effectively broke the unpleasant quiet that had permeated the room. Gary took a seat at the opposite end of the table facing the two lawyers.

"I'm Grant Rashton. This is my colleague, Ariel Saxon."

A brief silence.

"So, Mr. Hobson..."

"Gary."

"So, Mr. Hobson, did you kill him?"

"What Mr. Rashton meant was that we need to ask a lot of questions in order to understand what happened so that we can help you." Ariel explained.

Grant shot her a disapproving look. His job was defending a criminal, not to hold the man's hand and sugarcoat matters.

"I didn't kill him." Gary answered.

Grant opened a manila folder. "Well, there's a mountain of evidence that says otherwise. Let's see. There's the manager of the bookstore where Frank Scanlon was autographing his book who says that you were acting agitated and didn't want Scanlon to leave. That you were stalking the man"

"I'm not a stalker. I was just trying to..."

"And we have some witnesses at the Sun-Times who say that Scanlon was researching a column about you, that he thought that you were this psychotic who set up disasters so that you could fly in and save the day." Grant continued.

"That's not true. The last thing I want is to be a hero."

"You were found at the train yard over Scanlon's body. You gave the police some flimsy excuse about 'taking a walk' You took a cab, and just happened to take a walk at night to a secluded train yard where the reporter who just happens to be writing an unflattering column about you winds up dead from a .380 slug to the chest"

Another brief silence.

"Look, I know how it all looks, but I didn't do it. I didn't kill Frank Scanlon."

"You were interrogated by the police without having counsel present. Did the police tell you that you had the right to have a lawyer with you before they could ask you any questions?" Ariel interjected.

Gary hesitated briefly before answering. "I think so."

"You think so? But you're not certain?" Grant asked.

"No." Gary whispered.

"Great. That's just great" Grant remarked, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Okay, we probably won't be able to get the statements that you made during the interrogation suppressed because the police will claim that you were given your Miranda rights. What about the gun?"

"Howzat?"

"The gun. Mr. Hobson."

"It's not my...I don't even own a gun."

"If that's true, that's something. The State's going for murder one. They're going for premeditation. They're going to say that you had the means, motive, and opportunity to kill Scanlon. If the gun wasn't yours, maybe it was Scanlon's. Maybe it was something that he carried with him to protect himself from all those loonies out there. Maybe the two of you got into an argument, he felt threatened, he pulled out the gun, the two of you struggled, and the gun went off."

A brief silence.

"You don't believe me, do you Mr. Rashton?"

"It doesn't matter whether I believe you, Mr. Hobson. What matters is that we convince twelve jurors that you didn't do this. And for that, we have our work cut out for us. The first step is your arraignment where you'll be formally charged. That's in," Grant paused briefly to glance at his watch, "an hour." Grant arose from his seat and knocked on the door for the guard. The guard entered the room, walked over to where Gary was seated, and roughly removed the hero from the chair.

"Until then, you're going to be taken back to your cell. We'll see you in an hour."

With the guard holding his arm, Gary walked towards the door. He gave Ariel one last desperate glance before walking out of the door.

"He's innocent." Ariel insisted.

Grant let out a chuckle. "Just what I expected some card carrying, bleeding heart liberal, Yale graduate to say."

"And you're sure he's guilty?"

"Yes."

"I would have thought that you would have had a little compassion for the man."

"And why is that, Ariel?"

"Because he looks like you. No, wait. Maybe that's why you were so hard on him. Maybe you resent him because of that."

Grant arose from the chair. "We're lawyers, Ariel. We don't get paid for compassion. But maybe that's something that you've forgotten hanging around Jack and that clinic. Someone went through a lot of trouble to bring us here to represent Hobson," Grant paused briefly before continuing, "and for the record, I think that the guy is a nut who belongs in a padded cell not a jail cell. I don't like the idea of a guy who looks like me spending the rest of his life in prison, becoming the 'girlfriend' to some big guy named Bubba."