Deep Six

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUEI once spent the night with six prostitutes.

It’s not what you’re thinking. In fact, I’m probably not who you’re thinking, either. I’m Stephanie Ann McRae, better known to most people as Sam, the nickname I created from my initials. In addition to being a woman, I’m a lawyer in my late 30s and single, but not inclined to use the services of the world’s oldest profession.

The prostitutes and I spent our night in mutual discomfort in a holding cell in Landover, Maryland. It was my first and, hopefully, my last time in jail.

If I learned one thing from the experience, it’s that I wouldn’t last a minute in prison. I also learned that I can’t pee when other people are watching.

Once I was in lockup, I spent a good deal of time pacing along the bars. Then I tried leaning against them. Then I noticed the bars had created deep grooves in my arms, so I switched to a wall that might have been beige somewhere under the grime and obscene graffiti. How did the graffiti get there? Smuggled crayons? I mulled over this oddity for a few minutes and then went back to pacing. I avoided eye contact with my fellow inmates, having no desire to strike up a conversation. I think the feeling was mutual.

*****

After a few hours, I tried to get whatever sleep I could while crouching down on the cold concrete floor, knees up, keeping a shirtsleeve between my face and the filthy wall. I managed to get into a semi-doze state but kept getting snapped out of it by one of the prostitutes who had a cough of tubercular vigor and a retching drug addict who’d joined the party late but had gotten a head start on celebrating.

Walt finally managed to spring me around 4:30 a.m. Even Walt Shapiro, one of the county’s finest criminal defense attorneys, had his work cut out for him that night.

You see, several hours before, I’d shot someone.