Chapter 11
Bridget Westfall looked critically at the large “L1” sign in the lobby of the Office of Public Prosecutions, hoping that it would lead her to yet another, more detailed directory. She could hear the escalators humming ominously nearby...somewhere. Sure, she could just take the stairs in front of her, go a floor up (assuming that’s where it went), maybe find a guard to help her – but shouldn’t there be some sort of information desk in the lobby of a governmental building? Maybe she’d passed it without realizing it while wandering around the building’s maze-like halls.
Lawyers never seemed to make anything easy, Bridget mused. She sighed, deciding to try another corridor. At least she was early.
“Gidget!” Bridget didn’t even get within two meters of the “L1” sign when Franky spotted her, though sporting a rather confused smile. “What brings you here?”
“I should ask you the same,” Bridget smiled back. “Didn’t think they called you in on Thursdays. I would’ve hitched a ride with you earlier.” I wonder if Franky knows where the senior solicitors’ offices are. She at least knows her way around here better than me.
“They don’t,” Franky confirmed with a nod. “But I’ve been helping Er...the prosecution with a case. I don’t have class until tonight, and they asked if I could be here for a bit.” It wasn’t a lie, completely. Erica and Theresa had discovered some new information regarding a suspect involved with the accident and arson involving a witness that was supposed to appear at Ferguson’s first trial.
He was apparently a Wentworth employee. A new CO and thus a name that Erica definitely didn’t recognize. Of course her first thought was to ask if her “expert counsel” (or any of the contacts known by said “expert counsel”) knew anything. Franky didn’t hesitate to head to the OPP that morning, though she did neglect to mention over the phone that the CO, Jake Stewart, was after her time. Erica didn’t need to know that. The prosecution easily could have researched him without her anyway. It was a good excuse as any to see Erica after their last encounter.
Bridget wondered if they were both now involved in the Ferguson trial, but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to ask. Rules of confidentiality, Franky as an intern, it all seemed like it could be complicated.
“I was just about to head out. Do you want to grab lunch?” Franky asked. Her brow furrowed, still unsure why Bridget was at the OPP. She was becoming very conscious about separating her home and work life.
I can’t actually--” Bridget began to say, when she heard another voice from above her and Franky.
“You two do know each other – excellent! Franky hadn’t mentioned,” Erica Davidson cheered, as she descended the staircase, having seen the pair. She appeared next to Franky, reaching her hand out to Bridget with a demure smile. “You must be Dr. Westfall. I’m Erica Davidson.” She recognized her image from preliminary web-searches.
“Erica…?” Franky paled. How was this happening?
Bridget tried not to look overly critical of the senior solicitor as she smiled and returned the handshake. Erica Davidson obviously had no clue of what she had just put herself in the middle of. “Is Franky working with your office?”
Erica smiled, tentatively placing her hand on the small of Franky’s back. “She’s been completing some of her hours with me in regards to the Ferguson trial. She’s been more than helpful.”
Franky looked comically nervous, Bridget was glaring at Franky, and Erica remained oblivious. She was excited to have both a staff member and former inmate on the same page regarding Joan Ferguson. It would make the prosecution’s case so much easier.
“That’s good to know,” Bridget said curtly, though her eyes were fixated on Franky. They were going to have to talk later about lies of omission. “I hope she’s been behaving herself.”
Erica immediately removed her hand from Franky, as if not sure how it had found its way there. “Usually.” She laughed self-consciously.
She wasn’t the only one relieved that her phone began to ring. “No I didn’t forget, Mark. I’ll be right over.” Erica looked over to Bridget, “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect you to be this early. I have to run an errand. If you take these stairs, take the elevator to the 7th floor. My office is down on the left corner. I should be back in 20 minutes.” She turned to Franky, “Franky can buy you a coffee while you wait, fill you in on what’s been going on.” She smiled again, blissfully unaware of the double meaning her words carried.
“I hope she will,” Bridget said. Her eyes didn’t follow Erica as she rushed out of the lobby, back on her phone.
Franky had almost hoped she could have edged out behind Erica. She needed to take an exit and collect her thoughts.
“Cuppa?” It wasn’t a question. “You have time.” Bridget eyed Franky carefully.
She swallowed, suddenly not feeling as nervous. There was nothing to worry about, right? Erica clearly had no idea that Bridget Westfall was anything more than Franky’s former therapist. Bridget, on the other hand, had some suspicions of her own.
“If not now, then later Franky.” Bridget sighed. Her psychologist hat was on. “I worry about you. Why didn’t you mention that you’d been working with Erica? Are you alright with seeing her?” She’d seen Franky’s file, the letters, heard Channing’s lectures on “professionalism”. Not that she was really in a position to cast the first stone regarding that one, the voice in back of her mind reminded.
While she was worried about Franky’s well being, she was also worried about anything else that may be happening between the senior solicitor and her clearly favorite intern.
“It’s nothing. She’s mostly my boss. I don’t see her that much.” Franky insisted. She lead Bridget to a tiny café station located within the OPP’s lobby.
“Mostly.” Bridget repeated with a smirk. “What’s the other part?”
Franky frowned. “Even if there was another part, which there isn’t, maybe not a conversation we should have here, yeah?” There was a hint of irritation coming from her voice.
Bridget conceded with a sigh. She wanted to trust Franky around Erica, she really did. But she also knew their history, and knew Franky. She didn’t miss Erica’s reaction, when she had asked whether or not Franky was behaving.
Bridget allowed that, even if Franky said “it was nothing”, “something” was certainly brewing for Erica Davidson.
- - -
“Let me give you a ride back,” Erica said. She stood up and reached her arm out to Franky. “You didn’t drive in today, right?”
Franky looked up, still forlorn over the information she had just given Erica. How on Earth was she still standing in front of her? Holding out her hand, no less. Even Bridget had to walk away, though briefly, when she first found out about Meg Jackson.
She allowed Erica to pull her up from her position at the foot of the car. Their eyes met, and Erica released her hand.
“I don’t understand,” said Franky. She looked out the window, watching early-drunk pedestrians tottle through a crosswalk.
“What?” Erica asked, watching Franky from the corner of her eye.
“I’ve done a lot of horrible things. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for doing what I just told you,” she paused. “But you’re still here. Like you don’t care that I...” It was still so hard to say: took a life. Needlessly.
Erica shifted her car into gear, giving her a moment to consider her words. “I do care.” Her eyes were back on the road in front of her. “What good would it do for me to walk away from you knowing that?”
No response, so she continued. “I believe you when you said it was an accident. If there’s anything I do know about you, it’s that you have always been honest with me.”
“What if I’m not? I could hurt you, too.”
“You could,” Erica let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. Violence wouldn’t be what hurt her. “But I’ve hurt you. Maybe then we’d be even.”
Franky looked over to Erica curiously, but the senior solicitor’s eyes remained squarely focused on the road.
“Franky, I’ve both prosecuted and defended violent crimes. You and I both know who is and isn’t cold-blooded. You aren’t one of them. Things happen. It’s life, unfortunately.”
Franky was surprised at Erica’s pragmatism. They continued in silence until she felt the car stop. She looked out the window to see Bridget’s home, lights already out. It was the first address that had popped into her head when Erica had asked where to drop her off.
“Try not to think so hard,” Erica said as much to herself, as to Franky.
“You’re one to talk--” she started, but Erica had cut her off with a hesitant, but slow and gentle kiss.
It was over almost as suddenly as it began. Erica unlocked the door. “Call me if anything comes up.” Her voice tried to sound businesslike, but was cracking.
Franky stepped out of car, grabbing her bag, still trying to process what just happened. Before she could, Erica had driven away, looking completely shocked from her own actions .
- - -
“ Thank you for being patient,” Erica said, unlocking the door to her office, leading in Dr. Bridget Westfall. “My...fiancé,” she forced the word out. “And I have been trying to make more of an effort to see each other, at least briefly, during the day.”
Mark had, surprisingly, been home the Friday evening Erica had decided to “try not to think so hard”. That had turned into a conversation about trying to match schedules. Erica had agreed before she even realized what Mark had suggested, still in something of a daze.
“It’s fine.” Bridget nodded, settling into a chair. “It gave me a chance to catch up with Franky, too.” She eyed the interior of Erica’s office. There were no pictures or anything to suggest she was interested in anything but law and, maybe, tending to an orchid.
“Great,” Erica said with a smile. “It’d be great to have a meeting with both of you to compare notes.”
I suppose there is nothing to worry about between them. But she felt like she had to ask anyway. “You knew Franky from Wentworth too.” She treaded carefully, trying to phrase it as a question.
Erica’s brow furrowed. Bridget, she inferred, had been Franky’s therapist. She wasn’t sure how much, in turn, Dr. Westfall already knew about her solely from Franky’s file and admissions. She realized that she didn’t like that. “I did. She was a great student. It’s nice to see her again.” She said politely, shutting down the conversation.
Bridget had to acquiesce. She had come here to deliver and discuss psychiatric reports of Joan Ferguson. That was admittedly, more important, than trying to discover any potential indiscretions.
Franky, meanwhile, took her daily run as far as she could from the Office of Public Prosecutions. She would be staying at her own flat tonight, she decided.