FRAMED, page 3
“Can you come home early then?” Kate’s voice carried a note of hopeful longing that tugged at Jo’s heart.
“Maybe,” Jo said after a pause. “If I can’t reach her tomorrow.”
After their usual murmured endearments, they hung up.
Jo couldn’t settle. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her hands up and down her pant legs, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn’t right with her friend.
The next morning, Jo called Tori as soon as she’d finished in the bathroom, hoping to catch her at home before work. Still no answer. She had breakfast in the hotel dining room and wondered if she’d need to check out today. Back in her room, she reviewed her interview notes until she was sure Tori would be at her clinic, only to be told Dr. Nelson was not in that day.
Her frustration mounted. Keeping an eye on the clock, she wrote a summary of her trip and, just before checkout time, rang the front desk to request a late departure. Then she tried calling Tori at home one last time before leaving.
Finally, Tori picked up.
“Tori, I’ve been so worried! Where have you been?” Jo said, relief flooding her voice.
“Oh, Jo,” Tori’s voice was breathless. It sounded as though she’d been crying. “I’m so glad you’re here. You won’t believe what’s happened.”
Jo’s shoulders instantly tensed in response to the distress in her friend’s voice. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“I’ve spent the last thirty-six hours in jail,” Tori said. “The FBI arrested me for bank robbery.”
Jo’s world tilted on its axis.
Chapter 5
Jo sat paralyzed, trying to understand what she had just heard. That the FBI suspected a physician with a thriving career, married to an entrepreneur, had robbed a bank boggled her mind.
There is no way the Tori I know would ever risk all she’s worked for to rob a bank—absolutely no way.
She paced her hotel room as far as the phone line reached.
“Tori, this must be an egregious error.”
“That’s what I kept telling the agents as they hauled me off to jail in handcuffs.” Tori’s voice was weary.
“What led them to arrest you?” She ran her hand through her hair and flopped onto the bed. Someone started vacuuming in the hotel hallway, and she strained to hear Tori. She picked up the phone and sat on the uncomfortable chair by the tiny hotel desk, further from the door.
“At the initial hearing with the magistrate, I learned they had a surveillance video and two still photographs. They likely got my photo from my driver’s license. Eyewitnesses apparently identified me from a photo lineup.” There was a sob in Tori’s voice as she choked out, “I’m so scared, Jo.”
“Of course you are! Still, I can’t believe you are even a suspect. You have no criminal record and probably not even a parking ticket. You have no motive. It makes no sense.” She rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand and took a deep breath. She needed to think like an attorney. She was an attorney, dammit. “Did the FBI claim to have found any physical evidence to link you to the robbery?”
“I’m sure they searched my house. But they wouldn’t have found anything.”
There was a knock at the door and a call of “Housekeeping.” Before Jo could answer, a woman unlocked the door, but she withdrew when Jo waved her away.
“Did your husband get you a lawyer?” Jo asked. She recalled Rick’s chiseled jawline and fraternity swagger—the cocky charm that had swept Tori off her feet and down the aisle.
“No,” Tori sighed. “I asked him to, but Mr. Big-Shot-MBA couldn’t navigate his way out of a paper bag in a crisis.”
Jo rolled her eyes. Typical Rick. All flash and no substance when it mattered.
“So what sprung you out of jail?”
“The judge allowed sureties for bail—$100,000 worth. But I’m in real trouble here, Jo. I need a good criminal attorney. It’s not like I have any contacts in criminal law. Can you help me?”
Jo scratched her head. Environmental law was her battlefield—wetland preservation and corporate pollution, not criminal defense. “Jesus, Tori, I’m still reeling from shock, but I want to help. Let me reach out to my professional network to find you a skilled criminal defense attorney.”
A weighted pause hung between them before Tori whispered, “You don’t think I did it, do you?”
“Of course not,” Jo answered without hesitation. “It must be a case of mistaken identity.” She gnawed at her bottom lip as she thought. “Let me find you a shark of a defense lawyer. I’ll make some calls right now before I come over.”
Tori’s relief came through the line in a breathy exhale. “Thank you.”
Jo sat frozen, the receiver still warm in her hand. It took several minutes and a few deep breaths before she could regain her composure. She picked up a pen and rolled it absently between her thumb and forefinger, her mind racing to process what she’d just heard. This wasn’t just shocking news: it was incomprehensible. What had happened for the FBI to arrest Tori, of all people—her brilliant, blameless, idealistic friend?
Jo’s thoughts spiraled back to the Tori she knew: the woman who had bulldozed her way through Harvard Medical School when few women dared, who had conquered an internal medicine residency at Massachusetts General, and who had earned a master’s in epidemiology from the Harvard School of Public Health while exploring the mysteries of environmental toxicology. Tori had built a career that most women could only dream of, shattering glass ceilings with every step. And now? Now she was accused of robbing a bank. It was absurd. Unthinkable.
Over the years, their friendship had thinned to sporadic phone calls each year, but Jo had never doubted Tori’s brilliance—or her integrity. Recently, they’d reconnected through work when Jo contacted her to serve as an expert witness for her law firm. Jo had been thrilled to collaborate with her again, especially with Tori on the cusp of publishing groundbreaking cancer research that would bolster their case. But this? This would seriously affect Tori’s credibility as an expert witness.
There wasn’t time to wallow in disbelief. Jo snapped into action. She dialed her office in DC, instructing her paralegal to dig through her Rolodex for contacts—former colleagues, law school professors, anyone who might help make sense of this mess. She began making calls. One name surfaced repeatedly. Brian Kirkland. Jo dragged the weighty Houston phone book from her bedside table, flipped through its pages until she found his office, and scheduled an appointment for herself and Tori to meet him the following morning.
Whatever was happening, she wasn’t about to let Tori face it alone.
*
Jo’s blouse stuck to her with sweat before she cranked the air conditioner to full blast in the sweltering Ford Escort rental and sped toward Tori’s house. Before she’d checked out of the hotel, she had rung her old criminal law professor. His words echoed in her mind, sharp and impossible to ignore. “It’s rare for a woman to rob a bank, but when she does, it’s usually for practical reasons—paying bills, for instance.” He’d paused. “Maybe Dr. Nelson has some secret, like an expensive drug habit?”
Jo had scoffed at the idea. Tori? A drug abuser? It was absurd. But then his maddeningly detached tone continued, “Sometimes women resort to bank robbery during periods of personal turmoil. They’re motivated by control, reclaiming power when life feels out of their hands.”
The thought gnawed at her as she gripped the steering wheel. She’d lived with Tori for two years in college and had rarely seen her unravel under stress. But people change. Life changes them.
Still, none of this made sense. How had Tori—a successful physician with no criminal record—ended up in a photo lineup shown to eyewitnesses at the bank? This had to be some colossal mistake. But if it wasn’t, what on earth could have driven Tori to such a desperate act?
Chapter 6
Tori hung up from her phone call with Jo and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes to stem the tide of emotions threatening to overflow. The bank robbery arrest had catapulted her life into chaos, a tornado that had uprooted everything familiar and secure. Even her home had been violated. The FBI had searched it, leaving drawers open and items haphazardly strewn around. Jo remained her lone anchor in this storm.
She drifted into the kitchen, the hardwood cool beneath her bare feet as she mechanically prepared coffee and sat at the kitchen counter, staring out the window at nothing. Her stomach protested its emptiness, but food held no appeal. Instead, her mind replayed the nightmare of the last day or so, starting with the FBI dragging her away in handcuffs as the clinic receptionist stared in stunned disbelief.
At the Harris County Jail, a stone-faced female officer with dead eyes had conducted the strip search with clinical detachment as if Tori were merely an object to be processed. “Take the tampon out,” the guard had commanded, her voice flat.
“It’s just a tampon,” Tori had protested, her cheeks burning.
“How do I know that? Take it out,” came the emotionless reply, the guard’s stare unwavering.
Under that unflinching gaze, Tori complied as her dignity crumbled. The guard’s only response was to thrust a wad of rough paper towels at her—no replacement, no compassion. Her medical credentials, years of education, and spotless record meant nothing. She was just another number in the system now.
The holding cell in Harris County Jail was a tableau of misery. One woman hunched over the exposed toilet, her face buried in her hands. Another lay corpse-like on a cot, eyes fixed on the ceiling, staring blankly as if willing herself to disappear. Tori claimed a bench, its surface cold and unyielding. The pale woman on the toilet moaned intermittently, her body wracked with what Tori diagnosed as withdrawal symptoms. That night, Tori summoned the same grit that had carried her through sleepless hospital rotations as she tossed and turned on the lumpy jail mattress.
Morning brought no relief. When Tori tried to flag down guards to get medical attention for the suffering woman (and necessities for herself), they swept past without acknowledgment.
“They won’t come. Don’t bother,” murmured a cellmate, resignation heavy in her voice.
As she sipped her coffee at the kitchen counter, another memory intruded. Rick’s voice was sharp and accusatory. “What the fuck have you gotten yourself into, Tori? It’s outrageous.”
“Do you really think I would rob a bank?” she had asked him, hoping to penetrate his callousness.
“I don’t know what you’d do anymore,” Rick had shot back. “You’ve been so weird lately.”
She had hoped he’d fight for her, to move heaven and earth to raise bail and get her an attorney. But when she stood before the magistrate that morning, she had no attorney. Rick had done just enough to arrange a surety for bail from their joint account, as if it were an unpleasant chore.
His indifference had stung. How had it come to this between them?
Even more importantly, what would happen to her now?
Persistent stomach growls reminded her again how long it’d been since she’d had a proper meal—two days, perhaps more. She put her empty coffee cup in the sink, opened the fridge, and pulled out a frozen dinner. After microwaving the meal, she sat at the counter with a glass of milk, staring at the steaming plate. Her fork hovered over the turkey as her mind wandered to the week ahead. Patients. Appointments. Her cancer study. And then, the image of the FBI hauling her away in handcuffs flashed in her mind like a cruel joke. Everyone must know by now. She dreaded the stares, the whispers, the questions. That is, if she dared to show up at work.
Her stomach tightened at the prospect. “I can’t deal with it,” she muttered. She dropped her fork and rose to grab the wall phone, dialing her medical assistant.
“Dr. Nelson! Geez, we heard the news! Are you okay?” The voice on the other end was breathless, concerned.
“Yes, I’m out of jail,” Tori said. The words sounded peculiar as they came out of her mouth. “It’s a case of mistaken identity, but I need to resolve this mix-up before returning to work. Please cancel all my patients’ appointments for the next two weeks.”
A pause crackled through the line before her assistant replied hesitantly, “Of course. We’ve already canceled this week’s appointments, but—”
Click. Click.
Tori stiffened, alert. Is someone tapping my phone? She couldn’t handle another problem right now.
“Thank you,” she cut in abruptly and hung up.
Her hands trembled as she rummaged through her handbag for her pillbox. She shook a small orange pill into her palm and stared at it, hesitating. This was the last one. With a sigh, she swallowed it and forced herself to take a few more bites of food. But eating the rest was impossible while her thoughts so loudly competed for her attention.
Thank God for Jo, her rock. Jo stood by her side even after admitting to Tori her unrequited college crush, proving their friendship was stronger than awkward confessions and disappointment. But Tori hadn’t told Jo all her secrets—hadn’t told her about Jude, the woman who had so rocked her world over the past several months. Their complicated situation must stay private—at least for now.
Thinking of Jude, she hadn’t shown up for their lunch date on Friday, the same day as the robbery, and hadn’t answered any of her calls since then. Tori had chalked it up to one of Jude’s work emergencies; her job often kept her out of reach for days.
But now? A growing suspicion that Jude had learned of her arrest and was keeping her distance began to form. She worried away at the thought until she could no longer sit still. Leaving most of her food untouched, Tori threw on clothes and headed out to find a payphone. Just in case those clicks on her home phone meant what she thought.
Jude picked up after four rings.
“Jude, I’m so glad you picked up.” Tori began urgently.
“Hi, Tori. I’m so sorry I missed our lunch date on Friday.” Her voice sounded genuinely apologetic. “There was an emergency at work. I’ve been putting in sixteen-hour days and barely slept for two nights. I knocked off early today to get some sleep.”
Tori exhaled, her tension easing. “God, I’m so sorry. Did I wake you? Was anyone hurt?”
“No,” Jude replied. “But you know how it is when things break down.”
Usually, Tori asked for details, but not today.
“Jude,” she began, gripping the receiver tightly, “I need to tell you something that might upset you.”
“What is it? What happened?” Concern sharpened Jude’s voice.
She hasn’t heard.
Tori took a deep breath. “The FBI arrested me Monday night. For robbing a bank.”
Jude gasped so loudly it hurt Tori’s ear. She flinched.
“Oh, my God!” said Jude. “Why? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m home now,” Tori said, tears threatening to spill over as she spoke. “Out on bail. But jail was hell.” She felt ready for another bout of crying and fought to control it. “A friend’s helping me find a criminal defense attorney.”
“This is insane,” Jude said, panic creeping into her voice. “Why would they arrest you? Is someone trying to frame you? Does this have anything to do with us? With what we’re doing?”
“I don’t know,” Tori admitted grimly. “But listen—don’t call me at home anymore. I’ve heard clicks on my line. Someone is monitoring my calls.”
“This is so outrageous!” Jude was silent for a moment. “When can I see you?”
“Not for a while,” Tori said, reluctantly. “We need to lie low until I figure out what to do.”
A weighty silence lay between them before Jude whispered, “Be careful.”
“I will,” Tori promised. “You be careful too.”
Chapter 7
As Jo approached Tori’s house in Houston Heights late Wednesday afternoon, she drove through dappled shadows cast by the mature trees lining both sides of the street. She parked on a gravel strip to the side of a two-story Victorian, painted a vibrant blue with cream trim, and entered a well-manicured lawn. She admired the baskets of flowering plants that hung on the front porch and wondered how Tori and Rick had time to maintain all this beauty.
The wooden floorboards of the expansive wrap-around porch creaked as she approached the door, and Tori opened it before Jo knocked. Jo was dazzled by her smile that revealed perfect teeth and enchanting dimples, but when it faded, worry lines creased her brow. Tori’s face looked drawn and her eyes, a deep sapphire blue, had lost their familiar sparkle. She pulled Tori in for a tight hug.
“Hello, my friend.” When Jo stepped back, she noticed Tori’s eyes glistened as she wiped away a tear.
“I’m so relieved you’re here.”
Jo hugged her again. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll sort this out.”
She followed Tori into the spacious, light-filled interior of the home, where she found a pleasing mix of antique and modern furniture. It didn’t appear to be the home of a couple struggling financially. Thinking of couples, where is Rick? Shouldn’t he be around when Tori had only just returned from her ordeal?
Tori led Jo into a guest room with a ceiling fan, cool blue drapes and bed covers, a comfy chair by the window, and even a telephone by the bedside. She thinks of everything.
After Jo set her bags down, they returned to the living room, where she and Tori settled on the overstuffed couch. They munched on pretzels and sipped from chilled glasses of sweet tea, the soft whir of the ceiling fan providing a gentle backdrop.
“We have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine with Brian Kirkland, a criminal defense attorney.”
Relief flooded Tori’s face. “Thank you, Jo. I knew I could count on you. Is he good?”
“I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard nothing but good things about him from my colleagues. Hopefully, he’ll have more information about what led to your arrest.”
“Where is he based?”
“Downtown Houston. I could drive you?”
“No. Let’s go in the Volvo. It’s probably got better air conditioning than your rental.”
