Chapter Eighteen
Her cellmate’s name was Freda, she snored, and she had done nothing to be thrown into jail. She was just a witness in an investigation that had been going on for over a year. She had no money, no papers. She was an immigrant, and, the DA had argued, as a material witness in a major murder case, she was a flight risk with no ties to the community. The judge had apparently agreed and had signed the order to incarcerate. Freda had no money for a lawyer, so she was stuck with a public defender, and now, one hundred and sixty-four days later, she was still a guest of the Malheur County Jail.
Maybe Billy Jo should talk to Chase. Or maybe she should mind her own business.
She was in the community room after breakfast when one of the guards came in. “Billy Jo Thornton, your law
