The examiner had something in his hand now. It was in a plastic evidence bag. He dropped it beside Sofia and said, ‘Did you put this knife though your father’s eyes?’
Tears formed and quickly ran down Sofia’s cheeks as she said, in a whisper, ‘No.’
‘Goddamn it,’ I said, ‘That’s low. Stop this test right now.’
Before Dreyer could interject, Sofia said, ‘No, it’s okay. I’m okay. Just keep going.’
I shook my head.
‘This is an ambush, Sofia. The results for this test are skewed. Your reaction to the murder weapon is natural and it’s going to be recorded as a blip in the data by Doctor Dickface here, who will say you lied in that answer,’ I said, gesturing at the examiner.
He turned around and said, ‘Just doing my job.’
‘If your job is to intimidate and frighten my client then you’re doing it just fine. Come on, this is a freak show.’
‘No, it’s okay. I’m telling them the truth,’ said Sofia.
Save for going over there and removing the pads and sensors from her skin, there was not much else I could do. I thought about it for a second. It was the right thing. I looked at the middle of the three screens in front of the examiner. Displayed was a wave of crazy lines and then more rhythmic, smooth curls after the wild scrawls. Those scrawls were the sensors going ape shit from Sofia’s reaction to the murder weapon.
This was not going well.
‘Ask her the last question again,’ I said.
‘Fair enough,’ said the examiner. ‘Did you put that knife in your father’s skull?’
‘No,’ said Sofia.
I looked at the screen. Smooth lines.
The truth.
A bucketful of relief hit me. It was like a warm wave, washing me clean. I had called this one correctly. Sofia was innocent. But the comfort of that knowledge didn’t last. As fast as that feeling had arrived, it quickly dissipated under an anvil of responsibility.
If I failed, this innocent, messed-up young woman would go to jail. And she’d tie a rope blanket around her neck first chance she got.
A murder trial with an innocent client is like saving someone who’s fallen over a cliff edge. You’ve got their hand. You’ve got to hang on. You’ve got to haul them to safety. Their life is in your grasp. Your strength is all that separates them from a chasm.
Just a few more weeks. Then the trial.
While I was sure, Dreyer was the opposite. I’d bet he was expecting to put a little daylight between the defendants with his lie detector test. That had backfired for him. He chewed his nails, ignoring me. Watching the examiner’s screen. He sighed, got up and said, ‘Be ready for trial. I’m pulling no punches, Eddie.’
‘Bring it on,’ I said.
The inspection of the murder scene that night had been pointless. I got nothing other than a better understanding of the layout of the mansion. In the car, on the way back to my office, Harper and Harry confirmed they’d also got very little from the inspection. Nothing the cops overlooked. We’d taken photos, but there didn’t seem to be much point. The DA would use their official photographer with the body in situ to show the jury. Our photos didn’t have any evidential value.
Still, I might go over them again. See if it shook something loose, but I doubted it.
Two hours after I got back to the office, Harper and Harry having already left, I got the email with the DA’s videos of our inspection. I checked Kate’s video, and didn’t seem to think they had had any eureka revelations from their inspection either – or if they did, they’d hidden their reactions well.
I forwarded the videos to Sofia to check over, drained my coffee and hit the sack.
TWENTY-THREE
SHE
The echo of her guttural, animalistic roar dissipated from the walls of her apartment. A large stain on the opposite wall dripped red wine to the floor. Below the stain, the shards of a wine glass that had shattered when she’d thrown it.
She swiped up on her phone screen, displaying the video controls. Selecting rewind, she moved the video back thirty seconds and watched again.
She’d seen both videos. Both defense teams looking around the house and the bedroom most especially. Taking photos. Making notes. She wasn’t looking for anything that could help her defense, like she was supposed to. Instead, she was watching to make sure neither defense team discovered something in that bedroom that could tie her to her father’s murder. Because there was something there. Something that she had overlooked. To the careful observer, the room was stained with all kinds of footprints on the rug and a large orange stain on the bare mattress. Nothing to separate her from her co-accused in the blood patterns. That’s not the game she had been playing.
No, it was only when she’d watched this video that she had seen the single flaw in her plan so far.
It was plain and simple. And it looked like one of the defense teams might have exposed her mistake with a single photograph. The flash of their camera went off right at the very spot. If they didn’t see it right then, which she was pretty sure they had not, they would surely see it when they got those photos printed. From their reactions in the video, it didn’t look like the photographer had realized the significance of that photo. But they would, given time.
There were real risks here. Only one defense team had taken that picture. That picture could not see the light of day. If someone studied it, they would know she was the real killer. They would see. She had to stop it. There could be no one on the face of this earth who could know she killed her father. She simply could not allow it. All that she had worked for would unravel because of one stupid mistake and one lucky shot with a camera.
She needed to act. Tonight. Now.
Get the photos.
Kill the photographer.
PART FOUR
THE DARK RED NIGHT
TWENTY-FOUR
SHE
She carried a new backpack as she made her way along the dark row of houses, avoiding the pockets of bright amber thrown on the sidewalk by the streetlights. The pack held a Maglite, some rope, a leaf-bladed lock knife, a lighter, a small acetylene torch, a Taser and a pair of bolt cutters. This would be a quick kill. No body disposal required. She would make the crime scene look like a robbery gone wrong.
With any luck she wouldn’t have to use the door-breaking kit. If they answered the door with the security chain in place, she would need to use the Taser. Then, when they were down, light the torch and apply it to the chain. Ten seconds on the brass chain and the bolt cutters would go through it like it was spaghetti. She guessed twenty seconds to gain entry if the chain was on. That’s a long time to stand on a victim’s doorstep. No other way around it. To go in from the back would be much riskier. She had never been inside and didn’t know what kind of alarm system might be triggered. Plus, there were security lights at the rear. Probably on a motion sensor.
Entering from the rear of the property was not an option.
She circled the house.
A dog barked. It was inside. Too difficult to tell if it was coming from inside the target’s property or one of the other houses close by. She stood at the rear of the house, in the alley. A light flickered into life on the second floor. A lamp. The light wasn’t harsh enough to be a ceiling light. This was a muted, warm glow.