Fenway’s jaw dropped open. “Me?” she said. “But I couldn’t have shot from the back of the room. I was in the front row, right behind….” Fenway trailed off as Evans Dahl nodded.
“That’s right,” he said. “You were right there. It’s a much easier shot to take from three feet away than from across the room.”
“You would have seen me,” Fenway insisted. “Jennifer, you too. The gun would have been right next to you—you would have known it was coming from the front row.”
“Would we?” Evans Dahl said. “I know I was concentrating on everything Professor Cygnus was saying. I wasn’t paying attention to anything but whether or not I could minimize the professor’s jail time.”
“And I was focused on it too,” ada Kim said. “Sorry, Fenway, I know you’re a law enforcement representative, but Evans is right. You had the clearest, closest shot.”
“You looked at my fingerprints less than a half hour ago, Jennifer! You said there was no match.”
“I’m not great at fingerprint analysis,” Kim said, her face impassive.
“I came in with Xavier and Amanda!” Fenway protested. “How was I supposed to get the gun from its hiding place behind the speaker enclosure? They would have seen me!”
“Maybe you had it all along. Maybe you sweet-talked your way past the officer at the metal detector,” Bryce Heissner said.
“You are the county coroner,” Amanda Kohl said. “I mean, why did you even bring the fingerprint kit in here?”
“Maybe it was to hide the gun,” Heissner said.
“I refilled the fingerprint powder this morning, and I didn’t have time to go back to my desk before the arraignment started.”
“Every excuse you have is just a little too convenient,” Heissner said. “Is it a coincidence that you just happen to have your fingerprint kit on the day there’s a shooting in the courtroom?”
“Look—if I had shot from that close, there would be gunshot residue. And stippling. You can take a look for yourself. There’s no stippling.”
Evans Dahl scoffed. “Might as well tell a toddler to make Hollandaise sauce,” he said. “I wouldn’t know how to look for stippling if you paid me.”
“If I had my gsr pads, you’d see I don’t have gunpowder on my hands, either.”
“Something else that’s a little too convenient—losing the gsr pads when they’re the one thing that could prove your guilt.”
Fenway looked at ada Kim, who shook her head.
The blood pounded in Fenway’s veins, but she pursed her lips and counted slowly in her head, backward from twenty, to stay calm. “I don’t have issue with you taking my fingerprints, Mr. Dahl. Compare my prints to the partial print I found on the gun. You’ll see it’s not mine.”
Evans Dahl was quiet, but Fenway could see the wheels spinning in his head.
“Oh,” she said, as the realization dawned. “Are you thinking that somehow I planted the fingerprint there? That you can’t trust anything I say now that my father is being accused of murder?”
Evans Dahl held up his hands. “I’m not the one who said that.”
“Need I remind you that my father and I barely talked for twenty years? That he hardly knows anything about me?”
“Hey,” Charlotte said. “That’s not fair.”
“Really, Charlotte?” Fenway asked. She rounded on her father. “What part did I play in You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown in fifth grade, Dad?”
Nathaniel Ferris was silent.
“How about formal dances in high school? I went to three homecoming dances, the junior prom, and the senior ball. You remember the name of any one of my dates?”
Ferris scrunched up his face.
“First names are fine, Dad.”
He shook his head.
“One of them was my boyfriend for over a year. Nerdy black kid? On the debate team? No?”
Charlotte started again. “Fenway, your mother was never—”
“Stay out of this, Charlotte,” Fenway snapped. “You remember my high school graduation? I do. It was one of the most important days of my life. Remind me—where did the two of you sit? Oh, right—back here in Estancia, because the two of you were getting married that weekend.”
Charlotte blanched.
Fenway turned back to her father. “I played a sport for all four years in high school, Dad. You remember what that was?”
“Basketball,” Ferris said roughly.
“Aw, that one was too easy. I’m a tall black girl, after all. Of course I played basketball, right?” She nodded up and down, up and down, then narrowed her eyes and stared at her father as she shook her head side-to-side. “Volleyball. I can’t shoot a basket to save my life.”
“Look, Fenway,” Ferris began, “I know I didn’t participate very much when you were growing up, but that doesn’t—”
“While I’m delighted to witness this family meltdown,” said Evans Dahl, “what does this have to do with whether or not Mr. Ferris committed a crime?”
Fenway put her hands on her hips. “I’m trying to show you, Mr. Dahl, that my father and I aren’t that close. That I would never in a million years commit murder for him, because he has no idea who I am.”
Nathaniel Ferris opened his mouth, then closed it, and his lower lip trembled slightly.
A pang of guilt rippled through Fenway’s stomach. “Sorry,” Fenway said. “I guess I should have gotten my point across differently.” She glared at Evans Dahl. Are you happy now?”
“This is supposed to convince me that you didn’t do your father’s bidding?” Evans Dahl asked coldly. “Assumes facts not in evidence. Not that I’m saying you’re lying, but you haven’t shown any proof that your father hasn’t gotten you to kill the professor.”
“You’re a defense attorney, Mr. Dahl,” Fenway replied coldly. “You should know better than to request that I prove a negative.” She walked down the row to where her fingerprint kit was sitting, picked it up, and then brought it to Evans Dahl, setting it down in front of him. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll provide my fingerprints to your satisfaction, and then you can compare them to the print I lifted off the gun. You okay with that?”
Evans hesitated.
“What is it? Are you not confident in your ability to compare fingerprints?”
“Even forensics labs make mistakes,” Dahl said.
“Well, if you won’t, Evans, I will,” ada Kim said, walking up to both of them. “There’s too much at stake. Miss Stevenson needs to include her prints, and I’ll make the comparison. Evans, you can watch me, if you want to, to make sure I’m not lying about anything.” She looked from Evans’s face to Fenway’s. “Is that a deal?”
“Sure,” Fenway said.
“I’ll agree to that,” Evans muttered.
“And then you’ll provide your fingerprints too, Evans?” ada Kim pressed.
“No,” Evans said. “I’m trying to dissuade Miss Stevenson from gathering evidence to catch someone else without including herself in the suspect pool. That doesn’t mean I’m willing to ignore my Fourth Amendment rights.”
“I think that’s hypocritical, Evans,” Kim started. “Listen, if you—”
A wave of exhaustion hit Fenway, and the fight left her. “No.” She put a hand lightly on Jennifer Kim’s shoulder. “It’s fine. Let me do this.”
Jennifer Kim nodded and pulled the ink pad out of the kit, along with eight more fingerprint cards—four for the left hand and four for the right hand. She handed one of each to Fenway.
“I know I can be a klutz, Jennifer, but I think I can do it with just one card.” She pressed her left index finger to the pad and then pressed her finger on the card.
“No, that’s not what I mean,” ada Kim said. “I think we need to redo the prints from your dad and your stepmom.”
Fenway paused with her ring finger on the pad. She looked up at Jennifer and narrowed her eyes. She opened her mouth—but then rotated her shoulders, one at a time, and nodded. “Good. I’m glad you’re providing oversight. It’ll help if this goes to trial.”
Jennifer cocked her head and blinked a couple of times, as if daring Fenway to say something else, but Fenway lowered her head and kept fingerprinting herself.
“Now the right hand,” Evans Dahl said, pointing.
Fenway paused with her right hand above the ink pad. “I’m sorry?”
“I said do your right hand now.”
“What does it look like I’m doing? Am I not going fast enough for you?”
“Hey, watch your mouth, missy.”
Fenway stared into Evans’s eyes, and he leaned forward, his nose inches from hers.
“You have something to say to me?”
Fenway’s mind raced. He was pushing all her buttons, all the vocabulary that was insulting but that didn’t officially cross the line. He was up to something—some sort of weird power trip—but she couldn’t figure out what. She didn’t want to be the one to blink first, but she wanted to get the hell away from him. Breaking her stare with him, she finished inking her fingers and filling out the card.
She took a cloth from her kit and wiped off her fingers, then got up and went through the gate and behind the judge’s bench.
“I can’t get away from these people,” she muttered to Piper.
Piper smirked. “And they can’t get away from you. I’d say it’s a fair fight.” Her eyes focused on the screen and her lips moved. “Fenway?”
“Yeah?”
“Someone’s been messing with these account files.”
“What?”
Piper shook her head. “I have the ones I downloaded last week, and those are fine. But look—someone’s entered new payment information. Not the amounts, but the codenames. In fact, whoever it is replaced ‘l.i.w.’ with another username I haven’t seen before.”
“A new user?”
“Yes. And it’s bigwheel6809.”
“Six-eight, oh-nine?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a clumsy reference to my father. And the date of his wedding to Charlotte. June sixth, two thousand nine.”
“Ferris wheel—yeah, I get it,” Piper said. “It’s like they weren’t even trying to make it subtle.”
“Maybe it was the best they could do on short notice. They didn’t have time to research anything deeper in his past.”
Piper rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. “These entries weren’t here last week—or if they were, they all were attributed to this l.i.w. person. Someone’s gone through a lot of trouble to make it look like your dad was the brains of all of this—the money laundering, the embargoed oil, the hidden supertankers—everything.”
“Can you get the old files over to—I don’t know, the cops? At least to McVie? Maybe the d.a’s office? If it’s esculpatory evidence, don’t they need to see it?”
Piper shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, Fenway, I was telling you all that because you’re the daughter of the accused, not because you’re a law enforcement representative. I’m turning everything I find into Imani Ingram. I’m not paid to send the stuff I find to anyone but her. And your dad, of course.” She looked at Fenway. “Is it going to be a problem for you not sharing this with ada Kim?”
Fenway set her jaw. “Absolutely no problem at all.”
“Okay. I don’t want to put you in a difficult position.’
Of course it’s a difficult position. But I’d go crazy if I didn’t know. “I understand, Piper. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Plus,” Piper said, “I haven’t been able to prove who changed these ledgers. If somebody’s used a remote access tool, they hid their tracks very well.”
“Do you think the prosecution has found these new ledgers? Is that why they’re planning to add so many charges to the indictment?”
Piper rubbed her chin. “I don’t know that I’d trust what Bryce Heissner said about adding those charges.”
“Jennifer Kim didn’t deny it.”
“No, but she didn’t confirm it either,” said Piper. “All the other information I’ve seen is circumstantial—and pretty flimsy.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly that your dad was in a position of power at Ferris Energy when the hidden tankers and embargoed oil were coming through their port. Any halfway decent prosecutor could argue that as ceo, he should be expected to know the details of every single corner of his business.” Piper narrowed her eyes. “But this looks like a real ledger, and it’s certainly believable that it’s your father’s codname.”
“But it’s too obvious, isn’t it?” Fenway asked.
“Yes, but the only argument against it is that someone is trying to frame him.”
“Which they are.”
“That’s true, but it might be too hard to believe. If we didn’t have records of the other ledgers, I don’t know that we could convince a jure that your dad didn’t authorize all of the criminal activity at Ferris Energy.”
Fenway raised her head and looked across the courtroom at Rose Morgan, who was now pacing back and forth behind the last row of chairs. “Rose is a hacker, too,” Fenway mused. “I wonder if she’s got enough knowledge to cover her tracks well enough to fool you.”
“She might,” Piper said. “Or maybe she has the resources. If she’s working for the money laundering operation and they’re footing the bill, they have nearly unlimited resources for the latest obfuscation software.”
“But why haven’t all of the payments been so well hidden?”
“Probably because only people really high up have access to those kinds of resources. The ones who are actually doing the work have to use their own tools. Free vpns or low-level proxy servers, probably.”
“A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”
“There are bean-counters everywhere, Fenway—fortunately for us. Well, not me anymore. Fortunately for you.” Piper lowered her voice. “And I don’t know what you said to your stepmom, but thank you.”
“You’re thanking me? For what?”
“For the hourly rate. I made more over the long weekend than I did in a month at the sheriff’s office.”
“Oh, right. No problem. I thought if she and my father are going to work you to the bone, you should at least get well-compensated for it.” Fenway looked around the courtroom as ada Kim was again taking fingerprints of her father and Charlotte. “Piper—am I being paranoid, or do you think Jennifer Kim is trying undermine me?”
Piper followed Fenway’s gaze and set her mouth in a tight line. “I might not be the best person to ask,” she murmured. “After what happened last week, you know I’m not a fan of Jennifer Kim.” She turned to Fenway. “You’ve been too trusting of her. Just because she’s a prosecutor doesn’t mean she’s trying to get at the truth about Professor Cygnus’s murder or even about the money laundering and the embargoed oil.”
“You think she’s in on it?”
Piper turned back to the screen and began typing. “I’m not sure I’d go that far. I think she’s in it for herself and herself only. Maybe she’s only interested in keeping her conviction rate high so she can get promoted. But whatever it is, stop giving her so much information. I’m going to message McVie about our situation in here. If he knows what’s happening in here, he might open the doors. Then we can deal with this situation with some real resources.”
“Yeah.” Fenway watched as ada Kim took the four completed fingerprint cards back from Nathaniel and Charlotte Ferris.
“Anyone have a tissue?” Charlotte asked, holding her hand up palm out, her fingers covered in black ink.
“I’ve got plenty,” said Leda Nedermeyer, pulling a wad out of her purse.
Charlotte stepped past Nathaniel and walked across the aisle toward Leda.
ada Kim went through the galley gate and set the four fingerprint cards down on the prosecutor’s table. Placing the fingerprint lifted from the gun above the cards, she bent down, placing her hands flat on the table, and studied the prints.
Oh, no. My father’s thumbprint with the tented arch.
Fenway hurried down the side of the judge’s bench. Kim wasn’t trained in fingerprint recognition, and at first glance—
“What the hell is this?” Kim roared, holding up Nathaniel Ferris’s left hand card.
“They don’t match!” Fenway shouted back.
“They certainly do!” Kim yelled. “Evans—someone—get Nathaniel Ferris separated! Now!”
Bryce Heissner sprinted down the center aisle and leapt over the row of chairs around Evans Dahl.
Nathaniel Ferris slowly got to his feet, a confused look on his face.
Heissner ran at full speed at Ferris—then jumped.
Ferris turned to the side at the last second, but Heissner hit him full force, throwing him to the ground and landing on top of him.
“How do you like it now, sir,” Heissner growled. “You’re going away for a long, long time.”
Ferris wheezed and moaned in pain.
“You idiot!” Fenway yelled, snatching the card from ada Kim’s hand.
“I should have you arrested too!” Kim yelled. “Stay away from me!”
“The fingerprint lines above the arch don’t match, Jennifer!”
“The prints do match—you’ve been covering up for him!”
“No, they fucking don’t!” Fenway yelled. “Yes, they both have the same kind of tented arch, but there’s a break above the arch in my father’s print and not in the killer’s print.” She pointed an accusatory finger at ada Kim. “You’re accusing my father on evidence that doesn’t match.”
“It abso—”
“Mr. Dahl!” Fenway barked, grabbing the fingerprint card from the gun and striding toward the defense attorney. “Take a look at these two prints.”
Evans Dahl gingerly lowered his injured leg onto the floor and leaned forward. Fenway tried to stop her hands from shaking.
“May I?” Dahl asked gently. He took the cards from Fenway’s outstretched hands, and studied them for about ten seconds. Then he shook his head. “These prints don’t match, Ms. Kim. As much as I’d like to see Professor Cygnus’s killer identified and held, the fingerprint from the gun doesn’t match Mr. Ferris.”
ada Kim glared at Fenway.
“And I think that means,” Evans said, turning to Heissner, who was still holding Nathaniel Ferris on the floor, “you need to get off Mr. Ferris.”
Heissner turned his body to look at Evans Dahl, then he pushed himself up to a sitting position and turned his head toward Cynthia Schimmelhorn, who nodded.
“You still deserved that, and more,” Heissner jeered, pushing himself to a standing position.
Fenway climbed over the seats and knelt down next to her father, who was still lying on his side. “Are you hurt, Dad?”
He gasped for breath, then coughed. “Uh—knocked the wind out of me.”
“Move slowly. Let me know if anything hurts.”
“I’m sorry, Fenway. I’m sorry for everything. I thought I knew how I could make it up to you, but I guess I don’t.”
“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Fenway said, her gut bubbling. I showed these same prints to Jennifer earlier, and she knows they didn’t match. What the hell is going on? “Let’s make sure nothing’s broken.”
“Right, okay.” He grabbed the seat of the chair next to him and pulled himself into a sitting position, grunting in pain.
“What? What is it?”
“My shoulder. Twisted it or something.”
Fenway reached out and unbuttoned the top button of Ferris’s white dress shirt and loosened his tie. She placed a hand delicately on his shoulder. He winced, but didn’t gasp or pull away.
“Strained muscle,” she said. “I don’t think you have any worse damage than that, but still, you should see a doctor when this is over.”
Charlotte slid into the seat next to Ferris. “Are you hurt, Nate?”
“They’ve got a decent medical staff in prison, right?”
Fenway grinned. “At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
Ferris give her a smile in return, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “But no joke, Fenway, I’m in a bad spot. I can’t believe I let it get this far.”
She took his hand and looked into his eyes. “Listen, Dad, I know we don’t get along, but I believe you. You’re being framed. Framed for all of it.”
“Framed?” whispered Charlotte, her eyes wide.
Shaking his head, Ferris squeezed Fenway’s hand affectionately. “Even so, it’s all happened on my watch. Miss Patten showed me what’s been happening. How did I not know about it? Do you know how hard it is to hide a supertanker?”
“It’s easy if no one’s looking for it.”
Ferris exhaled long and low. “That’s the problem, Fenway. I surrounded myself with yes-men, and I didn’t want to hear about any of the problems we had. I made it easy for them—whoever they are—to buy embargoed oil, to refine it using my equipment, and to sell it to terrorists. It all happened right under my nose, and even though I had no idea it was happening, I’m still the one responsible.”
Fenway nodded. “Okay, Dad, the confessional will be open a little later. Let’s get you back to your seat and maybe we can get out of here before dinner.” She stood, and held a hand out to her father. With one hand on the seat of the chair and Fenway holding his other hand, Ferris pulled himself up.
“You okay?”
“Shoulder still hurts. My ribs too. But I’m fine.”
“Okay, good.” Fenway turned to walk away and Ferris put a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m scared, Fenway. I’m going to lose my company.”
“Good. Then you’ll have more time to spend with your daughter.”
Ferris scoffed. “I’m serious, Fenway.”
“So am I, Dad.”
Charlotte reached over and took Ferris’s hand.
Piper opened the gallery gate.
“You looking for me?” Fenway asked.
Piper nodded.
“Did you find something?”
Piper motioned her head toward the back of the courtroom, and Fenway followed her.
Next to the double doors, Piper turned to face Fenway and took a deep breath. “So,” she said, “this is big.”
“Big?”
“I found the master ledger, Fenway. All the payments—at least all the ones I’ve found in the smaller ledgers so far—are in there. And then some. I’ve connected more codenames to actual people. Did you know the bagel shop on Tenth Street is a cover for the money laundering scheme too?”
“I knew it. No one’s ever in there, and their bagels suck.” Fenway cleared her throat. “So that’s good, right? And what about our friend l.i.w.?”
“Yep. All over the ledgers. It’s noted several places that l.i.w.’s approval is needed for many things. Changing the schedule of the supertanker. Ordering the hit on Dr. Tassajera.”
“What? That’s in there?”
“Not so explicitly—it’s all referenced by the codenames, but yes. I’ve uncovered what I think is an order to Peter Grayheath to purchase plastic explosives, too.”
“That would be the hit on Domingo Velásquez.”
“Right. And not only that, but l.i.w. also transferred fifty thousand dollars to that fake account under your dad’s name. The whole murder case against your dad hinges on that payment to Peter Grayheath from that account. Between the ledger entries and a little ip address sleuthing, I’ve got enough evidence to prove that the money came from l.i.w., not your dad.”
“Won’t the prosecution just say that l.i.w. is my father?”
Piper scrunched up her nose. “Oh. I didn’t think of that. But the prosecution would have to prove that l.i.w. and you dad are the same person, though. I don’t think they can do that.”
“If that faked ledger gets entered into evidence, though—the one where l.i.w. was replaced by—what was it? Bigwheel6809? Won’t that be enough?”
“No, we have the real ledger, the one before the names were changed. That proves the ledger with bigwheel6809 is fake.”
Fenway smirked. “I don’t think you should tell my father about this until you’re sure. He tends to get a little crazy.”
“I’ve already texted Imani Ingram. She’s got other investigators she can use, too.”
Fenway nodded. “I know it sucks that you had to resign from the county, Piper, but I’m really glad you’re on my father’s team. You’ve done more in four days than his team of lawyers could do in a couple of weeks.”
“Don’t thank me until they drop the charges.”
Fenway nodded and glanced over Piper’s shoulder. About twenty feet away, Bryce Heissner was pacing between the rows of chairs, limping slightly. Everyone in the courtroom getting restless. Fenway glanced over to the other side, at her father and Charlotte, then at Judith Cygnus, then at Leda Nedermeyer. “Should we let McVie know that it’s turning into Lord of the Flies in here? He might decide we should be released sooner than later, before my father’s head ends up on a stick.”
“That’s a good idea.” Piper turned and began going up the aisle toward the judge’s bench. Fenway followed. Just as they reached the gallery gate, Piper said in a low voice, “Oh—Fenway—one more thing. You and McVie were right.”
“We were right? About what?”
“I found proof. There is a mole in the sheriff’s department.”