CHAPTER 19

MORE THAN TWENTY YEARS had passed since Miller County’s courthouse hosted such an event. The last time the center of town bustled with this much media was when civil rights groups led marches after a white man avoided jail time in the rape case of a black teenage cheerleader. Josh Hood wasn’t even alive then, but he’d heard all about it. He couldn’t imagine it being any worse than it was on this drizzling Friday just after eight o’clock in the morning.

Media vans with satellite dishes lined the streets. Outside each van were at least one reporter and cameraman discussing the best angles and positions from which to report. A helicopter circled overhead, beaming shots of the circus to several networks that had chosen to air the event live.

But Josh scrolled through Twitter and saw that #Justice4Emily was trending. If the media wasn’t a lynch mob camped out along the street in front of the Miller County courthouse, there was one with virtual pitchforks and lanterns ready to shred him on social media. He turned his phone off and walked outside.

Resisting the urge to speak when a microphone was in his face proved to be a significant challenge for Josh, no matter how much his lawyer insisted that he must decline to comment. He was so used to accommodating all questions from the media that he considered many of the people he’d met his friends. His uncle told him that they would be the ones who would make him famous if he treated them right. So he did. When it came to answering the media’s questions after basketball games, Josh refused to duck and run if his team lost. His coach taught him that being a leader meant accepting responsibility for failure and deflecting praise in success. Not that he had much practice in the former—or that he was all that good at the latter. Nevertheless, he tried.

But all it took were two questions.

“Why did you kill her, Josh? What did Emily Palmer do to you that deserved death?”

Flashbulbs from photographers exploded in his face. Video cameras came within inches of him. Microphones swirled around him like bees around a hive. His lawyer nudged him forward through the throng.

Am I really supposed to just ignore all this?

Josh stopped, ignored his lawyer’s firm shove in his back, and glared at everyone shouting questions or jamming recording devices near his face.

“I didn’t do this. I’m being set up. Emily was my friend and I’d never want any harm to come to her. This is all just a big misunderstanding,” he said.

Josh’s lawyer stepped forward and shielded his client with his sports jacket, effectively ending all questioning.

Within seconds of Josh’s comments, several reporters spun around to file a report, some even live.

Josh Hood, the privileged basketball star from Millersville, Kentucky, denies murdering National Honor Society member Emily Palmer after she rebuffed his advances at a party several weeks ago.

Josh stared in disbelief.

She rebuffed everyone’s advances. Where do they get this stuff?

“I’m innocent,” he screamed. “This is ridiculous.”

Josh put his head down and mushed forward through the throng of media members trying to capture an image or a quote to please their editors.

“No more questions,” his lawyer added.

It’s not like he can stop me.

Josh stopped again. “Just because I’m good at basketball, everyone wants to tear me down. I just say screw them. I didn’t do this and you’ll all regret the day you reported something negative about me. I didn’t do this.”

His lawyer pushed him forward again, this time with the point of his pen to inflict pain on Josh. It didn’t deter him.

“I didn’t do this,” he shouted.

A few steps from the FBI-issued black Suburban idling near the sidewalk, Josh heard a question that froze him.

“Why did you kill Billy Riggins?”

Josh spun and turned toward the reporter. “Billy Riggins? I barely knew who he was?”

“Then why did they find your DNA in his truck?”

Josh stood still, mouth agape. He turned to his lawyer. “You didn’t tell me I was accused of murdering Billy Riggins. Is this some kind of sick joke? I would never hurt him—or anyone else.”

His lawyer didn’t say a word, content instead to help get his client into the FBI’s custody and speak with him in private, something he’d wished Josh followed through on his agreement to do as well. Instead, Josh had unknowingly generated plenty of clips for the 24-hour news cycle and beyond.

***

TOM CORLISS SLID INTO THE SEAT next to Josh Hood and cut his eyes toward his prisoner. If there was one thing Corliss knew, it was that people who proclaimed their innocence on the courthouse steps were anything but innocent. He was sure Josh Hood was no exception.

“It’s only going to get worse,” Corliss said, gesturing toward the media now snapping pictures just outside the vehicle.

Josh hung his head. “I doubt that.”

“Why? Cause you didn’t do it?” Corliss asked.

Josh didn’t move. “Exactly.”

“We have evidence that suggests otherwise. Your DNA was in Emily Palmer’s car. It was in Billy Riggins’ truck. More importantly, it was also in Emily Palmer. You might be able to fool those folks beyond the confines of this truck, but not me, kid. I know a criminal when I see one.”

“Maybe you need to get your eyes checked.”

Corliss shook his head. “We go much easier on criminals when they’re compliant. I’d advise you to avoid the snarky comments.”

“I’m not a criminal.”

“Oh, that’s right. You’re a superstar athlete, which puts you above the law. You think you can get away with anything. Perhaps you should’ve waited until you made it to the NBA before you raped and killed a girl—and then murdered the coroner who was investigating the murder.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve made a mistake.”

“The DNA doesn’t lie—but people do. That much I’ve learned since joining the bureau. You’re no different.”

Josh huffed and used his jacket to hide his face from the media still snapping pictures of him. “People have judged me my whole life. They made fun of me because I was super skinny and said I had an eating disorder. Now they judge me because I’m a superstar basketball player. They all just want to tear me down.” He took a deep breath. “And you’re no different either.”

Corliss shifted in his seat. “I’m not a judge, kid. I’m a special agent tasked with investigating certain cases. And if there’s one thing you’ll find out about the bureau it’s that we don’t go after someone unless it’s a rock-solid case. Yours is unshakeable.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“I already have. I found motive, means and material. Wish I could help you, but you made your bed a long time ago. Time to lie in it.”

Josh rolled his eyes.

Another agent tapped on the side of the vehicle, signaling for them to drive off.

Corliss looked at Josh. “Say goodbye to your town—and your dreams.”