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Dan checked his watch. Judge Smulders would be disappointed. Jury deliberation was continuing long past dinnertime.
“What’s taking so long?” Dan asked, pacing in the hallway outside the courtroom.
“It’s only been three hours. That’s nothing,” Maria assured him. “The jurors will feel like they have to talk about it a little bit just to show they took their job seriously. Especially after that closing you gave them.”
“True. And not remotely reassuring.”
“Once they’ve reviewed the evidence, they’ve got to vote. Most will want to speak, just to show that they’ve been paying attention. Someone will make fun of Quint. Someone will claim they always thought there was something dubious about the fingerprint evidence. Someone—”
“Yes, I get the idea. But it doesn’t help.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did everything you could. Especially under the circumstances.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“I think you do.” She walked close, then pressed a hand against his cheek. “Your father would be very proud of you.”
Ossie appeared in the doorway. “The bailiff just brought me a note. He says the jury is returning.”
“With a question?”
He shook his head. “With a verdict.”
* * *
“Not guilty on all counts!”
Ossie swept Maria into the air. “Yes!”
Dan heard a cheer rise up from the gallery. Probably mostly Jimmy, but it sounded like everyone present, even though he knew that couldn’t be true. He had a strong hunch, for instance, that the Coleman family was not celebrating. Dolly was already on her feet, looking disgusted, helping Zachary into his wheelchair.
Ossie pressed his hands against the table, breathing heavily. “I was so worried. I know you put on a good case, but—”
He nodded. “But it’s not the same as hearing ‘not guilty’ from the jurors’ lips.”
Judge Smulders pounded his gavel, possibly for the first time in his life, calling for order. He thanked and discharged the jury, then added, “The defendant is free to go.”
Dan patted Ossie on the back. “Congratulations. Justice prevails.”
“Only because of you. You and your team.”
“You should thank the jurors, if you get a chance. They showed a lot of courage and followed their consciences, not the party line.”
“I will. Speaking of the party line—” He pointed.
Kilpatrick stood behind him, hand outstretched. “Congratulations, counsel. You put another murderer back on the street.”
He gave the man a questioning look. “You’re not still pretending you think Ossie committed this murder, are you? This prosecution was bogus from the start. Ossie was framed. Admit it.”
“I’m not even admitting your client is Ossie.”
“Aw, don’t be a sore loser. He’s completely innocent.”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right. If he kills again—it’s on your conscience.”
What a buzzkill. “I’m confident that won’t happen. And please take a message to your boss. Tell Belasco I know what he did—and I’m coming for him.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Nope. A guarantee. By the way—is this really the first trial you’ve ever lost?”
Kilpatrick sighed heavily. “It is. And once this hits social media...”
“You’ll have to reduce your astronomical fee?”
“Among other things.” Kilpatrick smiled. “Still better than taking orders from some anonymous puppet master whose motives are completely unknown, moving his little lawyers around like pawns on a chessboard.”
“I’d rather be directed by a grandmaster whose endgame—” He stopped short.
His eyes darted back and forth. Something was teasing him, something he knew was missing but couldn’t nail down. Something that had been darting back and forth on the rim of his subconscious but never quite announcing itself...
Architect. Astronaut. Med school.
No, that wasn’t it exactly. But something...
Small scar. Syringe. Civil suit.
Something, some idea, some observation, was waving its arms, trying to get his attention. But he just couldn’t zero in...
Pole dance. Cold case. Two tours. I take what I’m owed...
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Kilpatrick tilted his head. “You okay, Pike?”
“I’m fine...I think...”
“Because you look like you’re having a brain seizure.”
“Something has seized my brain all right. Something that should have seized it a long time ago. Good luck with your life, Kilpatrick. Hope I never see you again.”
He whirled back to his table. “Maria, can you take care of Ossie? Collect his belongings and get him out of the jailhouse?”
“Well, sure, but—”
“I don’t think he should go back to the foster home, at least not right away. Put him up at our office. Buy him whatever he needs.”
“What are you going to be doing?”
He grabbed his backpack and raced toward the door. “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”
“But—”
“Because if I’m not mistaken, the murderer is about to strike again.”