BODY OF EVIDENCE

A RAIN CITY LEGAL THRILLER

STEPHEN PENNER

Published by Inkubator Books

www.inkubatorbooks.com

Copyright © 2025 by Stephen Penner

Stephen Penner has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-83756-557-3

ISBN (Paperback): 978-1-83756-558-0

ISBN (Hardback): 978-1-83756-559-7

BODY OF EVIDENCE is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

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1

Attorney J. Daniel Raine nodded to the jurors and clasped his hands in front of his chest. It was a gesture of sincerity. Sincerity, every trial attorney knew, was the key to success. If you could fake that, you had it made.

“A reasonable doubt can arise from the evidence,” he reminded them of the judge’s instruction at the beginning of the trial. “Or, ” he raised a cautionary finger into the air, “from the lack of evidence.”

Raine turned and looked back at his client. His earnest-looking, very-probably-guilty client. He cleaned up pretty well. Raine wanted the jury to look at the young man also. Hopefully they would see the earnest part, and not the probably-guilty part.

“They say,” Raine continued, turning back to the jury, “that jazz isn’t about the notes you play; it’s about the notes you don’t play. It’s like that in this case, too. It’s not what the prosecution proved; it’s what they didn’t prove. Did they prove my client drove his friend to the bank? Yes. Did they prove he waited in the car while his friend went inside? Also yes. Did his friend rob the bank with a threatening note and a very realistic-looking BB gun? Yes, again.

“But did Joshua know his friend was going to rob that bank? Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it? That’s the entire case. If he knew, he’s an accomplice and he’s guilty of armed robbery just like his friend. But if he didn’t know, then he’s just as much a victim as that poor teller, tricked into helping a person he thought was a friend commit a crime and leaving him holding the bag. That’s the note the prosecutor didn’t play. That’s the element they didn’t prove. That’s reasonable doubt. That’s not guilty.”

It was a good argument. It glossed over some of the more damning evidence the prosecution introduced, and ignored the fact that Joshua didn’t take the stand to proclaim his innocence. But a criminal defendant had a right to remain silent after all, and the prosecution bore the burden not just to prove every element of the crime charged, but to do so beyond a reasonable doubt.

“Thank you for your attention, ladies and gentlemen,” Raine concluded his closing argument. “My client and I will now await your verdict. We trust it will be the correct one. We trust it will be not guilty.”

It never hurt to say ‘not guilty’ one more time before sitting down. Always good if those are the last words the jurors hear before they begin deliberations.

Raine nodded to the jurors and walked back to his seat at the defense table. He sat down next to his client and looked up at the judge. He didn’t say anything to his client because he knew better than to huddle anxiously while the jury was watching him. His client didn’t know better.

“Damn,” the young man whispered. “That was good. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was innocent.”

“Shh,” Raine hissed sharply, but quietly, while he kept his eyes trained on the judge. Raine was finished but the judge had a bit more talking to do before the jury began its deliberations. In trial work, there was always a bit more talking to do.

“…apply the facts to the law and in this way decide the case,” the judge was saying, his elderly voice scratchy from decades of delivering the same speech to hundreds of juries. “You must deliberate honestly and openly with your fellow jurors, with an earnest desire to return a proper verdict. When all of you have agreed upon your verdict, you shall notify the bailiff who will bring you back to court to declare your verdict.”

With that, the jurors were discharged to the jury room, and the parties were discharged from the courtroom to await the verdict.

Raine and his client lingered in the corridor outside the courtroom for Raine to explain the process of waiting on the verdict. It was almost 4:00 p.m., so they probably wouldn’t return a verdict before the court closed at 5:00 p.m. Instead, they would come back in the morning, but after that, there was no way to know how long it would take. Hours or days; the bailiff would call Raine and the prosecutor; Raine would call him; turn up your ringer and stay within fifteen minutes of the courthouse.

There was also another matter to discuss.

“You still owe half of my trial fee,” Raine reminded him.

One of the dangers of taking a criminal case was the likely situation that your client was a criminal. A thief even, or in that particular case, a robber. It was important to get paid upfront whenever possible. Most cases settled with some form of mutually acceptable plea bargain. Some cases didn’t, though, and so it was common practice to charge an additional fee for the actual trial.

The danger came from the criminal court rules which required court permission to withdraw from a criminal case once it was set for trial. The rule was there for the very reason Raine needed to talk further with his client. Criminals often didn’t live up to their responsibilities. If defense attorneys could withdraw just because they didn’t get paid, cases would never get to trial. Raine was stuck on the case and had an ethical obligation to do his absolute best, regardless of whether he was paid. But he wanted to be paid.

“Yeah, yeah, man. I know, I know.” The young man raised his hands defensively. “I just gotta talk to my grandma, alright? It’s good, man. It’s all good.”

“I hope so,” Raine replied. “I’m not running a charity. I will sue you.”

“Whoa, man, don’t trip.” The client dropped his hands.

Raine smiled. “Not tripping. Just telling you how it is. That jury says guilty, I’ll probably let it go because you’ll be going to prison for a decade. But if they say not guilty, you’ll be free, and because of me. I’ll deserve that fee, and I’ll get it. So, why don’t you do both of us a favor and call Grandma right now. I’d love to have that fee in my account before the jurors finish their deliberations.”

The young man just stared at his lawyer.

“Didn’t I do a good job for you?” Raine asked him.

The client hesitated but then nodded. “Yeah, man, you did a great job.”

“Then pay me.”

The young man offered a crooked grin. “Okay, okay. You alright. You know that? You alright. I’ll call Nana. You earned your money, man.”

They parted ways then, the client walking toward the exit and Raine standing outside the courtroom watching after him. He put the odds of getting paid at about forty percent.

The good news was he’d made sure the amount he already got paid at least covered his time and expenses. He might not make a profit on the case, but at least he wouldn’t lose money. Such was the life of a solo practitioner. Professional freedom and financial insecurity. He was always one case away from breaking the bank or breaking it big.

“Excuse me.” A middle-aged man with a receding hairline and expanding waistline walked to him. He looked tired. And desperate. “Are you an attorney?”

Raine stood a bit taller and tugged his suit coat into place. “Yes, I am. Are you in need of an attorney, sir?”

The man looked around nervously. “I’m afraid so.”

“Why do you need an attorney, if I might ask?” Raine inquired.

The man’s eyes darted back and forth again, then he leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m going to be arrested for murder.”

2

“You do need to talk to a lawyer,” Raine agreed. He glanced around the bustling courthouse. “But not here. Too many ears.”

“Isn’t anything you say to a lawyer secret?” the man questioned.

“Privileged,” Raine corrected, “but the privilege is waived if you’re reckless enough to let someone overhear you.”

“Oh.” The man nodded weakly.

Raine extended his hand. “Dan Raine, attorney at law.”

The man took a moment, then shook Raine’s hand. “Jim Carpenter.”

“Nice to meet you, Jim,” Raine said. “Now let’s go for a little walk. My office is just a few blocks away. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee on the way.”

Raine considered hazarding a guess as to what kind of coffee the man usually drank. He didn’t seem like a black coffee guy. Maybe two creams and two sugars. If Raine got it right, his skills of observation and deduction would impress his prospective client. But with the hundreds of different possible coffee combinations available on the streets of Seattle, the odds of him guessing correctly were dangerously low. And a wrong guess might doom the consultation before it could begin.

“Or I might have something stronger at my office.”

Jim Carpenter nodded, far more decisively. “Something stronger sounds good.”

The walk from the courthouse to Raine’s office was predictably uncomfortable. The only thing they had in common was the one thing they couldn’t talk about: Why Jim Carpenter was about to be arrested for murder. So, they had to settle for the weather, the Mariners, and awkward silence. At least they hadn’t stopped for coffee.

When they finally arrived at the office, Raine greeted his receptionist/paralegal Laura and waved off the usual coffee service she provided to potential new clients.

“We’re going to drink something stronger,” he explained.

“Sometimes stronger is better,” Laura agreed with a nod to their guest. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

The cheap stuff was in the conference room. It was for visiting attorneys and the general public. Potential new clients got the good stuff in Raine’s office. He extracted the bottle of 12-year-old single malt whisky and two shot glasses. He did a heavy pour and handed a glass to his guest.

“Now, Jim Carpenter,” he raised a glass to him, “tell me why you’re going to be arrested for murder.”

Carpenter took a tentative sip from his glass and winced. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Raine took a more confident drink from his own glass. “Start with who you killed,” he suggested.

“I didn’t kill anyone!” Carpenter shrieked.

“Well, that should make things easier,” Raine quipped. He took another sip of whisky. “Let me ask it differently. Who’s dead?”

Carpenter’s gaze dropped to the floor. “My daughter. And her best friend.”

Raine realized what he had mistaken for exhaustion or desperation was actually desolation. He set down his glass. “Start at the beginning.”

Carpenter sighed deeply, then he nodded and looked up again. “I first met Kristi in college. We didn’t date then; we just had a lot of mutual friends. About a year after we graduated, we ran into each other at a club in Belltown. There was a spark there that wasn’t there before, so we started seeing each other. It got really serious really fast and all of a sudden, we were engaged. Then we were married. Then we were buying a house. That’s when we met Donnie and Hannah.”

“Who are they?” Raine interjected. He was used to the question-and-answer format. He was also used to being objected to if his witness went on too long with a narrative answer without the occasionally interposed question.

“Our neighbors,” Carpenter answered. “Donnie and Hannah West. We bought a cute little craftsman in Ballard. They had bought the one next door the previous month. They were about our age. We had all the same interests, and they didn’t have any kids either. It was like one couple falling in love with another couple. We did everything together.”

“Sounds nice,” Raine offered. He doubted it was really that perfect, but he wanted information, not an argument. There would always be time for that later.

“It was.” Carpenter ran a hand through his thinning hair. “It was really nice. We went on vacations together. We shared everything. And then we got pregnant at the same time. Kristi had Chloe three days after Hannah gave birth to Zoe.”

“Chloe and Zoe,” Raine noted. “Cute.”

Carpenter smiled weakly. “A little too cute, I suppose,” he admitted. “But at the time, it just made sense.”

“Did you stay friends after that?” Raine asked. Kids can be stressful, he knew.

“Oh yeah,” Carpenter answered. “We got even closer. Chloe and Zoe grew up like sisters. They were best friends. They were absolutely inseparable, and it only brought us all even closer together.”

“Any other children?” Raine wondered.

“No, just the two of them,” Carpenter answered.

“Are they still friends?”

Carpenter’s eyes dropped again. “No.”

Raine knew the rest of the answer, even if not the reasons for it yet. “What happened?”

“Car accident,” Carpenter answered. “Eleven years ago. They had both just turned sixteen. Zoe was driving. Chloe was in the front seat. They were wearing their seat belts, but it didn’t matter. The cops said they were going fifty-five when they hit the tree. It was on the passenger side. The car was too small. It crumpled and crushed Chloe. She never had a chance. Zoe barely got a scratch.”

“Alcohol?” Raine guessed. “Or drugs?”

Carpenter shrugged, his face twisted into a bitter grimace. “We don’t know for sure, but probably alcohol. You know how kids are. She called her parents first. They came out and took her home, then called 911 from there. By the time the police processed the scene and got to their house, they wouldn’t let them inside. The cops said it would take so long to get a warrant; it was too late to draw blood.”

“Not too late,” Raine opined, “but most of it would have been out of her system. And anything that was left, she could have claimed she drank it after she got home. So, not too late, but not useful.”

Another bitter frown. “That’s what we figured too. So, well done, I suppose.” Carpenter laughed darkly and shook his head. “You know, they didn’t even call us. We had to hear it from the police. That’s how we knew it was Zoe’s fault. She must have been drunk. She was home next door, sobering up. They knew Chloe was dead, but they didn’t tell us. After everything we’d been through together, they didn’t tell us. We didn’t find out until two hours later when the cops knocked on our door and told us our daughter was dead.”

Raine could have said several different things at that moment. An inquiry about what happened next. An insight on the law. A quip at the expense of the neighbors. Instead, he said the one thing that didn’t do a damn thing but was nevertheless the most important thing he could say. “I’m sorry.”

Carpenter could only muster a lopsided frown. “Thanks, for all the good that does.”

They still hadn’t gotten to why he was going to get arrested. Raine gave it a moment to see if Carpenter would pick the story up. When he failed to keep talking, Raine asked, “What happened next?”

Carpenter shrugged. “Legally? Nothing. The cops couldn’t do anything. Our daughter was dead, and we were supposed to accept that it was just an accident, even though we all knew better.”

“I assume it impacted your relationship with the Wests,” Raine suggested.

“Well, obviously,” Carpenter answered. “We blamed them for Chloe’s death. And then, not long after, they blamed us for Zoe’s disappearance.”

There it is, Raine thought. The other shoe.

“Zoe’s disappearance?” he asked.

Carpenter nodded. “Yeah. Zoe disappeared a year later, almost to the day. Ran away, we thought. Overcome with guilt and couldn’t stand coming home every day to the house next door to the best friend she’d killed.”

“That doesn’t seem terribly likely,” Raine said.

“I suppose not,” Carpenter admitted, “but it was the only thing we could think of. Or at least, it was the only thing I could think of.”

Raine leaned forward and picked up his whisky again. “What does that mean?”

Carpenter hesitated. He raised his own glass and drained the contents. “There was one other possibility.”

Raine thought for a moment. “Kristi?”

Carpenter nodded. “Kristi.” He slid his glass toward Raine. “Can I get another?”

Raine quickly obliged, topping off his own drink as well. “Tell me what you thought about Kristi. I can guess, but I want you to say it.”

“All these years I’ve always wondered…” Carpenter accepted his glass back and took another drink. “But I’ve never said it out loud.”

“Say it now,” Raine told him. “You’re about to be arrested for murder and I’m going to be your lawyer. If there was ever a time to say it, it’s now.”

And maybe again at the trial, Raine knew, but he refrained from adding that. He didn’t want to spook a prospective new client.

Carpenter nodded. He took another drink. “Kristi…” he started, but then he dropped his eyes again and shook his head. “No, I can’t. It can’t be true.”

“Did you murder Zoe West?” Raine asked him.

Carpenter’s head shot back up. “No!” he insisted.

Raine was willing to believe him. It would make the case easier. But he still had questions. “Who did?”

Carpenter didn’t answer. That was answer enough for Raine.

“Did you ever tell your wife you suspected she was responsible for Zoe’s disappearance?” he asked.

“No,” Carpenter answered. “She would have left me in an instant. I couldn’t lose both of them.”

“Did she suspect you?” Raine asked.

Carpenter cocked his head. “Well, no. Of course not. I mean…”

“Why would she suspect you if she had done it herself?” Raine suggested.

“Well, yeah,” Carpenter answered.

“Exactly,” Raine agreed. “So, what changed? Zoe West disappeared ten years ago, but today is the day you’re suddenly going to be arrested for her murder. Why?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you that part already?” Carpenter asked.

“No, you did not,” Raine confirmed. “I would have remembered that. What happened today?”

Carpenter drained the rest of his glass. “I’ve owned a hardware store for twenty years. I finally sold the building to a developer. Today was the day they knocked the building down. And they found her body under my store.”

3

Raine looked at the clock. It was just after five. The sun was beginning to set but they had some daylight left.

“When did this happen?” Raine asked.

“This afternoon,” Carpenter answered. “The construction workers were excavating when they all started shouting. I was there because I wanted to see the progress. I spent most of my life running that store. I mean, I got a really good deal on the land, more than I expected. That’s why I sold. But still, it was a big part of me. I came by a few times to see how things were progressing. But today it all came to a screeching halt.”

“That may be good for us, if we can move fast enough,” Raine thought aloud. “What did they find? Did you see it? What condition was it in? How many people saw it? How do you know it was Zoe? What’s happening there now?”

“That’s a lot of questions,” Carpenter complained. He looked at his empty glass.

“Give me as many answers as you can,” Raine directed.

“Uh,” Carpenter took a moment to recall the flurry of inquiries. “A skull. Yes, I saw it. I’m not sure what condition it was in; it was dirty. There were three or four workers there, and we all saw it. Who else would it be? And nothing is happening there now.”

“Nothing?” Raine questioned.

“They called their boss,” Carpenter explained. “The developer I sold to. His name is Manny Lutz. He told them all to leave.”

“Leave?”

“He said he would come straight there and decide what to do next,” Carpenter explained, “but he was up in Bellingham.”

Bellingham was 80 miles north of Seattle, and it was rush hour. It would take at least two hours to get to Seattle, Raine knew, maybe three. They had a window, but it was closing.

Carpenter raised his empty glass. “Can I get a bit more?”

“No.” Raine shook his head. One or two drinks loosened up the client and got him to tell his story. Three or four drinks and there would be an argument that it affected the client, which could call into question the enforceability of his signature on the fee agreement. “I need you sober. Even though I’m driving.”

“Driving where?” Carpenter set his glass down.

“Your store, of course,” Raine answered. He stood up and pulled his car keys out of his top desk drawer. “You can answer my questions on the way. But there’s one I need to know right now.”

“What’s that?” Carpenter stood up as well.

“Does Kristi know?”

Carpenter shrugged. “I’m not sure. I didn’t tell her; I know that much.”

“Good.” Raine nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Are you taking the case, then?” Carpenter asked. “I don’t even know what you charge.”

“Enough to be worth it,” Raine answered with a confident smile. “We can talk about that on the way over too. I want to get there before Lutz does.”

The empty lot that used to be Carpenter’s Hardware, or whatever it was called, was in the middle of the 7100 block of Greenwood Avenue North in Seattle’s Phinney Ridge neighborhood. The residential district was located north of downtown and on the other side of Interstate-5 from the University of Washington, between the zoo with its outdoor penguin exhibit and one rhinoceros, the Fremont neighborhood with its overpriced flea market and annual winter solstice parade and naked bicycle ride, and the Ballard neighborhood with its Nordic History Museum and the Carpenter and West homes.

The worksite was cordoned off by yellow caution tape and orange pylons. As Carpenter had said, there were no workers present. And it didn’t appear Lutz had arrived yet.

Raine parked in a 3-minute loading zone across the street. A light rain dotted his windshield. The rain clouds darkened the already dimming dusk. They would need to hurry.

“This might take longer than three minutes,” Carpenter cautioned.

“I know how to beat a ticket,” Raine replied as he climbed out of his car. “It’s part of the job.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Carpenter replied. He got out of the car and looked again at the sign. “Um, we’re not loading the body, are we?”

“I can beat a parking ticket,” Raine repeated, “but don’t worry. I’m not about to commit the crime of tampering with evidence. Bar card first.”

“Bar card first? What does that mean?” Carpenter asked. They began to cross the street.

“It means no case is worth losing my license over,” Raine explained as they jaywalked; another ticket he could beat if necessary. “I’m not going to throw away my career by removing evidence from a murder scene. But I am damn well going to do that career as well as I can, which, in this case, means seeing the crime scene even before the cops do. If I can see something that exonerates you, I might be able to keep you from getting arrested in the first place. That’s infinitely preferable to fighting the case after you’re arrested and charged.”

“I certainly would prefer that,” Carpenter agreed.

Raine ducked under the caution tape and stepped carefully into the construction zone. He was still wearing his court clothes—leather dress shoes and no hard hat. The drizzle was trying to turn the exposed dirt to mud. He stepped carefully through the rubble trying to avoid stepping on anything sharp or slippery.

“Where is the body?” he asked.

“In there.” Carpenter pointed ahead to the large hole in the ground surrounded by what was left of the building’s walls. “They’re putting in a ten-story mixed-use building, so they needed to dig a deeper foundation.”

“Of course they are,” Raine responded. “Everything in this town is turning into a ten-story mixed-use building. Luxury apartments above yet another coffee shop.”

“The price was right,” Carpenter defended. “I was thinking I might retire to one of the islands and open my own coffee shop.”

“Sure.” Raine continued his balancing act over the increasingly slick wooden planks that constituted the workers’ makeshift walkway. “Kristi on board with that?”

Carpenter frowned. “I haven’t mentioned it to her yet. I was waiting for the right time.”

Raine took a moment to glance around their surroundings. He blinked against the raindrops tickling his face. “I don’t think this is going to be the right time.”

Carpenter didn’t argue. Instead he pointed past the knee-high wall remnant they had reached. “There are steps down to where they were excavating when they found the body.”

The steps in question appeared to be original to the store and spared pending further demolition, likely due to their continued utility. The other wall on the side of the basement had been completely removed and an earthen ramp led back to the alley behind the buildings facing Greenwood Avenue. It was thence that the excavator had entered the basement. It was still there, a smaller urban version of the ones Raine had seen at larger construction sites. Seattle’s neighborhoods were narrow and crowded. The heavy equipment used to dig and build needed to be similarly compact. The machine’s shovel was raised but it was still parked directly in front of its last dig at the earth. The one that exposed the skull, the back of which Raine could see clearly as they finally reached the scene.

“That’s it,” Carpenter said unnecessarily as he pointed at the exposed remains.

Raine circled around to the excavator at a respectful distance. Not respect for the dead; Zoe West—if that’s who it even was—didn’t care how close he stepped to her years-dead body. Respect for the crime scene; the police were going to arrive eventually and Raine was glad for the rain that moistened the dirt sufficiently to show his footsteps remained at least ten feet away at all times. His footprints were getting harder to see in the increasing dark.

The remains that had been unearthed, so far anyway, consisted of the aforementioned skull, as well as what appeared to be a collar bone, the top of an arm bone, and one side of a pair of ribs. The rest disappeared into the ground. There was no soft tissue left at all; hardly surprising after ten years in the dirt. Police forensics might have a difficult time determining the cause of death based on only skeletal remains. Or maybe not. The skull had a substantial defect on the back left side. The bones were cracked and caved in. The question was whether the damage was caused by the killer striking the victim while she was alive, or by the excavator striking the skull after she was very much dead. That wouldn’t be hard to determine. If the edges were as aged and earth-stained as the rest of the skeleton, it was old. If it was a fresh break, it was the construction equipment.

“Do you see anything helpful?” Carpenter asked from the edge of the room. He still had one foot on the last step.

“Maybe,” Raine called back. There was probably more information to be gleaned from the remainder of the skeleton, but he wasn’t about to start digging it up.

The best course of action was to document what he had seen and then get out of there before Lutz arrived and called the police, although he was tempted to stick around to ask Lutz why he had told his workers not to report their find. Still, discretion was the better part of an acquittal. It was time to leave. He extracted his phone from his pocket to take a few photographs before they went back to his car to see if he had a ticket on his windshield.

“Police!” came a shout from the dark. “Nobody move!”

“Oh my God!” Carpenter shrieked. “I didn’t do it! I swear!”

Raine frowned. That wasn’t going to help matters. He squinted at the several flashlights suddenly pointing at him and raised his hands. “I’m attorney Daniel Raine, and this is my client, James Carpenter. He owns this building. Well, he did. We aren’t trespassing.”

“You’re doing worse than that,” a woman’s voice followed.

Raine squinted at the figure behind the flashlight swinging from him to Carpenter and back again. She was tall, with an overcoat over her shoulders and a badge on her hip.

“You’re disturbing a crime scene. And you’re under arrest.”

4

Raine raised his hands. It was important the cops didn’t feel threatened. There was nothing more dangerous than a cop who felt threatened.

“I’m an attorney,” he repeated. “I represent Mr. James Carpenter, the man standing at the base of the steps and the previous owner of this property. We haven’t disturbed any potential evidence, I assure you.”

There weren’t just flashlights pointed at them, Raine knew, even if he couldn’t see them. There were handguns trained on both him and Carpenter. It was important to win this battle with words. He could only hope the lead officer was reasonable. Or at least reasonable for a cop.

“Can we step out of the crime scene?” Raine asked. “It’s dark now and the rain has picked up. I think we could have a more productive conversation under cover somewhere.”

“What did you say your name is?” the woman cop asked.

“Daniel Raine,” he answered. “I’m an attorney.” He decided to take a chance. “I think I missed your name?”

There was a pause behind the flashlights. “Detective Christina Adams, Seattle Police Department.”

“Nice to meet you, Detective Adams,” Raine offered. He lowered his hands tentatively. “Let’s try to work this out without anyone getting shot.”

“No one is going to shoot you,” Adams replied, “unless you do something stupid.”

‘Something stupid’ included pointing out how many innocent people were shot by cops every day. “Great, glad to hear it,” Raine said instead. “So, we can talk?”

“You’re under arrest,” Adams reminded him. “I’ll be happy to talk to you, but first I’ll need to read you your rights.”

“A bit of a formality,” Raine replied. “As I’ve said several times now, I’m an attorney. I know my rights better than you do. And I know Mr. Carpenter’s rights. He’s not going to speak with you without me present.”

“I’m not?” Carpenter asked, his hand raised ridiculously high over his head.

“No, you’re not,” Raine confirmed. “So, I dare say, we’re at a bit of an impasse. You could arrest us, but you didn’t actually see us touch anything. I know that because I was careful not to do so. So you can’t actually charge us.”

Adams didn’t reply, which confirmed to Raine that she was listening. And that she was smart.

“Now, you probably would love to hear what we’re doing here,” Raine continued, “and what information we might have about this case, but we can’t talk to you if we’re under arrest. We have the right to remain silent and I can guarantee you that both my client and I will exercise that right.”

“I will?” Carpenter called out again. “So, I shouldn’t say anything?”

“Don’t say anything,” Raine instructed. “Not so long as you’re under arrest. But,” he gestured generally toward where Adams was hiding behind the flashlight glares, “I’m hopeful we can change this situation from an arrest to a collaboration.”

“Oh yeah?” Adams questioned.

“Oh yes,” Raine confirmed. “We also want to find out who murdered Zoe West.”

An awkward pause filled the dark of the construction site.

“Who?” Adams asked after a few moments.

Raine cursed himself. As a lawyer, information was his main currency, and he’d just given some away. “We really should talk more,” he tried. “Can we lower the flashlights and handguns? I’m sure we can help each other out if we approach this properly.”

Adams responded with a short whistle and suddenly the cops who had been invisible in the dark behind the flashlights rushed forward and seized both Raine and Carpenter.

“Just so we’re clear, Mr. Raine,” Adams said, sidling up to where he was being detained by two uniformed police officers, each holding an arm, “the proper approach is with me in charge.”

Raine felt the handcuffs close around his wrists. Under the circumstances, he didn’t dare disagree.

The next stop for both Raine and Carpenter was the North Precinct of the Seattle Police Department, located on the other side of the freeway from the Northgate Mall and a few miles south of the city limits and the northern suburbs. Raine would have preferred the Downtown Precinct, if only because the facilities were nicer. But the North Precinct was closer to the former site of Carpenter Hardware and arrestees couldn’t be choosers.

Raine found himself in a small interrogation room that smelled somehow of old cheese. The patrol officers had taken the handcuffs off him before leaving him alone in the room. Small mercies. He supposed Detective Adams would be in soon enough. The only question was whether she would talk to him or Carpenter first.

The police were trying to set up the classic prisoner’s dilemma. If they both stayed quiet, they would both walk, but if either of them stayed quiet while the other talked and blamed him, then they would go down for the crime. The pressure was on talking. Again, classic. But misplaced. Raine was an attorney, and more than that, he was the other prisoner’s attorney and he had asserted his client’s right to remain silent.

There was no way Raine was going to provide a confession. And Adams could elicit a complete confession from Carpenter but it would probably be suppressed for violating Carpenter’s rights to an attorney and to remain silent. It was far more police officer’s dilemma than prisoner’s dilemma.

Raine took a seat in one of the plastic chairs next to the metal table bolted to the floor and waited for Adams to let him go. He didn’t expect to wait long.

He estimated it was about fifteen minutes before the lock on the door clanked open and Adams walked into the interrogation room. There were no clocks on the wall and they had confiscated his phone. Still, he had a sense for how long it would take a seasoned detective to admit defeat. Fifteen minutes was on the quick side.

“Mr. Raine,” Adams greeted him.

In the light of the precinct, Raine could see her full features. She wore a tailored women’s suit in a pinstripe pattern, with dark blonde hair cut at her jawline. She wore makeup on her eyes and lips but it looked like she had skipped the foundation.

“My apologies for the accommodations. We just needed a few minutes to confirm exactly what was happening back at the scene there.”

Another part of valor was accepting apologies, even ones that weren’t explicitly apologetic. Maybe especially those.

“No problem at all, Detective,” Raine replied. “This isn’t my first rodeo. We both have jobs to do. I trust you did yours and didn’t try to interview my client after I asserted his right to remain silent?”

Adams frowned. “As much as it pains me to say so, we honored that request. Mr. Carpenter is in a holding cell, but we have made no effort to question him.”

“That’s good,” Raine commented.

“But it might be in his best interest to tell us his side of the story,” Adams continued. “If you don’t let him talk to us, then we’ll have to proceed based on the information we have absent any context from the suspect.”

“The fact that you’re still referring to him as a suspect,” Raine replied, “is more than enough reason not to let him speak to you.”

“You said the victim was Zoe West,” Adams changed the subject slightly. “Who’s that?”

One of the tricks cops played when interrogating a suspect was to only ask questions they already knew the answer to. They weren’t trying to gather information. They were trying to see whether the subject would tell the truth.

“You tell me,” Raine replied. “You wouldn’t ask me that if you didn’t already know.”

Adams allowed a slight smile. “You’re right; this isn’t your first rodeo. Fine, we know. Missing person. Ten years ago. Possibly responsible for the death of your client’s daughter.”

Raine pointed at Adams. “I knew you knew the answer. Good job, Detective.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Raine,” Adams warned. “This is serious business. Human remains have been found under your client’s place of business. Those remains look to be at least ten years old, the same amount of time a teenage girl has been missing—a girl your client knew and had a hell of a motive for wanting dead. We’ll confirm the identification soon enough, but I like what I have already. I’ve convicted people with less.”

“I’m sorry to say, I’m sure you have,” Raine responded, “but let’s save a discussion of the shortcomings of the American justice system for another time. We both know you aren’t going to arrest me, so can we jump ahead to the part where you let me go?”

Adams frowned. She stared at Raine for several seconds, unblinking.

Raine held her gaze but went ahead and let himself blink. He was trying to portray a casual confidence after all.

“Fine,” Adams exhaled after another few moments. “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you.” Raine stood up and tugged at his suit coat jacket. It would need a dry cleaning after being rained on, and his muddy shoes were in need of polishing, but overall he looked the part of an attorney, righteous defender of the accused. “And Mr. Carpenter.”

Adams smiled broadly. The most genuine expression he had seen from her since they met. “Oh, no. Mr. Carpenter isn’t going anywhere. We may not be able to interrogate him, but we can book him. And first thing tomorrow morning, we’re going to recommend the D.A. charge him with the murder of Zoe West.”

5

It was almost 11:00 p.m. when Raine was finally released from police custody. They let him walk out of the North Precinct but made no arrangements for his transportation home. He took a rideshare back to his car on Greenwood Avenue, only to find not one, but three separate citations for violating the 3-minute loading rule. He could beat a ticket, but it was going to be harder to beat three of them. He started his car and pulled away from the curb. The rain had stopped so he had a dry drive back to his condo near downtown.

Luckily his date night with Sawyer was the next night. Sawyer wouldn’t have been upset to have one of their dates canceled by a good story, but it was one less thing he had to worry about. He wanted to focus his attention on what was happening to James Carpenter.

Carpenter was going to spend the night in jail and then the next day there were three possibilities of what might happen. The prosecutor’s office could indeed file charges against him for the murder of Zoe West. Adams was right; people were convicted of murder on less evidence than what the police had then, so immediate charging was a definite possibility.

Another possibility was that the D.A. reviewed the case and decided not to file charges. That was the best-case scenario. It was also the least likely. When a detective recommended charges, especially murder charges, it took a brave prosecutor to say no. And there weren’t that many brave prosecutors, at least not in Raine’s experience.

That left the third and most likely option. They wouldn’t charge Carpenter, but they wouldn’t let him go either. Instead, they would ask a judge to hold him for 48 more hours while they built the case against him. It was weak, but it was permitted under the court rules. And it was common practice of the King County Prosecutor’s Office. Raine could expect to see Carpenter when he was brought into court the next morning, then he could expect to see him two days later when the final charging decision had been made. After things like the exhumation and autopsy had been completed. Raine could understand why the prosecutor would want to do it that way. But that didn’t mean he had to accept it without a fight.

He went home, got a good night’s sleep, then got to the jail early the next morning. There had been no point trying to meet with Carpenter the night before; the cops undoubtedly slow-walked him from his holding cell in the North Precinct to his more permanent lodgings in the King County Jail. They would have known his lawyer wanted to talk to him and they would have found a way to make that as difficult as possible. Raine knew better than to fight every fight placed before him. Sometimes the best course of action was to let other people be jerks and get some rest.

“What the hell is happening?” Carpenter’s first question upon seeing Raine went right to the heart of the matter.

“They’re going to do what we call a forty-eight-hour hold,” Raine informed him. “That means you’re stuck here for two more days before they have to either file murder charges or release you.”

They were in a small attorney-client conference closet next to the holding cells behind the presiding criminal courtroom of the King County Superior Court. Every defendant being charged with a new felony would be arraigned in that courtroom that morning, just like every morning. A few lucky ones, like James Carpenter, would be neither arraigned nor let go, but rather held in one of the many limbos of the criminal justice system. Raine and Carpenter were separated by a plexiglass partition and had to speak to each other via the telephone receivers on the wall. Raine was in a suit, well rested, with a muffin and a coffee in his stomach. Carpenter looked like he hadn’t slept in days, with dark bags under his eyes and a day’s worth of stubble growing on his chin. He wore the color-coded red jail scrubs of an inmate suspected of one of the most serious crimes.

“Murder,” Carpenter repeated the charge Raine had mentioned. “I knew I was going to get arrested for murder. Technically, Zoe was a missing person, but after a while, when there was never any trace of her, everyone knew she was dead. As soon as that excavator uncovered that skull, I knew it was Zoe. And as soon as I knew it was Zoe, I knew I was going to be arrested.”

“I’m sure there’s not much consolation in being right,” Raine offered. “But the bright side is that we also have forty-eight hours to find evidence that you’re innocent. If we can get that to the prosecutor, they may decide to not file charges after all.”

“What are the odds of that?” Carpenter asked, with little hope in his voice.

“Not zero,” Raine answered. “So, that’s something.”

“How are we supposed to find evidence that I’m innocent?’ Carpenter asked. “I seriously doubt that Kristi is going to confess to the murder. Without that, what else is there?”

“What else indeed.” Raine flashed a grin. “I’ll see you in the courtroom in a few minutes, and I’ll show you what else there is.”

In truth, Raine had no specific idea what evidence there might be to exonerate Carpenter. He wasn’t even convinced Carpenter wasn’t guilty. But he knew what a fishing expedition was and, more importantly, how to make an argument for a fishing expedition sound like a request for the most reasonable and boring thing imaginable. He just needed the judge to take the bench.

There was also the small matter of the prosecutor on the case. If Raine were to find some evidence that pointed away from Carpenter, he would show it to the prosecutor. Most prosecutors were ethical and didn’t want to prosecute an innocent person. A handful of them would try to use the evidence rules to suppress evidence relevant to the defendant’s guilt or innocence.

And then there was Jared Tompkins. Tompkins had risen through the ranks mainly because everyone ahead of him had left to join the Attorney General’s Office or accept a position with the United States Attorney Office, or run for judge. All of those vacancies led to quick promotions. He was doing homicides, but only a few years earlier, he had been doing shoplifts and reckless driving. It was no wonder he needed extra time to decide what to do.

Raine spotted Tompkins across the crowded front of the courtroom, the secure area that was separated from the public seating by bullet-proof glass, with a loudspeaker to broadcast the proceedings.

“Mr. Tompkins.” Raine closed the distance between them and extended a hand, “I’m Dan Raine. I represent James Carpenter.”

“The cold case murderer?” Tompkins asked as he shook the proffered hand.

“The cold case suspect,” Raine allowed. “Unless you’ve decided to file charges today? And even then, I should probably remind you that he is presumed innocent.”

Tompkins scoffed. “The jail is full of criminals who are supposed to be presumed innocent.”

Raine nodded, waiting for more. There was none. “I’m not sure that’s the argument you think it is.”

“Whatever.” Tompkins shrugged. “No elected judge is going to release an accused murderer.”

“About that.” Raine raised a finger. “Is he actually accused yet? Are you filing charges today, or are we looking at⁠—”

“A forty-eight-hour hold,” Tompkins finished for him. “Yes, I’ll be requesting the judge to hold your client pending further investigation. I expect to be able to file charges once the police process the scene fully.”

“And that’s going to take two days?” Raine asked.

“It’s a delicate situation,” Tompkins defended. “You can’t just scoop the entire skeleton out with a backhoe. It needs to be removed carefully, slowly, with every step documented.”

Raine smiled. “I appreciate that, Mr. Tompkins. I’m ready to address the case whenever you are.”

What they really needed was the judge. The courtroom was filled with prosecutors and defense attorneys milling about, awaiting the arrival of the judge to start calling cases and slinging decisions. There were over 50 judges in King County. They rotated through some of the less desirable assignments. Criminal presiding was one of those. No one became a judge to spend all day doing nothing but arraignments and bail hearings.

The latest occupant of the criminal presiding bench was The Honorable Kenneth Rosedale. He was a bit older than Raine, but generally the same generation of lawyers. Raine didn’t know him before he became a judge and it had been close to a decade since that happened. Raine had appeared before him here and there over the years. He’d even done a trial in front of him, although Raine couldn’t quite recall the details of the case. The bottom line was that Rosedale didn’t want to be there any more than anyone else did, but he tried to do a good job. Raine knew he could do worse.

“All rise!” the bailiff bellowed as Judge Rosedale entered the courtroom from his chambers behind the bench. “The King County Superior Court is now in session, The Honorable Kenneth Rosedale presiding.”

“Please be seated,” Rosedale directed as he took his seat above the participants.

He looked older than Raine had remembered. The wisps of gray at his temples had spread across his entire head, providing him with a snowy cap of thick white hair atop a ruddy face with prominent wrinkles at the edges of his eyes and mouth. Day after day sitting in judgment of other people had aged the man. Raine supposed that was better than being unaffected by it.

“Do we have any matters ready?”

“The Carpenter matter is ready,” Raine called out.

Tompkins frowned at him. The standard procedure was for the prosecutors to call the cases. Raine didn’t have the patience for that. Not with a client being held in jail without actually being charged with anything.

“Who’s the prosecutor on that case?” the judge asked.

“I am, Your Honor.” Tompkins stepped forward.

“Mr., uh, Thompson, right?” Judge Rosedale hazarded.

“Tompkins,” he corrected. “Jared Tompkins on behalf of the State of Washington.”

Rosedale looked to Raine.

“Daniel Raine, on behalf of James Carpenter,” Raine offered before the judge had to reveal whether he remembered Raine’s name.

“Thank you, counsel,” Rosedale replied. “Is this an arraignment?”

“No, Your Honor,” Tompkins answered before Raine could. “The State will be asking for a forty-eight-hour hold while the investigation is completed.”

“Ah.” Rosedale frowned. He didn’t seem to like the procedure any more than Raine did. Just because something was allowed by the court rules didn’t mean it was the best way of doing things. “What charge is being investigated?”

“Murder,” Tompkins said with as much drama as he could muster. The word itself was dramatic enough not to need the extra effort by the prosecutor.

“Okay, Mr. Tompkins, thank you.” The judge motioned with his hand for Tompkins to calm down a bit. He looked to the jail guard standing by the secure door to the holding cells behind the courtroom. “Mr. Carpenter please, Officer.”

The guard nodded, then opened the door with a loud clank. “Carpenter!” he shouted into the void.

It was all very undignified, Raine thought. But then again, they were keeping people in cages. It was hard to make that dignified.

James Carpenter shuffled into the courtroom. In addition to his red jail scrubs, he wore one-size-fits-most rubber slip-on sandals that made walking difficult. His hands were cuffed in front of him, which didn’t help his mobility either, but that was sort of the point.

Raine motioned to Carpenter to stand next to him at the counter beneath the judge’s bench. No one sat in that courtroom. There were too many cases. It wouldn’t do for anyone to get too comfortable.

“Mr. Carpenter,” Judge Rosedale greeted the inmate with the same dignity as he had the lawyers; more, because he had been given Carpenter’s name in advance.

Raine appreciated the evenhandedness. He could only hope it might extend to what he was going to ask for after Tompkins explained why he wasn’t quite ready to charge Carpenter yet.

“Um, hello, Mr. Judge,” Carpenter replied.

Raine put a hand on Carpenter’s shoulder. “I’ll do the talking, Jim. You just stand here and look innocent.”

“Okay.” Carpenter nodded. “I can do that.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Tompkins.” The judge rolled a wrist at the prosecutor. “We have a lot of cases scheduled for this morning.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Of course.” Tompkins opened the file he was carrying and extracted a notably thin document that he handed to the bailiff to pass to the judge. Tompkins then handed Raine a copy. He knew what it was based on the nature of the hearing. He just expected it to be longer. But he wasn’t complaining.

“This is the Declaration for Determination of Probable Cause?” Judge Rosedale asked. “It’s only two pages long,” he observed, “and half of the first page is the caption. Is this all the information you have currently?”

“It is, Your Honor,” Tompkins admitted. “And that is why we need more time to complete the investigation. This is a cold case homicide, Your Honor. It takes time to dig up the old records.”

Judge Rosedale pursed his lips. “Any thoughts, Mr. Raine, before I hear argument about probable cause and, perhaps, bail?”

“My main thought, Your Honor,” Raine answered, “is that the prosecution should take all the time they need to complete their investigation into this very old and very uncertain case. In the meantime, my client should be allowed to go home. That seems like the simplest way forward.”

The judge nodded, then turned again to Tompkins. “Does the State really think it can complete its investigation in two days?” He held up the barebones summary of the case so far. “It seems like there’s a lot of information still to be gathered.”

“There is,” Tompkins agreed, “but that doesn’t mean there isn’t enough already for the Court to find probable cause for murder and hold the defendant pending the filing of formal charges.”

“He’s not the defendant until you file those charges,” Raine pointed out. “Right now he’s just a citizen being deprived of his liberty.”

“He’s a suspect,” Tompkins retorted. “A murder suspect.” Again with that dramatic ‘murder’ word.

“All right, counsel,” Judge Rosedale interjected. “Please keep your comments addressed to the bench, not each other. I will review the declaration provided by the prosecutor. This shouldn’t take long.”

Raine appreciated the subtle dig, but he wasn’t confident Rosedale would fail to find probable cause. It was a very low standard—any facts that any jury could possibly use to find Carpenter guilty.

“Okay, I’ve finished,” the judge announced in very short order. “Would you like to be heard regarding probable cause, Mr. Raine?”

The judge was inviting Raine to argue that the State-proffered facts, even if assumed to be true and unchallenged, would still be insufficient to allow any jury, no matter how prosecution-friendly, to find Carpenter guilty of murder. Raine didn’t expect to win that argument, but he wasn’t going to pass up an invitation to try. Still, he needed to keep it reasonable. He had a bigger request at the end of the hearing and he wanted to retain his credibility.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Raine replied. “I think the Court has already noticed the small amount of information the State was able to muster to even include in their summary of facts. Essentially, human remains were found under a business formerly owned by my client and they suspect it might be someone who used to live next door to him. That’s it. And that’s not enough. If they get more later, fine, but as I said earlier, until then, release my client and let him get back to his life.”

Judge Rosedale nodded, then he looked again at the paltry offering from the prosecution and sighed. “The facts presented here are minimal,” he agreed, “but the legal standard is low. I am to assume the truth of the State’s evidence, draw all reasonable inferences from it in favor of the State, and decide whether any reasonable jury could possibly find the defendant guilty. I think this one is right on the line, but I can’t say that no jury could possibly convict on these facts. Therefore, reluctantly, I will find probable cause.”

No elected judge is going to release an accused murderer, Raine recalled Tompkins’s prophetic boast.

“Let’s next consider conditions of release,” the judge instructed. “I will hear first from the State.”

Conditions of release could run the gamut from no contact with alleged victims to no consumption of alcohol and drugs. But the main one, the one that really mattered, was bail. The rest were irrelevant if a defendant couldn’t get out of jail.

“The State would ask for bail in the amount of one million dollars,” Tompkins requested. “That is a standard bail in a first-degree murder case and that is the charge the State expects to file at the expiration of the forty-eight-hour period.”

Rosedale sighed again—most judges sighed a lot—and turned to Raine. “Response, counsel?”

“One million dollars seems excessive, Your Honor,” Raine began. Again, he would advocate for his client, but the decision was likely to go against him. Becoming overly theatrical wouldn’t help him when it was his turn to ask for something. “Mr. Carpenter has lived his entire life in Washington State, and indeed in Seattle. He is a longtime resident and business owner in Ballard. He maintains his innocence of this crime, if it even turns out to be a crime. He has retained counsel and plans to fight any charges vigorously. He has no other criminal history whatsoever. He’s not going anywhere while the case is pending and he’s not going to hurt anyone either. A personal recognizance release seems appropriate, but if the Court is reluctant to authorize such a release on such a crime, then I would suggest a nominal bail of one thousand dollars.”

“A thousand dollars?” Tompkins scoffed. “On a murder case?”

“Comments to the bench, Mr. Tompkins,” Judge Rosedale admonished. “And it’s not a murder case yet.”

“My apologies, Your Honor.” Tompkins lowered his head slightly.

“I should think so.” Rosedale frowned. “I will admit that one million dollars seems excessive, at least at this stage. But one thousand dollars is too far in the other direction. And a personal recognizance release is out of the question. He may have spent his whole life here, but this is the first time he’s been a murder suspect, I assume. There might be no better reason to flee the jurisdiction. I will compromise and set bail at five hundred thousand dollars.”

“Five hundred thousand?” Carpenter whispered to Raine. “I can’t post that.”

Raine nodded. “I know. That’s why he set it so high.”

“I believe that concludes this matter,” Judge Rosedale announced. “The next hearing will be in two days’ time for the State to either file charges or for Mr. Carpenter to be released.”

The judge was about to bang his gavel to conclude the hearing, when Raine raised his hand.

“There is one more thing, Your Honor,” he interjected.

Judge Rosedale looked confused, but not nearly as confused—or worried—as Tompkins did.

“There’s nothing else to address, Your Honor,” Tompkins asserted. “The Court found probable cause and set bail. That’s all this hearing was for.”

“That’s all these hearings are usually for,” Rosedale allowed, “but I’m always open to hearing additional requests. Proceed, Mr. Raine.”

Tompkins crossed his arms in a pout and glared at Raine.

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Raine grinned slightly at Tompkins’s petulance. That was almost reward enough, even if Rosedale denied his impending request. “The State has indicated that they need time to process the crime scene and properly exhume the remains of the suspected murder victim. They have also successfully advocated for holding my client in jail because they think he’s the one who committed the suspected murder. Therefore, I think it only appropriate and fair that Mr. Carpenter’s attorney be allowed to be present during that processing of the crime scene.”

Rosedale raised an eyebrow and surrendered a half-grin of his own. “You want to watch them dig up the body?”

“The State chose to join this case against Mr. Carpenter at this stage,” Raine pointed out, “and Mr. Carpenter has a lawyer. Under Criminal Court Rule 3.1, Mr. Carpenter has a right to representation at every critical stage of the case. I would argue there may be no more critical stage in a ten-year-old cold case than the collection of the evidence the State intends to use against him.”

Rosedale frowned thoughtfully and turned back to the prosecutor. “Any objection to Mr. Raine observing the processing of the crime scene, Mr. Tompkins?”

“Any objection?” Tompkins squeaked. “Absolutely I have an objection, Your Honor. Processing a crime scene is a law enforcement function. A criminal defense attorney has no business being involved in that.”

“A criminal defense attorney is an officer of the court,” Judge Rosedale reminded Tompkins. “I don’t believe Mr. Raine is asking to be given a shovel to help with exhumation, but I don’t see why he shouldn’t be allowed to observe while the police do it. You did make the decision to involve his client in the case at this very early stage. Unless perhaps you’d like to withdraw your motion for a forty-eight-hour hold and release Mr. Carpenter?”

Tompkins blinked at the judge for a moment. “No, I would not like to do that, Your Honor.”

“Then it’s settled,” Judge Rosedale declared. “The defense may be present during the processing of the suspected crime scene, including but not limited to the exhumation of the human remains discovered there. Will you also be bringing an investigator, Mr. Raine?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Raine answered.

If anything untoward did happen, he would want a witness other than himself whom he could call to the stand. In addition, he was curious about how the recent sale of the property and the developer figured into the situation. So, he would be calling Rebecca Sommers, part-time investigator and full-time commercial real estate agent, immediately after court.

He also had already made plans with Sawyer that night. And maybe a date.

6

The rain was harder than the previous night. Raine had gone home after court and changed into waterproof pants and a heavy-duty raincoat. Boots too. He knew it would be muddy. He respected the maxim that there was no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. Respected, but didn’t completely agree. There was definitely such a thing as bad weather, but he was dressed for it. So was Sawyer. And she pointed out that good and bad were subjective anyway, dependent on the circumstances and one’s goals.

“This rain is wonderful.” She nodded toward the forensic techs standing under a small, portable awning and fighting against the onslaught of water and mud as they tried to exhume the skeleton in an orderly, and documentable, fashion. “It’s going to make proper excavation of the scene very difficult.”

Raine nodded. He was aware of that too. And so was Tompkins, who had tagged along, but failed to dress adequately. He was already shivering under his thin overcoat and workday’s business suit. His dress shoes were half-sunk in the mud. Raine knew his socks were wet, and it brought a smile to his face.

“I’m not sure I would say it’s wonderful,” Sommers put in. She was standing a few feet behind them, on a stretch of cement that hadn’t been ripped up yet. Her outfit was even more protective than Raine and Sawyer’s. Near as Raine could tell, it was a top-end ski outfit, white and gold, complete with fur-lined boots and pom-pom-adorned beanie. She held a clear, half-spherical umbrella around her head and shoulders. “A cool evening with a half-moon behind a curtain of vaporous clouds would be more picturesque.”

“Maybe ruined by the dead body,” Raine suggested.

“Or maybe not,” Sawyer disagreed with a grin. “Nothing like an exhumation on a rainy day.”

The only other person who seemed unbothered by the weather and the nature of the event was Detective Adams. She stood at the edge of the excavation pit, boots in the mud, hands in the pockets of her heavy raincoat, and downcast face mostly hidden by her hood. She seemed serene, almost sanguine. Willfully oblivious to the out-of-place attorneys, and even more out of place real estate agent/private investigator, surrounding her team of law enforcement professionals.

“I want everything within a five-foot radius of the skeleton,” she directed. “I don’t care if it’s nothing but twenty-year-old mud, make sure there’s nothing in it. We don’t get a second chance to do this right.”

Tompkins let out something between a yelp and a sigh and hurried over to Adams to whisper some complaint into her ear.

“I don’t like your prosecutor,” Sawyer commented. “He seems… weak.”

“He is,” Raine confirmed. “But that means I like him. I don’t mind a weak opponent.”

Sawyer considered for a moment. “Less honor in the win.”

“Greater chance of that win,” Raine countered. “Speaking of which, the jury acquitted that kid who was the wheel-man on the robbery. There’s honor in every win.”

“I’m sorry,” Sommers interrupted. “Are we really talking about the honor of securing an acquittal of a murderer? I mean, I get doing your job well and winning, but honor seems distant in circumstances like this. A girl is dead.”

“She’s been dead for a while now,” Sawyer pointed out.

“There’s nothing we can do for her,” Raine added. “All we can do is represent our client to the best of our ability.”

“Speaking of which—” Sawyer started, but her thought was cut off by a shout from behind them.

“Hello, hello!” A large man lumbered into view, heading straight for them. He was wearing a winter parka, complete with fur-lined hood, and brown leather boots. He looked more prepared for a snowstorm than a rain shower, but he was still better equipped for the rain than the prosecutor. Black curls stuck out from under his hood and he sported a five o’clock shadow that would have taken Raine three days to grow. “Welcome to my humble place of business. I’m Manny Lutz, owner and operator of Lutz Development, LLC. I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for your service.”

Raine narrowed his eyes and glanced at Sawyer.

She frowned and shrugged back at him.

“Our service?” Raine asked. Maybe Manny Lutz was a fan of criminal defense attorneys.

“Yeah!” Lutz boomed. “Catching the bad guys and keeping the streets safe. Putting your lives on the line so businessmen like me can pass our days without worry.”

Or maybe not. “We’re not cops,” Raine informed him.

“What? Cops? No, of course not. I know you’re not cops,” Lutz claimed with a wave of a rain-soaked mitten. “Cops don’t dress like you. But prosecutors are like cops, only in the courtroom. Without you guys, everybody the cops catch would get out of jail free, you know? And then where would we be? Nowhere good, I can tell you that.”

“We aren’t prosecutors,” Sawyer informed him flatly.

Lutz offered a confused frown, droplets of rain running down his nose from his wet parka hood fur. “Wait. Are you defense attorneys? Do you represent the guy who did this?” He threw an arm toward the excavation process.

“I’m not a defense attorney,” Sommers spoke up. “Or any type of attorney for that matter.”

“I’m a defense attorney,” Sawyer said, with a tone that implied a second sentence along the lines of, ‘You wanna make something of it?’

Lutz jabbed his mitten at Raine’s gut. “What about you?” he demanded. “You a defense attorney?”

“I’m more of a jack of all trades,” Raine answered. “Divorces, wills, bankruptcies, but yes, I also do some criminal defense. In fact,” he mimicked Lutz’s gesture toward the skeleton-filled mud pit, “I do represent the guy who did this. Or rather, the guy who is accused of doing this.”

“Well, then, you are not welcome on my property,” Lutz announced, pushing his fists onto his hips, “and I will thank you to leave immediately.”

“The judge says we are welcome here,” Raine informed him with an exaggerated shrug. “In fact, if we get kicked out, the cops will have to stop digging up the dead body on your property. We get to be here while they do it.”

“If they keep going without us,” Sawyer put in, “the entire case might be dismissed.”

“Oh yeah. Good point.” Raine nodded to Sawyer. “Okay, well, you heard the man. We are not welcome here. I should be able to file that motion to dismiss as soon as the courthouse opens tomorrow morning.”

“Alright, alright.” Lutz waved his hands at them. “Fine, you can stay. But don’t touch anything. And I’m not staying here with you playing host anymore.”

“Understood, Mr. Lutz,” Raine replied with an exaggerated seriousness. “Thank you for your service.”

Lutz’s lip curled into a sneer. “What did you say your name was, Mr. Lawyer for the Murderer?”

“I didn’t say,” Raine answered, “but it’s Raine. Daniel Raine.” He extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Lutz lowered his sneer to point at Raine’s hand. “I’m gonna remember you, Raine. You better remember me.”

“I’m sure I couldn’t forget you,” Raine replied.

“Ha.” Lutz frowned at all three of them. “Stay here. Don’t go anywhere else.”

Raine was about to assure compliance with that order, even if only because he had no plans to go anywhere anyway, when Detective Adams ruined it.

“Mr. Raine!” Adams called out from the exhumation site. “Could you come down here, please? The prosecutor has a proposal.”

Raine shrugged at Lutz. “Sorry.”

Lutz just grunted and stormed off toward Tompkins, presumably to thank him for his service.

“A proposal?” Sawyer rolled her eyes. “Oh, Lord.”

“Is that good?” Sommers asked.

“Probably not,” Raine guessed. “But I might be able to turn it into something good.”

“Do you want me to come too?” Sommers asked. “I am your investigator.”

Sawyer crossed her arms and set her weight even harder onto her back leg. She obviously wasn’t going to tag along.

“No, that’s okay,” Raine answered Sommers. “I’ll handle this myself, whatever it is.”

Raine left his business partner and his romantic partner and trudged around the soft edge of the crime scene to engage his legal and procedural opponents.

“Detective Adams. Tompkins.” He greeted them upon his arrival. “What’s the proposal? If it doesn’t include the immediate release of my client, I’m unlikely to agree.”

Tompkins frowned. “This has nothing to do with your client.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve come around.” Raine gestured at the officers exhuming a murder victim’s skeleton from a muddy pit. “I told you he was innocent.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Tompkins clenched his fists and shook his head. Rainwater ran down his face from his drenched hair. “I mean, your client’s custody status is irrelevant. This is a waste of time, at least for us lawyers. I have the police officers on my side and you brought a pair of investigators. Why don’t you and I leave now, and let them do whatever needs to be done to document the scene?”

Raine took a moment, then grinned and looked over at Adams.

She returned the grin, added a shrug, then turned away. To stifle a laugh, Raine guessed.

“Here’s my counteroffer,” he said. “Detective Adams stays. The rest of the cops stay. I stay. My investigator stays. That other woman with me who’s not an investigator and you really ought to know by now stays too. But you leave.”

“I don’t want to leave if you stay,” Tompkins complained.

“But you do want to leave,” Raine knew. “The rain isn’t going to let up any time soon, and this is going to take a while. Why not go home to a dry house and a warm bed? You won’t get any objection from me.”

Tompkins’s frown deepened, practically slicing his face in half. But he didn’t insist on staying.

“The judge said I get to be here,” Raine reminded him. “He didn’t say you had to be here. I’m sure Detective Adams and her team are more than capable of doing their jobs without you shivering next to them.”

“Ha ha.” Tompkins sneered. But then he turned to Adams. “Do you need me here?”

“Do I need a lawyer standing on the edge of a crime scene to make sure I do my job correctly?” Adams posed rhetorically. “No, I think I’ll be fine, sir.”

Tompkins looked again to Raine.

Raine didn’t say anything. He waited for Tompkins to say it. He knew he would.

“All right.” Tompkins pulled himself up to his full height, which was still several inches shorter than Raine’s. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands, Detective.”

“Good decision,” Raine approved. “You’re going to catch a cold if you stay out here much longer. I’ll be sure to let you know if the detective and I discover any exculpatory evidence.”

“That seems unlikely,” Adams put in.

“One never knows,” Raine replied. He leaned toward Tompkins and raised a hand to the side of his mouth, as if to prevent Adams from hearing him. “I think your detective will do good by you, Jared. Get out of here, ya crazy scamp.”

Tompkins narrowed his eyes at Raine but then rotated his gaze to Adams.

“It’s okay, sir,” she assured him. “We have this. And I’ll make sure Mr. Raine and his team don’t interfere with our work. You’ll have my preliminary report on your desk when you get into the office in the morning. I’ll do a supplemental report when the I.D. of the victim is confirmed.”

That last bit seemed to do the trick. “Thank you, Detective.” Tompkins raised his chin slightly. “I will look forward to your report,” he turned back to Raine, “and the arraignment.”

Raine considered a comeback like, ‘Don’t count your charges before they’re filed,’ but he just wanted Tompkins to leave already. Almost as much as Adams seemed to.

Tompkins finally disengaged from them and started walking toward the street. He shouted out some random words of encouragement to the team extracting Zoe West from the muck, but they mostly ignored him, one or two offering little more than a shake of their heads at the interruption.

“I thought he’d never leave,” Raine quipped to Adams.

But they hadn’t bonded as much as Raine had hoped. “I suggest you return to your companions, Mr. Raine. I have nothing to say to you directly. You can read my report as well.”

Raine supposed some professional distance was warranted, but a cordial relationship with the lead detective could only help his client. Still, it was a long game. He had plenty of time to win Adams over. She seemed to value competence. So did he.

“Excellent idea, Detective Adams. I will look forward to receiving the reports in the case, should charges actually be filed. In the meantime, if you need me or my investigator for any reason, we will stay nearby, but not so near as to interfere. James Carpenter has an interest in a fair and thorough processing of this crime scene as well.”

Adams stared at Raine for a few moments, then shook her head slightly and allowed another grin. “I’ll let you know when we’ve finished, sir. It shouldn’t be more than another two or three hours.”

Raine felt the sting of three more hours in the rain. In addition to the cold they were going to get tired, and hungry. And need to use the bathroom. At least there was a portable toilet.

“What was that all about?” Sawyer asked him when he returned to where she and Sommers were standing.

“Tompkins got cold feet,” Raine reported. “Literally. He went home.”

“Are they almost done?” Sommers asked hopefully.

“Not even close,” Raine disappointed her. “The detective said it was going to be another two to three hours.”

“So, another three or four hours,” Sawyer translated.

“Yeah,” Raine agreed. “We should have brought chairs.”

“Do I really need to stay here the entire time?” Sommers asked. She still seemed plenty warm, but she wasn’t the type to stand around while other people did work. She was a doer, not a watcher. And certainly not a waiter.

Raine looked back at the forensics officers slogging through the excavation. “Can you be within fifteen minutes, if we need you?” he asked without turning around. “I don’t want to leave here emptyhanded, but if I do get my hands on something, I’m going to need you to be a witness to it.”

“How about twenty?” Sommers countered. “It takes forever to get to Phinney Ridge from downtown.”

Raine knew that was true, even that time of night. “Twenty is fine. And if they finish and I don’t need you after all, I’ll shoot you a text that you’re off the hook.”

“Much appreciated, Dan,” Sommers responded. “Nice to see you again, Sawyer. We should hang out more. Let me know if you ever need an investigator.”

Sawyer just smiled and nodded and Sommers headed back toward the street as well.

“I don’t know why you use her,” Sawyer said once Sommers was out of sight. “There are plenty of standard investigators who would be happy to work for you.”

“But how many of them would know the purchase and sale history of every business on this block and three blocks in every direction?” Raine replied. “She’s not the right investigator for all of my cases, but she’s the right one for this case.”

“You think that’s important?” Sawyer questioned.

“I think you don’t sell your hardware store to a developer who’s going to dig it up,” Raine answered, “if you know there’s a dead body under the floorboards.”

Sawyer just nodded. Approvingly, Raine knew.

The estimate of two to three hours looked to be more of a threat than a prediction. Once the forensics team removed the pelvis, the rest of the skeleton was recovered quickly. Perhaps a bit too quickly, Raine felt, but everyone was cold and eager to call it a night, especially the men and women who’d been sticking their latex-gloved hands into icy mud for several hours. Then came the work from Adams’s earlier exhortation to check the earth five feet in all directions from the body. Raine was glad to see it was being complied with in the most minimal fashion—little more than a visual inspection and a few scrapes at the mud with a hand shovel. The last thing he needed was more evidence against his client. And that was the last thing he got.

“Hey!” one of the forensics officers shouted. “Over here!”

He wasn’t more than a foot from the muddy hole the bones had been pulled from. Raine frowned at that. But he frowned even more at what happened next. Adams hurried over, looked at what the tech had found, and smiled.

“It’s never good when the detective smiles,” Sawyer commented.

Raine nodded, his frown still intact.

Adams directed the forensics team to photograph the evidence from every possible angle, then reached down and held up the evidence. Even through the rain and from that distance, Raine could tell by the way Adams was holding it that it was a necklace. With a pendant.

“The letter ‘Z’,” Adams announced, almost as if she wanted to make sure Raine knew, in case he was too far away to make out the tarnished, mud-encrusted letter.

“Told ya,” Sawyer added. She didn’t need to.

Detective Adams nodded up at Raine and Sawyer, then handed the pendant to a technician to package as evidence. Her smile was the opposite of Raine’s expression. That necklace was going to be enough to convince a judge the remains were Zoe West, and that would allow the State to charge Carpenter pending DNA confirmation. Raine harbored no illusions that the DNA would point to anyone other than the girl responsible for the death of his client’s child.

Mercifully, the next hour revealed no further inculpatory evidence beneath Jim Carpenter’s store. Just mud and rainwater. Eventually, the awning was broken down, the floodlights were turned off, the body bag containing the muddy skeleton was loaded into the medical examiner’s van, and it was finally time for everyone to go home.

Raine and Sawyer walked back to their cars, parked next to each other a few blocks north of the crime scene. They usually drove separately, in case one of them needed to leave unexpectedly, a professional hazard.

“I think I like Adams,” Sawyer commented before they went to their cars. “She seems competent and interested in doing a good job. She could be useful if you can find some evidence your client is innocent.”

Raine glanced back at the crime scene. His client’s former business under which was buried a skeleton with a ‘Z’ necklace, the initial of the missing girl who had murdered his daughter. “That’s a pretty big ‘if’.”

7

Raine didn’t relish informing Carpenter that he was almost certainly going to be charged with murder the next day, but part of the job of being a lawyer was delivering bad news.

‘I’m your lawyer, not your cheerleader,’ Raine liked to tell his clients. Most of them appreciated the honesty. He expected Carpenter would too.

“Well, that’s not very good news,” Carpenter replied after Raine explained the discovery of the ‘Z’ pendant.

They were in a jailhouse meeting room again. Raine couldn’t tell if it was the same one as last time, and it didn’t really matter anyway. They all looked the same. The only thing that mattered was that Jim Carpenter was still on the other side of the glass. That wasn’t going to change any time soon. “But there are other names that start with ‘Z’, right? Like, uh… Zelda?”

Raine shook his head. “The pendant is enough for them to charge you,” he answered. “They’ll need more to convict you at trial, but they’ll have time to get that. Unless, by some miracle, the DNA shows that body under your store was someone named Zelda Zest.”

“DNA?” Carpenter’s eyebrows knitted together. “Can they even get DNA from bones? I thought you said it was just a skeleton.”

Not your cheerleader, but maybe your science teacher.

Raine leaned back in his chair, and raised his hands to help his explanation with supporting gestures. “Okay. There are two types of DNA: nuclear and mitochondrial. Most cells are like an egg; the nuclear DNA is in the yolk and the mitochondrial DNA is in the white. The nuclear DNA is the combination of what you get from your parents, half from your mom and half from your dad. It’s what makes you you, and it’s unique to every individual. Mitochondrial DNA, on the other hand, the stuff that surrounds the nuclear DNA, you only get that from your mom, and everyone who has the same mom has the same mitochondrial DNA.” He paused. “You with me so far?”

Carpenter nodded. “Not really, but keep going.”

Raine sighed lightly, but followed the suggestion. “Okay, so like I said, most cells have both types of DNA, but not all. Cells from hair, nails, and, most importantly for your case, bones only have mitochondrial DNA. That means you can’t identify a specific individual from bones, but you can identify what matrilineal line they come from. That’s how they’ll ID the remains.”

Carpenter shook his head. “How exactly?”

“They’ll get a sample of Hannah’s DNA,” Raine explained, “and they’ll compare her mitochondrial DNA with the mitochondrial DNA from the bones. If they match, that means the bones are either Zoe, a female ancestor, or a child of a female ancestor.”

“So they could be, like, her aunt’s kid, or something?” Carpenter asked hopefully.

“Sure.” Raine frowned. “But why would Zoe’s maternal aunt’s child’s skeleton be under your store?”

“Coincidence?” Carpenter tried.

“Only if her name started with ‘Z’ and she was buried there ten years ago at the age of seventeen,” Raine replied. “They’ll be able to estimate the age of the skeleton at death and how long it’s been under the ground. That, plus the pendant, plus the DNA match to Hannah will be more than enough to establish beyond any reasonable doubt that skeleton is Zoe.”

“So, they take a DNA sample from Hannah, but not Donnie?” Carpenter questioned.

Raine shook his head. “No point to taking it from Donnie. They can only match the bones to the mother. It doesn’t matter who the father was.”

Carpenter sighed, then offered a lopsided smile. “How do you know so much about DNA?”

“You learn a lot in this job,” Raine answered. “You wanna know how to beat the breath test machine, or why you should use a Glock if you’re gonna murder somebody with a handgun?”

“Maybe the breath test thing,” Carpenter answered. “I don’t plan on murdering anyone.”

Raine was relieved Carpenter didn’t add the word ‘else’ to that last sentence.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Raine pushed the conversation forward. “Tomorrow afternoon, the State is going to file a charge of murder in the first degree against you. They will convince the judge there is probable cause for the crime because the pendant shows it’s very probably Zoe, and you had the motive, means, and opportunity to kill her and bury her under your store. Then they will get the DNA confirmation and show that to the jury.”

“And I get convicted of murder.” Carpenter lowered his eyes and shook his head.

“No,” Raine replied.

Carpenter looked up.

“Not if I can help it. We aren’t going to win the case trying to convince the jury that the skeleton isn’t Zoe West. We win it by convincing the jury someone else put her under your store.”

“But who?” Carpenter asked. “And why?”

“Under the speedy trial rules, they have to start your trial within sixty days of arraignment,” Raine answered. “That’s how long I have to figure out the answer to those two questions.”

8

The arraignment went forward as scheduled, exactly 48 hours after the preliminary appearance. There was nothing Raine could do but show up and hope Tompkins had had a change of heart, or had been hit by a bus. He was too ambitious and too mediocre to make a brave decision and release Carpenter pending a full investigation. There were already too many eyes watching his decision to do anything but the safe, for him, route. The ‘Z’ pendant didn’t help either.

Any hope Raine had held for a different outcome was dashed when the elevator doors opened onto the twelfth floor of the courthouse to reveal a corridor choked with reporters and cameras.

Raine stepped off the elevator and raised a hand against the expected onslaught of reporters wanting a quote from the ‘alleged’ murderer’s lawyer. But the assault didn’t come. The assembled media was focused on the man blocking the entrance to the courtroom, lights in his eyes and a perfect smile on his face.

“…a triumph of our justice system,” the man was saying. He was tall, with thick salt and pepper hair swept back from a handsome face, perfectly tailored navy suit, and solid red tie. He’d clearly been on television before. “The mysterious disappearance of teenage Zoe West some ten years ago captured the attention of everyone in our city, but as the days grew into weeks and the weeks grew into months, the public’s attention turned elsewhere. But Zoe’s parents never gave up hope, and neither did I. And now I stand here ready to do whatever I can to help ensure Zoe’s murderer meets the justice he so richly deserves.”

Raine looked to a random lawyer standing next to him and pointed at the man talking to the cameras. “Who’s that jerk?”

“That jerk?” the lawyer, an older man with a worn tie and ill-fitting jacket, replied. “That’s Douglas McClain.”

Raine took a moment to see if the name rang any bells. Nope. “Who?”

“He’s the Chief of the Criminal Division at the Attorney General’s office,” Raine’s makeshift companion explained. “Everyone knows he’s getting ready to run for governor.”

“Oh.” Raine sighed. “Well, that’s not good.”

“You don’t think he’d be good for the state?” the lawyer asked. “You didn’t even know him a minute ago.”

“I have no idea if he’d be good for the state,” Raine answered. “But I know he’s terrible for my client. Excuse me.”

Raine walked to the back of the gaggle of reporters and raised his hand. “Mr. McClain! Mr. McClain! What about the presumption of innocence? What about proof beyond a reasonable doubt? What about due process, and his day in court, and a jury of his peers?”

McClain’s practiced smile faded. “I’m sorry. Who are you with?”

Raine pushed through the surprised crowd. “I’m with James Carpenter. And you’re blocking my way.”

McClain’s grin finished its disappearance. “You’re the defense attorney.”

“I am,” Raine confirmed. “And as far as I know, you’re not the prosecutor. You’re just a potential politician exploiting a criminal case for personal gain. Which is your right under our constitution. But would you mind doing that about three feet to your left so I can get inside the courtroom and fight for the constitutional rights my client also has.”

McClain hesitated for a moment as the gears turned behind sharp eyes. There were any number of things he could have said back to Raine, but his options were limited by the cameras filming his every word and those personal ambitions Raine had referenced. The smile popped back onto his face.

“Of course,” McClain said as he stepped aside. “I don’t think I caught your name, counselor.”

“Raine. Daniel Raine. I’d shake your hand, but I doubt you want that image on the evening news. Soft on crime doesn’t win votes.”

McClain didn’t reply, which was sufficient confirmation for Raine. He took it as gratitude as well. “You’re welcome. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to fight for the justice my client so richly deserves.”

Raine pulled open the courtroom door and ignored the bevy of questions being shouted after him. There was a time and place for a criminal defense attorney to speak with the media and the present circumstances were neither of them.

He found himself relieved to see the mundane visage of his erstwhile opponent. Tompkins might have been dull and plodding, but at least he wasn’t preening for cameras and trying to use his client for personal gain. Well, not as brazenly anyway. Tompkins wasn’t prosecuting the case pro bono, and having a homicide trial under his belt would help him during the next round of promotions. Of course, Raine wasn’t doing the case for free either, although he needed to talk with Carpenter about that. The retainer hadn’t been paid yet.

Raine shook the financials out of his thoughts and approached Tompkins, who was standing near the judge’s bench, likely trying to secure the first spot on the afternoon’s calendar.

“Any chance you’ve come to your senses,” Raine began, “and are willing to release Mr. Carpenter while Detective Adams conducts her investigation?”

“Detective Adams has completed her investigation,” Tompkins replied. He held a fistful of papers aloft. “The trauma to the skull was old, not caused by the construction equipment. That, combined with the pendant recovered at the scene and your client’s obvious motive, seals the deal. Your client smashed Zoe West’s head in. And I am filing a charge of murder in the first degree against him.”

Raine sighed. It wasn’t surprising news, but still unwelcome. He would receive a copy of Adams’s report, and of all the reports related to the investigation, in a few days. There would be a lot, and it would be his job to review it all in the hopes of finding a mistake, if any existed. He snatched his copy of the criminal complaint out of Tompkins’s hand. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. I have other things to do.”

Tompkins didn’t argue. He looked tired too. Exhausted even, which Raine thought was a bit unjustified since he’d left early. Still, he didn’t mind forgoing any further trash-talking with Tompkins. He could save his words for the judge.

“All rise!” the bailiff called out.

Everyone complied, of course. Raine stole a glance behind him to confirm that McClain and his paparazzi had entered the courtroom after him, and they were also standing for the entrance of the judge.

“The King County Superior Court is now in session, The Honorable Kenneth Rosedale presiding.”

“Please be seated,” Judge Rosedale directed, almost by rote, as he took his seat above the courtroom. He gazed over the litigants assembled before him and after a moment his expression changed from practiced formality to expressive warmth. “Mr. McClain!” he greeted the guest of honor. Elected officials recognized each other in the wild. “Do you have a case here this afternoon?”

McClain stood up again to address the Court. “Not exactly, Your Honor. I am here to observe the matter of the State of Washington versus James Carpenter, but I am not one of the lawyers on that case.”

“Not yet anyway,” Rosedale quipped with a grin. “Well, welcome to my courtroom. We should catch up later.”

“I would like that very much, Your Honor,” McClain replied. “Thank you.”

Rosedale took a deep breath and refocused on his surroundings. “All right then. Do we have any matters ready? Is the Carpenter matter ready?”

“It is, Your Honor.” Tompkins took the single step from where he had been awaiting the judge’s arrival to the prosecutor’s spot at the bar beneath the judge’s bench. He handed several pages to the bailiff. “The State is filing a charge of murder in the first degree.”

The bailiff handed a copy of the complaint up to the judge, who in turn nodded to the jail guard standing sentry at the secure door to the holding cells. The guard opened the door and bellowed, “Carpenter!” into the abyss.

A few moments later, Jim Carpenter was escorted into the courtroom, feet shuffling in plastic slides and hands cuffed in front of him. He hadn’t shaved that morning, Raine noticed with some disapproval. It was going to be important to keep up appearances. Jurors didn’t like sloppy defendants.

“They decided to go ahead and file charges against me, huh?” Carpenter said under his breath when he reached Raine.

“Afraid so,” Raine replied in his own whisper.

Carpenter sighed. “I guess it’s a good thing I hired a lawyer.”

“You haven’t hired me quite yet,” Raine replied. “We’re going to need to make those arrangements, but after this. Right now we need to focus on the right now.”

Raine looked up to the judge. “The defense is ready, Your Honor.”

The arraignment’s only purpose was to formally advise a criminal defendant of the charges and for the defendant to answer with a plea of either ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’. Everyone already knew the charge that was being filed, and there was no chance Raine was going to say anything other than ‘not guilty’. It was required under the law, but it would take less than two minutes.

“Please proceed,” Judge Rosedale instructed.

Tompkins went first. “At this time the State of Washington is filing one count of murder in the first degree against the defendant, James Michael Carpenter. We would ask the defense to acknowledge receipt of the complaint, waive formal reading, and enter a plea.”

Then it was Raine’s turn. “The defense acknowledges receipt of the complaint, waives a formal reading of the charges, and asks the Court to enter a plea of not guilty.”

Rosedale finished the dance. “A plea of not guilty will be entered.”

And the arraignment was over. The important part came next.

“Is either party asking for a change in conditions of release?” the judge asked.

“What does that mean?” Carpenter whispered with a tug on Raine’s sleeve.

“Bail,” Raine translated. “He’s asking if either side wants to change the bail.”

“We do, right?”

“We do,” Raine confirmed, “but so do they.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“The State would like to be heard regarding conditions of release, Your Honor,” Tompkins confirmed. “Now that formal charges have been filed, we are requesting the Court set bail in the amount of two million dollars.”

“Two?” Rosedale questioned. “Didn’t you ask for one million at the first appearance?”

“I did, Your Honor,” Tompkins agreed. “The State believed that was the appropriate bail at that juncture, and now that charges have been filed, we believe a higher bail is appropriate.”

There was a certain logic to that, Raine admitted to himself.

Judge Rosedale seemed to agree, offering a nod to Tompkins. He turned to Raine. “What is the defense position regarding conditions of release?”

Raine had several options, but none of them were likely to be successful. He could renew his request for a thousand-dollar bail. There was exactly zero chance of that happening—not with McClain and a clutch of cameras watching Rosedale’s decision. He could go to the other extreme and concede the two-million-dollar request from the prosecutor. It would be quickest, and at some point, too much money was just too much money, no matter how many zeros it ended in.

In the end, he decided to do what defense attorneys usually did—not win, just try to minimize the loss.

“The Court should keep bail as set, Your Honor,” Raine argued. “Five hundred thousand. There has not been a change in circumstances sufficient to justify modifying the Court’s previous determination. Mr. Tompkins relied on his filing of the complaint as a basis to increase bail, but he told everyone who would listen that he intended to do so, so that’s hardly a change in circumstances. Accordingly, for all of the reasons I argued at the first appearance, we would ask the Court to keep bail as set.”

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” Carpenter tugged on Raine’s arm again. “I really don’t think I can post that.”

“Can you post two million?” Raine asked out of the corner of his mouth while keeping his eyes on the judge.

“Definitely not,” Carpenter admitted.

“Exactly,” Raine replied.

Judge Rosedale’s mouth twisted into a thoughtful knot. But it was mostly for show. Raine knew what he was going to do. The Wisdom of Solomon. Split the baby.

“I will set bail in the amount of one million dollars,” the judge announced. Less than what Tompkins wanted, more than Carpenter could possibly post. He’d essentially given Tompkins what he wanted. Carpenter wasn’t getting out. He also looked fair and balanced for the cameras, and the voters on the other side of the lenses.

“I’m stuck in here until the trial is over?” Carpenter asked.

Raine had to remind him of the stakes. “At least until then.”

The realization unfolded down Carpenter’s face but before he could reply, he was seized by the guard and marched back into the holding cell area.

Raine stepped away from the bar to let the next case be called and surveyed the courtroom. McClain and his entourage were making their way toward the exit. Raine suspected there would be a post-arraignment press conference in the hall as well, and he didn’t relish having to wade through that, debating whether to ignore the shouted questions or engage with them. That was just as well. He needed to talk with Carpenter more anyway. He walked toward the holding cells.

The only people allowed into the holding cell areas were jail guards, inmates, and defense attorneys. Prosecutors might also have been allowed, Raine supposed, but they had no reason to go back there. They weren’t allowed to speak directly to defendants, and they would have been very unpopular in a very cramped space.

Raine informed the guard at the door that he needed to talk with his client, a not-uncommon occurrence after an in-custody court appearance.

The guard took a moment to confirm over his shoulder-mounted radio that it was secure to allow an attorney into the back, then opened the large metal door with a clank. “They’re putting him in meeting room number one,” the guard advised before slamming the door shut behind him.

It was dim in the holding area. Not dim like a dungeon, just dim like there were no windows for natural light to enter and fluorescent lights were the cheap and energy-efficient choice for government buildings. Raine nodded to the two guards standing near the inmates waiting for their turn in the courtroom and made his way to the end of the small hallway to meeting room one. Carpenter was already inside.

“I can’t post one million dollars!” was the first thing out of his mouth.

Raine stifled a sigh. They had been over that already. “I know, but it’s better than two million. And three would be even worse, so behave yourself in there. Don’t get into any fights or anything.”

“Fights?” Carpenter fairly shrieked. “Are you kidding? I’m scared to death. I didn’t shave this morning because I was afraid to shower.”

“You’re going to need to get over that,” Raine advised. “You can’t go months without showering.”

“Months?” Carpenter’s jaw dropped open.

“Years, if we don’t win this case,” Raine replied. “Decades, in fact.”

“Well, then we need to win the case,” Carpenter said. “No matter what.”

“About that.” Raine raised an index finger. “I’ve agreed to represent you in principle, and I’ve now attended two court hearings and a body exhumation. But I have yet to be paid.”

“I can’t pay you as long as I’m in here.” Carpenter patted uselessly at his pants. “I don’t have my wallet. These pants don’t even have pockets.”

“Understood,” Raine replied evenly. “As you can imagine, this comes up from time to time in my line of work. There is a solution.”

“What’s the solution?”

“Your wife,” Raine answered. “Kristi, right? I just need Kristi to pay the retainer fee. Then I can get back to work on the case.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Carpenter frowned. “I can call her. It’s collect from the jail, but she should accept. I’ll tell her to call you with a credit card number.”

Raine shook his head. “No, I need to see her in person. I need a paper check, not just a credit card number.”

Carpenter cocked his head askance at Raine.

“The Bar Association has the right to audit my books at any time,” Raine explained. “On a case as big as this, I need a paper trail that’s actually paper.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Carpenter allowed.

It did, Raine knew, but it also wasn’t entirely true. A printed-out credit card transaction receipt was also made out of paper.

“I’m happy to go out to your house to pick it up,” Raine offered, “but I want to accept the check personally. So I can answer any questions she might have,” he appended.

But there was another reason Raine wanted to meet her in person. He wanted to size her up. Kristi Carpenter was going to be the most important witness in the trial, the centerpiece of Raine’s defense of her husband. He wanted to gauge what she was like, how she came across, who she was.

He needed to know whether a jury would like her.

9

You could tell a lot about a person by their home. Especially if they didn’t know you were coming.

Parking could be hard to come by in Ballard, the popular neighborhood at the mouth of the shipping locks that led from Lake Union to Puget Sound. The neighborhood had once been the city’s main locale for commercial fisheries and still held the residue of its predominantly Scandinavian settlers. Raine found a parking spot next to the Nordic History Museum, which was several blocks away. But it was a nice afternoon for a walk, he supposed.

The Carpenter house was that same ‘cute little craftsman in Ballard’ that Jim and Kristi had bought all those years ago. For reasons Raine didn’t understand, they had never moved away. Donnie and Hannah West also still lived next door, despite everything that had happened. Some people were just tied to their home, Raine supposed, even if the people that made a house a home were gone.

Double-checking the house number, Raine confirmed that the Carpenter house was the craftsman with forest green paint and white trim. The West residence immediately next door swapped navy blue for the Carpenters’ green, but was otherwise identical to its neighbor. Raine guessed that sort of comity might have been fun, even exhilarating, back when the Carpenters and Wests were a pair of young couples starting out. But after everything he had learned had happened between the families, Raine found it more disconcerting than anything.

Raine walked past the Carpenters’ house and up the front steps of the West residence. He knocked on the honey-stained front door and stepped back.

A few moments later he was standing face to face with Hannah West. She was in her early fifties, like Jim and Kristi, and presumably Donnie. She had dark brown hair cut at her shoulders and large blue eyes framed by the thinnest of wrinkles. She wore a baggy gold sweatshirt with a large purple ‘W’ on the front and black yoga pants. Bare feet.

“Hello?” she greeted her unexpected guest.

“Hello. Are you Hannah West?” he inquired. “My name is Daniel Raine. I’m an attorney. I was wondering if you might have a few minutes to answer some questions about your daughter’s disappearance.”

Hannah frowned, drawing more of those fine wrinkles to the surface, but it was a tired frown, born of years of answering questions about her daughter’s disappearance.

“You’re an attorney?” she confirmed. “Who do you represent?”

A fair question, and one he was required to answer truthfully. The Bar Association prohibited attorneys from lying about their intentions. But he wasn’t sure the answer was going to get him through the front door.

“I represent your neighbor, Jim Carpenter,” he admitted. “He’s been charged with your daughter’s murder and I’m defending him.”

Hannah nodded. “I kind of thought so. The police told us Zoe’s body had been found under Jim’s store, and we heard he hired a lawyer.” She turned to shout into the house. “Donnie! We have company. Jim’s lawyer is here to talk to us about Zoe.”

That went better than Raine expected. Hannah opened the door fully and invited him inside.

The home was noticeably tidy, almost bare. A wooden floor led to the living room furnished with a glass-topped coffee table surrounded by a couch and chairs with wooden frames and beige upholstery. The only thing on the coffee table was a single bottle of imported beer on a white stone coaster. The only thing on the furniture was Donnie West, centered on his couch. He looked significantly less put together than his surroundings.

He was a puffy man with eyebags and a sagging chin. The tip of his nose was pink, almost red, and his ears seemed too large for even his large face. Wiry eyebrows tangled over dark eyes. A gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants covered his rotund frame. He leaned forward with a groan and picked up his beer. It was 10:00 in the morning.

“Welcome,” he said as Raine sat down in one of the chairs opposite him. “So, you’re the man defending our daughter’s murderer. How does that feel?”

“Donnie!” Hannah scolded. She stepped forward and slid the coaster closer to her husband, then sat down as well, on the other chair. “I’m sure this is difficult for everyone. He’s just doing his job.”

Donnie frowned but didn’t argue.

Raine decided to respond to the question despite Hannah’s intervention. “There are two answers to that question, actually,” he began. “One that you won’t like, and one that maybe you will. The one that you don’t like goes something like this. Everyone in this country is entitled to a vigorous defense, even guilty people. Our prisons are filled with innocent people who were wrongly convicted. It’s better to let ten guilty people go free than to imprison one innocent person. And our system works best when both sides fight as hard as they can and justice emerges from that battle.”

“Yeah, I don’t like that very much,” Donnie admitted with a tip of his bottle toward Raine. “What’s the other answer?”

“The other answer is that Jim didn’t do it,” Raine said, “which means someone else did. And it’s my job to find out who.”

Donnie didn’t reply. Hannah did.

“Do you really think that’s true?” she asked Raine. “Her body was found under his store. I mean, who else could have done it?”

“Well, Jim insists he’s innocent,” Raine responded. “Everything he tells me is protected by attorney-client privilege, but I think I can tell you that much. He doesn’t know how that happened any more than you do. But police and prosecutors are notoriously quick to stop asking questions once they think they have all the answers. That leaves it to me to ask the questions. That’s why I’m here.”

Hannah looked at Donnie. Donnie took a moment, then offered the slightest of shrugs. He leaned forward and set his beer down on the table. Not on the coaster, though. Next to it. Hannah stood up and moved the bottle onto the stone disk, then sat down again and turned to Raine.

“What sort of questions?” she asked.

“For starters,” Raine leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees, “if Jim didn’t do it, then who do you think might have? You must have had your suspicions, even back then. Tell me who you’ve thought could have been responsible. Let me do the rest.”

Donnie frowned. “I’ve always thought it was Jim. Still do. But if not him, then Kristi. She would have had access to Jim’s store just as much as him.”

Raine had already identified Kristi as a possible other suspect. He was looking to expand the list. “Anyone else? Their motive seems obvious. The police sure think so. But there must have been other people in Zoe’s life? Other people who might have hurt her? A jealous boyfriend, maybe? Something like that?”

“Former boyfriend?” Hannah absorbed the suggestion. “Eric? I mean, no. No, of course not.”

“I never liked Eric much,” Donnie put in. “If it was anyone besides Jim, it was that one teacher who showed way too much interest in Zoe. Mr. Trimble or something?”

“Turnbill,” Hannah corrected. “Mr. Turnbill, Zoe’s English teacher.”

“Thought he was a fucking poet,” Donnie sneered. He leaned forward and took another swig of his morning beer. “He told Zoe she had the soul of a poet or something. Way too young to be teaching high schoolers, if you ask me. And way too interested in our daughter’s poetic soul or whatever.”

Raine nodded. “Okay. Eric the boyfriend, and Mr. Turnbill the teacher. What was Eric’s last name? And what was Turnbill’s first?”

“Eric Garcia,” Hannah answered. “I don’t know what Mr. Turnbill’s first name was. But the school would know.”

“Which school?” Raine asked. “Ballard High?”

“Yeah, Ballard,” Donnie confirmed.

“We’ve never been rich enough to send our child to private school, Mr. Raine,” Hannah added with a glance at her husband.

He glared at her and swallowed another gulp of beer.

“Did Eric have any particular reason to be angry at Zoe?” Raine pressed. “Did they break up shortly before her disappearance or anything like that?”

Hannah took a moment to recall.

Donnie jumped into that moment. “I’m pretty sure they were still together when she went missing.”

“That might be right.” Hannah shrugged. “Zoe could be a little secretive about her love life. I do remember it was very hard on Eric. He and his family moved away soon after Zoe went missing. Someplace far away.”

“The Peninsula,” Donnie grumbled.

“The Olympic Peninsula?” Raine questioned. That was far away, all the way on the other side of Puget Sound. Sparsely populated, too. If you wanted to get your kid away from the murder he committed, that would be a good place to go.

“Eric. Turnbill. The garbage man. Butcher, baker, candlestick maker.” Donnie slammed his bottle onto the glass of the coffee table and pushed himself to his feet. “I don’t know why we’re talking about all of these other people. It was Jim. Jim did it. He blamed Zoe for Chloe’s death and he buried her body under his very own store. It’s an open-and-shut case, and we’re done answering questions.”

Hannah stood up and moved Donnie’s beer bottle back onto the coaster. “I’m sorry, Mr. Raine. I know you have a job to do, but I think it’s best if you leave now.”

Raine couldn’t disagree. And he’d gotten what he’d come for anyway. He stood up as well. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. and Mrs. West. I hope this case will bring you some closure, even if not much comfort. I can make my way out.”

Hannah insisted on walking him to the door. She thanked him again for coming and seemed like she wanted to apologize for her husband’s behavior but stopped herself.

When the door closed behind him, Raine lingered on the porch. He could make out Hannah’s raised voice at her husband, but not her words. He’d struck a nerve with the prosecution’s two star witnesses. So that was a success as well.

He smiled and descended the steps of the Wests’ blue and white craftsman home, then made his way to the craftsman next door. He knocked on that door, stained the same honey gold color, and waited for his client’s wife to open the door and hand him a check. He would want to go inside for a little conversation with Kristi Carpenter as well.

Kristi Carpenter opened the door and took a moment to stare at the man standing before her. She looked tired, exhausted even. Not just tired physically. Not just tired emotionally. But tired of it, all of it. Tired of everything. And almost certainly tired of Jim.

She had long hair that was a medium brown color, with some blonde left in the tips, darker roots, and a handful of gray wisps. She was dressed in a burgundy thermal hoodie, black yoga pants, and thick woolen socks. She looked ready to go to yoga, or to the grocery store, or the bedroom for a nap. Maybe all three in order. What she didn’t look ready for was having to hand over a giant check to an attorney because her husband had been arrested for murdering the best friend of their long-dead daughter.

“Good morning, Ms. Carpenter,” he greeted her. “I’m Dan Raine.”

“The attorney Jim hired?” she asked without opening the door further. Not quite yet anyway.

“Exactly.” He extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Kristi looked at Raine’s hand but didn’t shake it. “I thought you’d be older.”

Raine wasn’t sure how to take that. Maybe she had heard about his reputation and assumed as accomplished a lawyer as J. Daniel Raine must have a few more years under his belt. “Why is that?”

“Because you insisted on a paper check,” Kristi answered. “No one under seventy uses paper checks anymore.”

Raine frowned. He didn’t need to explain the real reason he had insisted on her providing a paper check. But he did need to make sure he didn’t waste the opportunity.

“Could I come inside?” he asked. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the case while you look for your checkbook.”

“I already wrote the check.” Kristi opened the door all the way and stepped aside. “But sure, come on in. I don’t really want to make another pot of coffee, but I can offer you some water. I might have some milk in the back of the fridge too.”

Back-of-the-fridge milk didn’t sound very appealing, although it was probably better than ten-in-the-morning beer. “Water would be wonderful. Thank you.”

Kristi pointed to the living room and then disappeared down a hallway, presumably to the kitchen.

The house had the exact same layout as the Wests’ home. They were probably built from the same floorplan. But where the interior of the Wests’ house had been empty to the point of barrenness, the Carpenters’ home—Kristi’s home, Raine supposed, while Jim was in jail anyway—was a crowded mess of dirty cups and dishes, unsorted junk mail, and dirty clothes. Every surface, including large swaths of the floor, was covered with the clutter of someone who had clearly given up on household chores.

Raine looked for the seat with the items most easily moved; papers rather than dishes. An overstuffed leather chair offered the least resistance. He transferred a book to the coffee table and the crumpled-up sock to the floor, then sat down and awaited the return of his host.

After a longer time than Raine would have expected to pour a glass of water, Kristi returned with a glass of water for him and what looked like freshly brewed herbal tea for herself. She also had the check for the retainer.

She handed the check and the water to Raine, then cleared a space for her tea on the coffee table and a space for herself on the couch. She dropped down and rested her hands on her lap, as if she had no interest in the tea after all. In fact, she seemed generally unbothered by anything around her, almost uninterested in the legal jeopardy her husband was facing.

Raine needed to probe that a bit. If he was going to build his case on Jim Carpenter being a reliable family man who would never do anything as heinous as murder the teenage neighbor girl, he should know if there were any cracks in that foundation before he started.

“How are you holding up?” Raine began, choosing his question intentionally. It both showed empathy and invited her to talk about herself, everyone’s favorite subject.

“I’m fine, Mr. Raine,” was all she said.

Raine nodded. “Good, good. How’s Jim holding up?”

Kristi shrugged. “He seemed fine when I talked with him.”

“Did he talk to you about the case?” Raine inquired.

“He told me to write you a paper check,” Kristi answered.

“Did he tell you what he’s facing?” Raine pressed.

“A lot, I assume,” Kristi responded. “It’s murder, after all. But we didn’t get into specifics.”

Raine leaned back in the chair and placed a hand to his chin. Kristi Carpenter surprised him, and after years of dealing with the worst people in the worst circumstances, he was hard to surprise. He had wanted to size her up, determine whether a jury would like her. He was having trouble sizing her up, but despite that—or perhaps because of it—he thought he might like her.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs. Carpenter,” he leaned forward again, “but you don’t seem very surprised about your husband being charged with murder.”

“Surprised?” Kristi laughed. “This is probably the least surprising thing that’s happened to me in my entire life. It’s the opposite of surprising. When you spend ten years terrified that something terrible might happen, when it finally does, it’s not surprising. It’s almost a relief.”

Raine’s practiced visage gave way to one of concern. And curiosity. “You always thought he’d get arrested for Zoe West’s murder?”

“I always thought one of us would,” Kristi explained. “Everyone did. We were the obvious suspects. Come on, she kills our daughter and gets away with it? Of course we were the prime suspects. But it was a missing person case, not a murder. Not at first anyway. Not for ten years. And they can’t prosecute someone for murder if they never find the body, right?”

Raine offered a noncommittal shrug. “It’s difficult, and uncommon, but not impossible.”

“Huh.” Kristi nodded. “Well, anyway, I knew I didn’t do it. So, part of me always suspected Jim.”

“Do you think he always suspected you?” Raine posited.

Kristi smiled. The first smile since he had arrived. But it was cold. “Only if he didn’t do it.”

Raine leaned back again. He liked Kristi Carpenter all right. But he wasn’t sure she liked her husband. And if she didn’t, the jury wouldn’t like him either.

“Are you going to be able to support Jim through all of this?” he went ahead and asked. “This isn’t going to be easy. It won’t be quick either. And it will end with you testifying in front of a courtroom of people who hate your husband for something he may not have done.”

“Difficult, slow, and everybody hates him for something he may or may not have done?” Kristi allowed a dark chuckle. “Been there, done that. For ten years.”

Raine was satisfied with that answer. He had to be. At least it was honest.

“Are you married, Mr. Raine?” She motioned toward his left hand. “I don’t see a ring.”

Raine grimaced down at his bare ring finger. “Divorced,” he admitted.

“Ah,” Kristi responded. “I can see how that happens. How long were you married?”

“Long enough,” Raine answered, a bit shortly. “Why do you ask?”

Kristi sighed. “They told us the one thing a marriage can almost never survive is the death of a child. Financial problems, chronic illness, even infidelity—those can be overcome if both sides are committed enough to each other and the marriage. But the death of a child? They said we’d never stay together. It’s a hole in your heart you can never really fill. And people grieve differently, so one partner might think the other isn’t grieving deep enough, or long enough, or the right way. Jim and I promised we would stay together, no matter what.”

“Why?” Raine asked, genuinely curious.

“For Chloe,” Kristi answered. “And now, after all of these years, she’s the only reason we’re still together.”

Raine could see how that might be true.

“Can I ask you one more question, Mr. Raine?” Kristi asked.

“Of course.”

“Do you miss your ex-wife?”

Raine felt the question deep in his heart. He took a moment to make sure his voice didn’t break. “Yes.”

Kristi nodded. “I thought so.” She sighed and turned away, her eyes glistening. “I miss Jim. I’ve missed him every night since Chloe died.”

10

It was Raine’s weekend with his boys, Jason and Jordan. Jordan, the younger one, liked his father well enough, despite the divorce. Jason was another story. Already well into his moody teenage years, the divorce had affected him more. Raine was accustomed to Jason’s indifference, if not outright hostility, but that didn’t mean he liked it. So, Raine was ambivalent about the transfer that Friday night.

Normally, he picked the boys up from Natalie’s house—their formerly shared residence—and Raine could look forward to no more than a few precious minutes of small talk with his ex-wife before the boys spilled out of the front door and into his car. That week, however, Jason had an event at the high school. That meant a focus on Jason and, by extension, Raine’s performance as a father. On the other hand, he got to spend a full ninety minutes with Nat.

The event was an awards ceremony. Jason was in his senior year and the school made sure to hold the banquet early enough to allow the recipients to add the awards to their college applications. Jason had earned two awards: for debate team and archery club. Raine was very much a proud papa. He was just worried Jason would find Raine’s pride in him more annoying than endearing.

“It’s nice that you made it for this,” Nat commented as they waited for the ceremony to begin.

Raine frowned. “Of course I made it. I care about Jason as much as you do. Even if he doesn’t always seem to remember that.”

They were seated next to each other, about a third of the way in on a row of folding chairs on the gymnasium floor. The school had an auditorium as well, but for some unknown reason the awards ceremony had been scheduled in the gym. Maybe the lighting was better. It was certainly bright, with multiple rows of fluorescent bulbs hanging over the assembled parents and siblings.

Nat patted Raine on the knee. “He knows it, Dan,” she assured. “He just doesn’t know how to express it sometimes. He’s supposed to be breaking away from us now.”

Raine was about to make a comment about how he was glad Jordan wasn’t acting like Jason yet when his younger son spoke up from the seat on the other side of his mother. “Can I go sit with my friends?” He pointed toward the back of the gymnasium where a group of awkward-looking early teenage boys were milling about and doing anything but sitting.

“It’s okay with me,” Nat answered, then seemed to remember to include Raine. “That is, if it’s okay with your father.”

“Can I, Dad?” Jordan repeated his entreaty. “Cam is back there and he’s, like, my best friend.”

“I thought Ryan was your best friend,” Raine replied.

Jordan’s face twisted up. “That was in, like, fifth grade, Dad.”

“Oh,” Raine answered. “Then yeah, sure, whatever. If your mom’s good with it, so am I. Say hi to Cam for me.”

Jordan was already halfway out of his seat after Raine said the word ‘sure’, but he paused long enough to say, “Uh, no. I’m not going to say hi to Cam for you. That’s weird, Dad.”

Raine forced a smile. “Cool. Whatever. Have fun. Go away.”

Nat laughed lightly as Jordan sprinted toward his friends. “He likes you too, Dan, even if you don’t know who his friends are anymore.”

“I know his best friend is Cam,” Raine retorted.

Another laugh from his ex-wife. “Well done, counselor.”

Raine didn’t like being reminded how much he missed that laugh. He checked the time. It was several minutes after 7:00. “Wasn’t this supposed to have started by now?”

“You know how these school things go, Dan,” Nat replied. “We couldn’t even keep one kid in his seat. Imagine having dozens of them to line up.”

“I suppose so,” Raine allowed.

There were a few moments of silence between them, nestled in the murmur of the other parents surrounding them, as Raine tried to think of some small talk topic to raise. Not the weather; that was too obvious. Not work either; Nat never liked hearing about his work.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” Nat asked him, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead at the still-empty stage at the front of the gymnasium.

“Uh…” Raine hesitated. “Uh, yes, as a matter of fact.”

Nat smiled, still looking ahead. “Good.”

It was good. Sawyer was special and he was lucky to be with her. So why did he feel like he should have lawyered up instead of confessing? But before he could say anything more, the principal finally took the stage and began the proceedings.

“Good evening, parents!” he called out through the microphone he was holding a bit too close to his mouth. “Thank you for coming tonight, and thank you for your patience as we pulled together the final pieces of our preparation. Tonight is a very important night for your students and I know I speak for all of them when I say…”

The P.A. system was loud enough that Raine couldn’t have made any more small talk with Nat even if he’d wanted to. The truth was, he wasn’t interested in small talk with her. But he was perhaps a bit too interested in the bigger talk she had initiated before the principal interrupted. In any event, the ceremony was underway. Thirty-eight students were receiving awards that night. Several of them, like Jordan, had earned more than one. Raine guessed each award would take approximately two minutes and did the math in his head. It was going to be a long night.

Jason’s first award, as part of the regional-champion debate team, came toward the beginning of the ceremony and Raine allowed himself to entertain the thought that he might be able to duck out early if Jason’s second award followed soon thereafter. It didn’t, which was just as well. He hadn’t been able to see his older son before the program because he was getting ready backstage when Raine arrived. If Raine left before he came out afterward, Jason wouldn’t believe his father had been there at all. Raine was there for the duration. So, when Jason accepted his second award, for securing the highest score that year in archery club, three spots before the end of the program, Raine stretched his back as best he could in the increasingly uncomfortable metal chair he had spent far too long in and looked forward to standing up and congratulating his son in person.

“Congratulations, Jason!” Nat called out to him as he made his way through the post-ceremony crowd.

Students and their families milled about in groups across the gymnasium floor. Custodial staff were already starting to put the chairs away, and Jordan and some younger children were still horsing around in the back of the gym when Jason reached the spot near center court where his parents stood, side by side, waiting for him.

“I’m so proud of you.” Nat gave their older son a large hug.

Jason struggled against it, but only slightly.

Raine stuck out a hand. “Great job, son. I’m proud of you.”

Jason hesitated, then shook his father’s hand quickly.

Raine wondered whether he should have offered a hug instead.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” Jason said to his parents. “It was kinda fun to get to go on stage twice.”

“Well, you earned it,” Raine replied. “What do you say we get some ice cream on the way home?”

“Ice cream?” Jason frowned. “I’m not eight years old, Dad.”

“Neither am I,” Raine returned. “You’re never too old for ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Jordan sprinted to a halt next to his family. “Are we getting ice cream?”

Raine nodded to Jason. “Ask your brother.”

“We should get ice cream,” Jordan urged. “Ice cream is lit.”

Raine deduced that ‘lit’ was a good thing.

Jason seemed to want to disagree, but was in a good enough mood with his hands full of awards to relent. “Okay, fine. But we’re going to Ray’s.”

Jordan nodded approvingly and looked up at his father with a serious expression. “Ray’s is the best ice cream.”

“Ray’s it is,” Raine agreed.

Nat grinned at her boys, and at Raine, and told them to get their things so they could start their weekend with their father. They hurried off to collect coats and backpacks and Raine was left standing in the emptying gymnasium with his ex-wife. Somehow, the fluorescent lights brought a warm glow to her cheeks. He wanted to ask her the same question she had asked him. Was she seeing anyone? He had asked her that once before, too soon after the divorce, and been appropriately rebuked. This time, she was the one who had raised the subject. It wouldn’t have been uncalled for to pose the question. But it wouldn’t have been right either.

“It was good to see you tonight, Nat,” Raine said. He offered neither a handshake nor a hug. Those days, he knew, were behind them.

“It was good to see you too, Dan,” she replied.

Raine glanced around at the dissipating throng of parents and children and then back at Nat. He wanted to ask her if there was anything she wouldn’t do for her kids, even kill. But the days of running his cases past her were behind him too. And he knew the answer anyway.

“Have fun at Ray’s,” she added in departure.

He would. Ray’s really did have the best ice cream in Seattle. They had discovered that together, years ago, before the kids were even born. It wouldn’t be quite the same without her.

11

After a busy weekend with his boys, Raine was ready for a busy week of work. The first item on his to-do list was a conversation with Eric Garcia. It took a bit to locate him. The name wasn’t all that uncommon.

Fortunately, there weren’t too many towns on the Olympic Peninsula, so after internet searches for Eric Garcia in peninsula towns like Port Townsend and Port Gamble, Raine found a listing for a 27-year-old Eric Garcia working at a tire store in Port Angeles, a city of 20,000 residents on the north coast of the Olympic Peninsula, due south of Victoria, Canada, and a three-hour drive from Seattle, including the ferry ride. It would be a great opportunity to learn even more about his sometimes partner, ‘investigator’ Rebecca Sommers.

“No way, Dan,” Sommers responded when he asked if she was free to drive to Port Angeles to interview the late Zoe West’s high school boyfriend. “I have a real job, in Seattle, which is an actual city, with buildings I can sell. I’m not wasting an entire day driving to and from a town too small for a McDonald’s for a ten-minute interview with someone who probably has nothing valuable to say.”

“Okay, so first of all,” Raine replied, “I’m pretty sure they have a McDonald’s. Maybe even two. Second, it’s never a waste of time to see other parts of the state. Who doesn’t like a ferry ride? Third⁠—”

“Let me stop you,” Sommers interrupted. “The answer is no. I am not going to Port Angeles with you. If you have an interview that’s actually in Seattle, let me know. But for this one, you’re on your own.”

Raine supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. It was a long drive for what could end up being a short interview.

“Why don’t you ask Sawyer to go along?” Sommers suggested. “She might enjoy spending so much time with you.”

Raine wasn’t sure whether to be more offended by the implication that Sommers would not have enjoyed it, or the uncertainty that Sawyer would. But it wasn’t a bad idea.

He told her as much and let her off the phone. Then he called his girlfriend.

“Port Angeles?” Sawyer considered aloud. “Yeah, sure. That could be fun. We can camp at Salt Creek.”

“Camp?” Raine questioned. He hadn’t said anything about camping.

“I’m not driving to one of the most beautiful parts of the state to stay in a two-star motel,” Sawyer explained. “I’ll book us a campsite with a view of the water. Do you have a cold weather sleeping bag?”

“Uh, probably. Somewhere. Maybe in storage? It’s been a while since I took the boys camping.”

“No worries,” Sawyer replied. “I have an extra. We’ll use my tent too.”

“Sounds great,” Raine said.

Sawyer waited a beat. “Does it?”

Raine thought for a moment, then smiled. He hadn’t planned on a camping trip, but he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather freeze under the stars with than Sawyer Mount. “Absolutely.”

The first thirty minutes of the trip to Port Angeles were the drive from Seattle north to the coastal town of Edmonds. The next thirty minutes were on a car ferry crossing Puget Sound to the town of Kingston on the other side of the water.

Like almost all of the other passengers, Raine and Sawyer left their car parked and locked on the vehicle deck and walked up to the passenger seating area above, complete with vending machines and a small cafeteria. They eschewed the interior seating to stand out on the exterior deck, pulling their coats tight against the cold maritime air blowing over the speeding vessel.

“So, what’s the play when we get there?” Sawyer asked, raising her voice to be heard over the wind. “Good lawyer, bad lawyer? I want to be the bad lawyer.”

“You’re anything but a bad lawyer,” Raine replied. He leaned onto the railing and looked down at the passing waves. A seagull floated nearby, suspended in the air as it kept pace with the ferry. “No, I think the play is honesty. We tell him the truth so he tells us the truth.”

“Hello, I’m defending the man who murdered your high school girlfriend,” Sawyer tried the approach on for size. “Yeah, that should work great. At least we’ll get to the campsite early after he slams the door in our face.”

“I’m hoping to catch him at work,” Raine answered. “The doors have to remain unlocked during business hours.”

“Solid thinking,” Sawyer complimented. “And who knows? Maybe Eric Garcia will be a decent guy who wants to see truth and justice prevail.”

Raine nodded, but then sighed. He’d been an attorney too long to expect that. “Probably not.”

Sawyer leaned onto the rail next to him. “No, probably not.”

Mike’s Discount Tire was located on Highway 101, the main drag that ran east-west through downtown Port Angeles. Pretty much the entire town was on that street or a few blocks from it. The business shared a parking lot with a local coffee shop and a dental office. The McDonald’s was one block up.

Raine pulled the car into a parking spot directly in front of the tire store entrance and pushed himself out of the car, his legs stiff from nearly two hours of constant driving. He stood up and cracked his back and Sawyer came around to his side of the car.

“Any idea what this guy looks like?” she asked.

Raine shook his head. “No, we’ll have to ask for him by name.”

Sawyer frowned. “I was hoping for more stealth on this mission.”

“You can use a fake name if you want,” Raine suggested. “You’re not Carpenter’s lawyer. I’m the one who has to be candid in my dealing with unrepresented persons, or whatever the exact words of the ethical rule are.”

Raine walked toward the entrance then and held the door open for Sawyer. The interior smelled strongly of rubber, standard for a tire store in Raine’s experience. A handful of customers were seated in the waiting area near a large television. The show appeared to involve very expensive properties in parts of the world much warmer than Port Angeles, Washington.

A man far too old to be Eric Garcia greeted them from behind a service desk framed by two towers of brand new tires. “Welcome to Mike’s Discount Tire!” he called out with a broad grin. He was heavy set, with gray stubble and black hair slicked back from his face. The name tag on his shirt read ‘Nick’. So, not the owner, assuming the owner was actually named Mike. “How can we help you folks today?”

Raine stepped forward. “We’re looking for Eric Garcia. Is he working today?”

“Eric?” the man asked, more to himself than his potential customers. “Yeah, Eric is working today. Did someone refer you to Eric specifically?”

“Oh, very specifically,” Sawyer answered.

Nick seemed unsure how to take that. He nodded and moved on. “I think Eric is in the garage, putting a full set on a Ford. I can see if he’s available. Were you looking for something specific today?”

“Oh, something very specific,” Sawyer fairly purred.

Raine looked at her disapprovingly. She ignored him.

“Okay, then,” Nick laughed nervously. “I’ll see when Eric might be free. What are your names again?”

“I’m Dan Raine,” Raine answered, “and this is⁠—”

“Sasha,” Sawyer held out a dramatic hand as if for it to be kissed. “Sasha Nostradamus.”

Nick blinked at her, then endeavored to shake her awkwardly extended hand.

“It’s Greek,” Sawyer offered in explanation.

“Sure,” Nick replied. “I’ll get Eric.”

“Sasha Nostradamus?” Raine asked once Nick was out of earshot.

“You said I could use an alias,” Sawyer protested.

Raine shook his head but decided not to argue with her. At least she was enjoying herself, which helped him to do the same.

It took a while before Eric met them in the lobby. Long enough for Raine to become surprisingly invested into whether the uber-rich couple on TV were going to be able to flip their waterfront Miami condo, even after the bathroom renovation.

“Hey there.” Eric garnered their attention with the greeting and a small wave. “Are you Dan and Sasha? Nick said you were looking for me.”

He was exactly the age he should have been—27, give or take a year. He had short black hair cut into a fade, with thick forearms covered in black tattoos. His face was pleasant and his expression trusting. Raine was glad his plan was to just be honest with the young man.

“Sally,” Sawyer corrected her made-up name in a low rumble. She jutted out a strong hand for a handshake. “Sally Duckworth. Damn good to meet ya, Eric.”

Eric accepted Sawyer’s vigorous handshake. “So, um, what can I do for you folks? Are you looking for a new set of tires? What kind of vehicle are you driving?”

Raine shook his head. “No, we didn’t come to talk to you about tires. We came to talk to you about Zoe West.”

It took a moment for the name to penetrate Eric’s memories. But when it did, he took a step back and braced himself on the counter. “Zoe? Wow. I haven’t thought about her for, well, too long, I guess. I tried to forget about all that.”

“Do you have time for a few questions?” Raine asked.

Eric stood up straight again and his expression hardened. “Who are you exactly? Why are you asking about Zoe?”

Raine and Sawyer weren’t in suits like they might have been had they visited Eric in Seattle during a workday. They looked like any couple on their way to that nearby campground. “I’m a lawyer,” Raine explained. “I represent James Carpenter.”

Eric frowned. “Zoe’s neighbor? The one whose daughter died in the car crash?”

“So, you do remember?” Sawyer/Sasha/Sally said.

“Of course I remember,” Eric replied. “Everyone knew what happened. I just tried to forget, that’s all. That was a long time ago and I was still a kid. Zoe and I only dated for a couple of months, and we broke up a couple weeks before she disappeared.”

“You broke up before she disappeared?” Raine questioned, recalling what the Wests had said. “Is there any reason Zoe wouldn’t have told her parents that you guys had broken up?”

Eric shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think a lot of teenagers tell their parents about who they’re dating. I sure didn’t.”

Raine supposed that was true. He had no idea whether Jason was dating anyone.

“After graduation, my parents moved us out here,” Eric continued, before posing a few of his own questions. “Why are you asking me about Zoe? Was there a break in the case? What does Mr. Carpenter have to do with it?”

“You might say that,” Sawyer commented, rolling her eyes away.

“Zoe’s remains were discovered under Mr. Carpenter’s store,” Raine explained. “He’s been charged with her murder.”

“Oh, shit,” Eric said.

“Exactly,” Sawyer agreed.

“He killed Zoe?” Eric shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, I don’t believe it either,” Raine responded. “He insists he didn’t do it. But that means someone else did. I’m trying to figure out who.”

Eric’s eyes widened. “You think I did it?”

“No,” Raine assured quickly. Not yet, anyway. “But I think you might have information that could help us figure out who did.”

Eric ran a hand through his thick hair, sending a few strands falling across his face. “I don’t know if I can help any, but if I can, I guess I owe it to Zoe to try.” He called over to his coworker. “I’m gonna take my break now. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

Nick offered his approval with a thumbs-up.

Eric gestured toward the exit. “The coffee shop next door doesn’t suck. Let’s go there to talk. I don’t need everyone here knowing all about my past.”

That seemed reasonable enough to Raine and soon they were seated at a table in the corner of the coffee shop whose name Raine didn’t bother to note.

“So, what do you remember about Zoe’s disappearance?” Raine asked. “And specifically whether anyone acted strangely or differently from what you would have expected.”

“Honestly, the one who acted the weirdest was probably Mr. Carpenter,” Eric said, much to Raine’s disappointment, “but that was actually before Zoe disappeared, I guess.”

“Explain,” Sawyer directed.

“Uh, that is…” Eric hesitated at Sawyer’s brusqueness. But that was just like Sally Duckworth. “Well, everybody knew Zoe was driving when they crashed and Chloe died. I mean, she was never charged with anything, but it was her fault. I would have thought Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter wouldn’t have been able to stand the sight of her.”

“I would have thought that too,” Raine agreed. “Was it not like that?”

“It was with Mrs. Carpenter,” Eric answered. “But Mr. Carpenter was super friendly any time we saw him. And that happened more than you would have thought. Most of the times we were coming or going, it seemed like Mr. Carpenter was there, mowing his lawn or washing his car or something. He would always say hi and tell us to have fun.”

“And you thought that was weird?” Sawyer asked.

“Yeah, pretty weird,” Eric confirmed.

“Did Zoe think so too?” Raine asked.

Eric took a drink of his coffee. “You know, I’m not sure. I guess not, and I didn’t really bring it up. I think once I might have been like, ‘Doesn’t he hate you?’ and she was like, ‘He could never hate me.’”

“You didn’t follow up on that?” Sawyer questioned.

“I was a teenage boy trying to get with a pretty girl,” Eric explained. “I wasn’t a lawyer driving a hundred miles to ask somebody questions about something that happened a million years ago.”

“It was ten years ago,” Raine corrected, “but yeah, about a hundred miles from Seattle.”

He took a drink of his own coffee—black brewed coffee with a shot of espresso added. Bitter, like his job sometimes. “Okay, so my client was unusually nice to everyone. I can deal with that. Anyone else act weird? What about that teacher? What was his name again? Turncoat or something?”

“Mr. Turnbill?” Eric’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah, that guy was weird, but he was weird all the time. Super creepy. He creeped on all the girls. Everybody talked about that.”

“Including Zoe?” Raine asked.

“Zoe, Chloe, any girl who was halfway pretty and ended up taking one of his classes,” Eric answered. “And he taught English, so like everybody took one of his classes eventually, you know?”

“Sure, sure.” Raine nodded. “Tell me more about how he creeped on Zoe.”

“She just mentioned it once, before we broke up,” Eric explained. “She made fun of him for being a creep, just like everybody else did. I heard the school finally figured it out and got rid of him, but I don’t know any of the details about that.”

“How did Turnbill act immediately after her disappearance?” Sawyer asked. “Anything suspicious?”

“I don’t know,” Eric answered with a shrug. “I don’t think I saw him after that. I mean, everybody was freaked out. First Chloe dies and then Zoe goes missing. People talked but nobody knew anything. And I wasn’t really looking to see how some creepy teacher was acting.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Raine allowed. “I don’t suppose you know Mr. Turnbill’s first name? Seems like teachers don’t even have first names sometimes.”

“Michael, maybe? Or Matthew? Something with an M, I think. Or maybe a J?”

Not super helpful, Raine thought, but he didn’t want to discourage Eric in any way while pumping him for information. Instead, he shifted the topic. “Did the police ever talk to you?”

“About Zoe disappearing? Yeah,” Eric confirmed. “But they didn’t ask about Mr. Carpenter or Mr. Turnbill, like you.”

“What did you tell them?” Raine followed up.

Eric shrugged. “Nothing, really. I didn’t know anything. Like I said, we broke up a couple weeks before she went missing.”

“Who broke up with who?” Sawyer probed.

“She broke up with me,” Eric admitted, a lopsided smile pushing onto his lips at the memory.

“Why?” Sawyer followed up. Raine appreciated that. A bad break-up might be a motive for murder.

Eric shrugged. “She said there was someone else,” he explained, “and she didn’t want to lead me on. I guess I can appreciate that now, but it kinda stung back then.”

“Who was the other guy?” Raine asked. Another possible suspect.

But Eric shook his head. “She never told me. And I didn’t really want to know, so I didn’t ask. I figured I’d see them together eventually, like holding hands in the hallway or something, but then she disappeared.”

“So, when was the last time you saw her?” Raine pressed ahead.

Eric thought for a few moments. “Probably like a week before she went missing. We just passed each other in the hallway. I waved but she didn’t wave back.” He shook his head. “I didn’t know that was the last time I’d ever see her. I can’t believe Mr. Carpenter murdered her and buried her in his basement. That’s messed up.”

“It would be,” Raine agreed, “if it were true.”

“Is there anything else we should know?” Sawyer asked. She had finished her coffee and seemed ready to finish the interview as well. Raine was fine with that. Eric’s fifteen-minute break was almost up anyway.

“Just that it was a long time ago and Zoe and I only dated for a little bit,” Eric answered. “It wasn’t like she was my high school sweetheart or anything. She was cute and I asked her out and we went out a few times. That’s it. I’m sorry to hear she was murdered, no matter who did it, but that was kinda what we all figured happened anyway. But I moved away and now I live here. I’m married and we have a toddler with another one on the way. The last thing I want to do is get involved with something from ten years ago that I really had nothing to do with. I’d appreciate it if you could keep me out of it.”

“I can try,” Raine offered, “but no promises. I have a job to do. If what you know can help me do that job, I’ll have to get you involved again.”

Eric sighed, but nodded. “That’s what I figured you’d say. Thanks for being honest.”

“Of course.” Raine stood up. “Let’s get going, Sally. That tent isn’t going to set itself up.”

12

After the combination camping/investigating excursion, Raine got back to the city and back to work on James Carpenter’s case.

It was time for the pretrial conference, the first of several preliminary hearings on the path to trial. Most criminal cases settled at one of those preliminary hearings. Raine had a feeling Carpenter’s wouldn’t. For one thing, Tompkins was unlikely to offer any deals. For another, Carpenter was innocent. Or so he insisted. Good lawyers didn’t plead innocent clients guilty to unamended murder charges. Raine might not have been the best husband, and he was still struggling to be the father he wanted to be, but if he was anything, he was a good lawyer.

Raine made his way to the courthouse through a light rain that didn’t even warrant an overcoat. He passed through the metal detectors at the entrance and waited in the black-and-white marble lobby for the elevator to the twelfth floor. Upon his arrival at the top floor of the courthouse, he delayed his entry into the main courtroom and instead took the hallway to the holding cells hidden behind the chamber. He showed his bar card and I.D. to the guard at the entry point and provided his client’s name. A minute later, he was allowed inside and directed to an empty meeting room. A minute after that, Jim Carpenter entered the room from the other side, separated by a thick glass window with a circle of holes drilled into the center for communication and a paper-thin slat at the bottom for sliding legal documents, one page at a time.

“Morning, Jim,” Raine greeted his client. “You look good, all things considered.”

Jail could rob a person of sunlight and restful sleep, but it offered high-calorie food and an escape, even involuntarily, from the normal stresses of day-to-day life. Carpenter looked like he was enjoying the food and not missing the day job.

“I’ve been better,” Carpenter insisted despite Raine’s appraisal. “When can I get out of here? And what are we doing today?”

“I’ll answer the second question first,” Raine replied. “It will help answer the first question. Today is the pretrial conference. I talk to the prosecutor and see what the offer is. I try to negotiate a better offer. Then you and I talk to decide whether to accept the offer. Don’t expect to accept the offer. I’m sure it won’t be good.”

“Why not?” Carpenter asked.

“Because you’re charged with murder,” Raine explained. “Prosecutors don’t make good offers on murder cases.”

“But I’m innocent,” Carpenter protested.

“Which would matter,” Raine responded, “if the prosecutor believed that. In fact, if he believed you were innocent, he wouldn’t make an offer. He would just drop the charges. But he doesn’t think that, so he’s not going to do that. And that leads us back to your first question: When are you going to get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Carpenter encouraged. “When?”

“After the trial,” Raine advised. “If we win.”

“How long will that take?” Carpenter asked. “And what do you mean ‘if’? Don’t you believe I’m innocent?”

“Actually, I do,” Raine answered, “although I would still defend you to the best of my ability if I knew you were guilty. The problem isn’t me. Today, it’s the prosecutor. And in six weeks, the problem will be the jury. We have that much time to build a case that can beat the prosecution’s case.”

“A month? Beat the prosecution’s case?” Carpenter grabbed his head. “Aren’t I presumed innocent?”

“Legally? Yes,” Raine allowed. “But practically? Well, look around at your surroundings and you tell me if anyone besides you and me thinks you’re innocent.”

Carpenter’s eyes darted around the small room he was in. When they settled on Raine again, somehow there was a glimmer of hope in them. But Raine could see it was tempered by doubt. It was a look Raine knew only too well.

“What about Kristi?” Carpenter asked. “You saw her. She knows I’m innocent. Doesn’t she?”

“I saw Kristi,” Raine confirmed, “but I can’t speak for her. It’s clear she wants you to be innocent, but even she’s not immune to the message sent by being arrested and charged with Zoe West’s murder. Specifically, I’m sure she thinks you’re innocent. But generally…” Raine gestured to their surroundings again. “That’s what we’re up against, Jim.”

Carpenter shook his head. “That’s not right.”

“I know,” Raine replied, “and that’s why we need to start preparing for trial. The jury⁠—”

“No, fuck the jury,” Carpenter interrupted. “I’m talking about Kristi. She’s my wife. She’s supposed to stand with me, by my side, no matter what.”

Raine grimaced. He had lost control of the conversation. Or was about to. He didn’t have time for that. He was checking in with his client, but the real conversation was going to be with Tompkins.

“She’s standing by you,” Raine assured. “She paid me, like you asked. I’m sure she knows you’re innocent, Jim. I was just trying to make a point about how the presumption of innocence isn’t really all that powerful in a system where unconvicted defendants routinely sit in jail pending the outcome of their trials. It’s not personal. It’s systemic.”

Carpenter frowned, then let out a heavy sigh. “I guess I can’t really blame her. I always kind of wondered whether she had done it. I guess I still do.”

In any criminal case where the defendant denied doing the crime, there was a necessary implication that someone else must have done it. Every defendant had the right to remain silent and was under no obligation to put on any evidence, so it wasn’t necessary for the defendant to actually have a particular suspect to name and to blame. But it sure helped. Kristi could be that for them. But there was a time and place to make that sort of suggestion to a client. They were probably in the right place, but it wasn’t time yet.

“I’m going to go meet with the prosecutor now,” Raine informed him. “It shouldn’t take too long, but it will depend on whether he’s here yet, and whether he has any other defense attorneys he needs to talk to.”

“This isn’t his only case?” Carpenter questioned.

“Almost certainly not,” Raine answered. “There’s too much crime and too few prosecutors for that. But this is probably his most important case. He’s certainly acting like that.”

“Is that good?” Carpenter asked.

Raine smiled. “Nope. Not at all.”

Raine departed the meeting room then, knowing the guards would escort Carpenter back to the holding cells until Raine was ready to speak with him again. It wasn’t a very interesting way to spend a morning, but it was nominally less boring than sitting in his usual cell back in the jail. Like going on a field trip to someplace no better than school; at least the scenery was different.

The scenery for Raine changed slightly too. From the windowless, institutional attorney-client meeting room behind the courtroom to the windowless, institutional attorney-prosecutor meeting room next door to the courtroom. Absent some unexpected problem the attorneys couldn’t resolve on their own, they would never set foot in the actual courtroom. It was a pretrial conference, not a pretrial hearing.

The room where the attorneys congregated to negotiate their cases was known among them as ‘The Pit.’ The origin of the name had never been explained to Raine to his satisfaction. There was some similarity to a stock exchange trading pit, with speed negotiations and deal-making. There was also the staleness that quickly settled over a room full of overdressed attorneys talking all morning, providing an oppressive atmosphere reminiscent of the bottom of a dank well. He suspected the true origin, lost to time and generations of lawyers graduating and retiring, was something decidedly off-color, obscene even. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. All of the criminal attorneys in town knew exactly what you meant when you said you’d meet them in The Pit. Tompkins, for all his forced awkwardness, was no exception.

Raine entered the room and scanned the crowd for his opponent. There were already two dozen attorneys there, some seated at the few tables provided, the rest standing, some holding outright stacks of files. Those were the public defenders. The private attorneys like him often had only one case at a time scheduled for pretrial. Homicide prosecutors were the same. Tompkins had more than one case, but they probably weren’t also set for pretrial at the same time.

Raine finally spotted Carpenter’s prosecutor chatting up a young woman at the far end of the room. She seemed indifferent at best, with two or three files tucked under her arm. Tompkins had just the one, as expected. That meant Raine would have his undivided attention. As soon as he interrupted his conversation.

“Jared!” Raine called out as he traversed the crowd. “It’s me. Dan, Dan Raine. Remember me? We met in the arraignment courtroom when you charged my innocent client with a murder he didn’t commit. Small world, huh?”

Tompkins was appropriately flummoxed by Raine’s verbal salvo.

The young woman who had seemed not terribly interested in Tompkins anyway grinned at Raine and happily took her leave.

Raine stepped into her spot against the wall. The air still smelled of her perfume. Something with rose, he thought. The Pit wouldn’t start smelling like a locker room for another hour or so.

“Small something,” Tompkins tried to deliver a clever riposte. “Like, a small defense. Because he’s guilty.”

Raine smiled at the effort, or rather at its failure. “Agree to disagree. Do you have an offer for me, Jared?”

Tompkins winced at Raine’s continued use of his first name. They weren’t friends. The opposite actually, at least professionally in that moment. Raine liked the irony. Tompkins obviously didn’t.

“Well, Dan,” Tompkins added a teasing lilt to Raine’s first name, “I have more than just an offer. I have lab results.” He extracted a multiple-page report from his file and shoved it at Raine. “The DNA match came back. That skeleton is definitely Zoe West.”

Raine accepted the report, but didn’t bother looking at it. He knew what it said. “Or her sister. Or her brother. Or her grandma, or aunt, or third cousin twice removed. This is something, Jared, but it’s not proof beyond a reasonable doubt. You better make me that offer.”

Tompkins tried to hide how flummoxed he obviously felt. He failed. “I can’t offer much on a case like this,” he managed to say after a moment. “All I can do is recommend a sentence at the low end of the sentencing range. Twenty years. But only if he pleads guilty right away and saves everyone the trouble and heartache of a trial.”

“You mean, he saves you the work of a trial,” Raine translated. “You know, I’ve never been comfortable with how you prosecutors offer a lower sentence if someone pleads guilty right away. He has a constitutional right to a trial. He shouldn’t be penalized for exercising a constitutional right.”

“He’s not being punished for exercising his rights,” Tompkins insisted. “He’s being rewarded for taking responsibility.”

Raine had heard that justification before. He still didn’t believe it.

“So, no reduction, then?” Raine felt obliged to ask. He knew what the answer would be, but Carpenter would ask him if he’d tried.

“I could maybe reduce to murder in the second degree,” Tompkins mused, raising a hand to chin, “but he’d have to agree to nineteen years, and he’d have to plead today.”

“Today?” Raine couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You want me to plead a client to murder at the first pretrial?”

“You wanted a reduction,” Tompkins defended. “Take it. Or don’t. I don’t care.”

“One year less isn’t much of a reduction, Jared,” Raine replied. “And I’m not pleading him guilty to murder anyway, first or second degree. He didn’t do it.”

“That’s what they all say.” Tompkins waved a dismissive hand.

“Actually, Jared, it’s not,” Raine responded. “Most suspects confess. They shouldn’t, but they do. Detectives like Adams advise them of their rights because they have to, but then they use every trick in the book to coax a confession out of them. Sometimes even false confessions. How many of your cases have involved a confession? At least half, I’d be willing to bet. Maybe even three-fourths. But not my guy. My guy didn’t confess, because he didn’t do it.”

“He didn’t confess,” Tompkins reminded him flatly, “because he hired you before the cops got to him and you told him to lawyer up.”

Raine grinned. That was true, he recalled. “You got me there, Jared. So, no offers, huh? No real offers? We’re not going to talk about a reduction to manslaughter in the second degree and two years in prison? I could probably talk him into that, even if he’s innocent. Trials are always risky, and he’s the one who will suffer the consequences of those risks.”

Tompkins stared at Raine for several seconds. Then a smile unfurled from the corner of his mouth. “If.”

Raine cocked his head. “Pardon?”

“You said ‘if’,” Tompkins elucidated. “You said ‘even if he’s innocent’, not ‘even though he’s innocent.’ You’ve betrayed yourself, Mr. Raine. And your client.”

The use of the honorific was as ironic as Raine’s use of his first name. But Raine didn’t care about that. He cared that Tompkins was right. He had used the wrong word. It was a bit much to say it was a betrayal of his client, but it was definitely a betrayal of his own doubts about his client’s innocence. He wasn’t going to let Tompkins know that, though.

“I’m speaking your language, Jared,” Raine chuckled. “You’re the one who’s convinced he did it. I was just laying out my proposal in words you would understand.”

Tompkins’s smile faded. “That’s not… I mean… Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not knocking this down to a manslaughter. I might as well just dismiss it.”

“I’m authorized to accept a dismissal, Jared,” Raine replied as seriously as he could muster. “Shall we go into the courtroom and you can make the formal dismissal motion to the judge?”

Tompkins took several deep breaths, then frowned hard, producing a crease between his eyebrows. “Are you always this flippant? The jury won’t like it.”

“Only when it’s called for,” Raine answered. “But thanks for the advice. I’ll remember to be serious when I kick your ass at trial.”

Tompkins’s eyes widened at the sudden aggressiveness from his opposing counsel. He didn’t reply.

“Let’s just confirm for trial,” Raine suggested. “We’ll need a motion hearing before the trial too. I plan to file a motion to dismiss.”

“On what grounds?” Tompkins demanded.

Raine turned to leave. “I’ll think of something.”

Out in the hallway, a small crowd had developed between The Pit and the holding cells. He wondered, almost absently, what the cause was, his mind fixed as it was on trying to think of some way, any way, to get Carpenter’s case dismissed. However, when he got closer he realized at the center of the crowd was that McClain guy and the crowd was reporters.

“… dedicated my career to law and order,” he was saying. “This case is proof that, when it comes to justice, while the journey may be long, the destination will be reached. I am here to ensure the destination is reached. My office will spare no expense to support the local prosecutors in their quest for justice.”

Raine stopped long enough for McClain to notice him. He wondered whether McClain would remember him, and if so, whether he would engage. The look on McClain’s face when his eyes fell on Raine confirmed McClain did indeed recognize him from their earlier encounter. The movement of his eyes off Raine and to a nearby reporter confirmed he didn’t want to engage Raine again. Not then anyway. Maybe Raine would invite him to the hearing on the motion to dismiss. If Raine could think of a basis for it.

He detached from McClain’s fan club and made his way to the holding cells. The guards put them in a different meeting cubicle from earlier, but there was no way to know that once inside. They were all identical.

A few moments later, Carpenter entered and sat down opposite his lawyer. “How did it go?” he asked hopefully, despite Raine’s earlier warnings. “Did you get him to make a good offer? I don’t even know what a good one would be.”

“I do,” Raine answered, “and I didn’t. This case isn’t going to resolve by way of a plea bargain. We’re going to trial.”

Carpenter’s expression darkened. He looked down at his interlocked hands and nodded. “Okay. Yeah. Right. That’s what you said would happen. I was just hoping for, well, I don’t even know what I was hoping for. I was just hoping.”

Raine nodded back at his client. “Hope is good. But it’s not enough. We need hard work too. And some luck wouldn’t hurt.”

Carpenter looked up again. “What kind of hard work? I can’t do anything from in here.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Raine clarified. “I was talking about me. I noted a motion to dismiss the case. Now I just need to come up with a reason.”

Carpenter had to smile at that. “What kind of reasons are there? I mean, besides the fact that I’m innocent. That doesn’t seem to matter very much.”

“It doesn’t matter at all,” Raine replied. “It’s not about your innocence. It’s about their evidence. Even guilty people go free if you can suppress the prosecution’s evidence. We need to do that here.”

“What evidence?” Carpenter asked. “Zoe’s body? My business records? What?”

Raine took a moment before replying. He may have thought of that something he mentioned to Tompkins.

“Maybe both of those things,” he realized. “You didn’t give the cops permission to remove the body, did you?”

“Why would I do that?” Carpenter asked. “I mean, I would have said yes, but they never asked me.”

“Of course not.” Raine was putting the pieces together. “Why would they? They just asked the new owner and he said yes.”

“So?” Carpenter asked.

“So, they didn’t get a warrant,” Raine realized.

“Did they need one?” Carpenter asked, allowing that hope to creep back onto his face.

“No,” Raine quashed his client’s nascent hope. “Generally, the police need a warrant to search a location and remove evidence, but there are exceptions. The biggest exception is consent of the property owner. The cops ask and the property owner says yes. No warrant needed.”

“Well, that’s what happened.” Carpenter frowned. “Manny called the cops and told them they could take the body away. I knew he was going to do that. That’s why I went to the courthouse and found you.”

“Right.” Raine smiled at what he was going to do, or at least try. “They didn’t get a warrant because they got permission from Manny Lutz.”

“The property owner,” Carpenter said.

“But what if he wasn’t?” Raine proposed. “What if it was you, and they never got your permission?”

“But how would it be mine still?” Carpenter asked. “I sold it to Manny. I signed a purchase and sale agreement and everything.”

Raine’s smile broadened. “If there’s one thing lawyers are known for, it’s defending murderers in court. But if there’s another thing they’re known for, it’s finding loopholes in contracts. If I can show that purchase and sale agreement was deficient, then I might be able to show the sale was void. And if the sale was void⁠—”

“I still owned the property,” Carpenter realized, that hope washing over his face again. “And they never got my permission.”

Raine nodded. It was creative. It might even work. And Tompkins would never see it coming.

“But how are you going to find a problem in the sale contract?” Carpenter asked. “Are you an expert in commercial real estate too?”

“No,” Raine admitted, “but I know a gal.”

13

“Rebecca Sommers, Executive Realtor.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you answer the phone that way,” Raine told her.

“As I recall,” Sommers sniffed, “you have made derogatory comments about it in the past.”

“I apologize,” Raine offered. “Right now, I need an executive real estate agent more than anything. An executive commercial real estate agent. You.”

There was a pause on the other end of the call. “You? Need me? Because of my expertise.”

“Yes,” Raine confirmed.

“How delightful,” Sommers crooned. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, Dan, but a lot of the times you allegedly need me, it’s for me to be little more than a glorified note-taker.”

“That is probably true,” he admitted. “But not this time. This time I need someone steeped in the details of commercial real estate transactions. I can draft a basic contract, and I bought a house or two along the way, but I need someone who can really pore over a commercial purchase and sale agreement with a fine-toothed comb.”

“Looking for what?” Sommers asked.

“A mistake.”

An hour later, Raine was at Sommers’s office. He didn’t have a copy of the purchase and sale agreement, but Sommers knew how to get it. Raine supposed he did too. Every real estate transaction had to be recorded with the county clerk. He would have found it eventually. Sommers found it in a matter of minutes.

“Here we are,” she announced as she opened a pdf of the document on her computer screen.

“Can you print a copy?” Raine requested. “Or two. I want to be able to mark it up.”

“It’s fifty dollars a copy,” Sommers informed him.

“The county charges fifty dollars to print a copy of a public document?” Raine questioned.

“No, I do,” Sommers answered. Her printer came to life and whirred from the corner of her office. “You can owe me.”

Raine decided not to argue. She was probably kidding. And if she wasn’t, she could add it to her next bill for her glorified note-taking services.

“Okay, here we go. Three copies of the purchase and sale agreement for 7124 Greenwood Avenue North.” She dropped the paperwork on the table that she and Raine were seated around. “One for you, one for me, and one to mark up.”

Raine liked that arrangement. He picked up his copy. “What is this, ten pages?”

“Probably closer to twenty,” Sommers replied. “You have to get everything right when you sell a piece of land.”

“Statute of Frauds,” Raine mumbled.

“What did you say?” Sommers asked.

“Oh nothing.” Raine waved a hand in her direction. “Just something we learned in law school. The Statute of Frauds. Any sale of land has to be in writing. You can sell your bike or even your car with a handshake and exchange of money, but land has to be written down.”

“And good thing too,” Sommers replied. “Can you imagine if everyone could just claim their uncle Joe sold them the family farm for a quarter and pat on the back. There would be no stability at all.”

“Hence the ‘Frauds’ part of the Statute of Frauds,” Raine answered. “It’s from hundreds of years ago, back in England. It still applies here today. If you want to attack a land sale, you have to attack the document. It wouldn’t be enough to just have Carpenter say he was tricked.”

“He wasn’t tricked,” Sommers replied. “If anything, he tricked the other side. They way overpaid for this parcel. I mean, it’s a nice location, but it’s not nice enough to justify the price they paid.”

Raine pulled the sales contract closer to him and began to examine it in earnest. “That’s interesting,” he allowed, “but it won’t get Zoe’s skeleton suppressed from evidence. I need something that would invalidate the entire thing. Paying too much isn’t going to do that, especially if it was the other guy who paid too much.”

“Okay,” Sommers agreed, “but it tells me they were eager to get this parcel. Too eager. And people who are too eager often hurry.”

“And people who hurry,” Raine finished the thought, “make mistakes.”

“Overpaying makes waste,” Sommers condensed the thought into a new saying. “So, what are we looking for? I assume a misplaced comma won’t be quite enough.”

Raine nodded. “It’ll need to be more than that. It needs to be something that calls into question the entire transaction. A dry cow, so to speak.”

“I’m sorry, a what?” Sommers looked up from her copy of the document.

“A dry cow.” Raine laughed. “Another law school concept. It means something different in kind. There was a whole line of cases about buying cows. Apparently that was a big litigation topic back in the eighteen-hundreds. Now, if you bought a cow that was sick, or lame, or something else that made it not as good as the seller had claimed, then you had to keep the cow but the seller might have to give you some money on top of that to compensate for whatever the defect was. But if a seller tricked you into buying a dry cow—a cow that couldn’t produce milk at all—well, then the entire contract was void, retroactive to when it was made. No amount of money could compensate for that, apparently.”

“So, something that makes what Carpenter sold to the developer different in kind from what the developer thought he was buying,” Sommers applied the concept to their task.

“Yes, but it’s more complicated than that,” Raine responded. “Carpenter is the seller. The remedy belonged to the person who bought the dry cow, not the other way around. The seller couldn’t invalidate the contract.”

“Hm.” Sommers examined the purchase and sale agreement again. “So, something that was a fraud on the seller, instead of on the buyer. A fraud on Carpenter, instead of Lutz Development.”

“Exactly,” Raine confirmed.

“A reverse dry cow,” Sommers suggested. “A seller who thought he was selling a milking cow and a buyer who knew it was dry but wanted it anyway.”

“Uh, sure,” Raine agreed. “I guess so.”

Sommers flipped several pages into the document. “Something like an underground utilities easement that prevents excavation below the current foundation?”

Raine stopped his own perusal of the contract. “What did you say?”

“An underground utilities easement that prevents excavation below the current foundation,” Sommers repeated, pointing at a provision in the fine print of the purchase and sale agreement. “Will that do it?”

Raine considered. Then he smiled. “It might. It just might.”

14

Raine spent the next several days researching the brief for his motion to suppress the evidence collected during the exhumation of Zoe West’s remains. There was no question Manny Lutz, and by extension Lutz Development, gave consent to the search. Raine needed to call into question whether that mattered.

One thing he had learned over years of practice was that so long as two people were happy with a result, no one would go back to look into how they had gotten there. Another thing he had learned was that if you did go back to look, there was almost certainly a mistake made.

For example, guilty pleas were rarely withdrawn, because they were the product of negotiation and the defendant wasn’t usually interested in undoing whatever deal he had managed to strike with the prosecutor. But in those rare occasions when a defendant did want to withdraw their plea, it was usually successful, because there was always some small mistake made, some question the judge forgot to ask, some box on the sixteen-page guilty plea form that didn’t get checked, some small technical infirmity that allowed one of the parties to undo the bargain they had struck.

Sommers had found that infirmity for Raine, but it was Raine’s job to explain how that led to the suppression of the most important piece of evidence in any murder case: the body. It was going to be an uphill battle, but he’d pushed bigger boulders up steeper hills. Or so he told himself.

After hours researching case law that wasn’t quite as clearly applicable as he might have liked, and more hours studying the exact language of the purchase and sale agreement, Raine finally decided he couldn’t pull the motion together without going out to the scene one more time. So, he left the office early that Friday afternoon, wished Laura a good weekend, and made his way well past his condo to the construction site/crime scene that had once been Carpenter’s Hardware Store. It might be again, if he was completely successful with his motion, although he knew to temper his expectations.

“One victory at a time,” he told himself as he pulled into a parking space across the street from the hole in the ground that might one day be Lutz Development’s next property. But not if he could help it. He locked his door and crossed the street.

The streetlights had just come on, but they weren’t really needed yet. Raine could clearly make out the crime scene tape that still blocked off the property. And then he ducked under it. It wouldn’t be trespassing if he could invalidate the purchase and sale agreement. He had Carpenter’s permission to be there. And with any luck, he’d be in and out before a nosy neighbor called 911 and one of Seattle’s finest found him on scene. He doubted his reverse dry cow story would get him very far with a cop. He wasn’t sure it was going to get him very far with the judge.

The factual issue was a simple one. Had Lutz’s company dug below the bottom of the existing foundation, and that way violated the easement on the property? The legal issue was trickier. It amounted to, ‘So what?’ That sort of thing could be handled by the city or the utilities company or whoever’s interest was impacted by violating the terms of the easement. It wasn’t Carpenter’s easement. Raine knew all that, and he knew it would be an uphill climb to convince a judge to invalidate an otherwise valid real estate contract based on an infringement of a right that wasn’t even Carpenter’s.

So, before he spent too much more time going down that particular rabbit hole, he thought he should find out for himself whether the excavation even was below the lowest level of the foundation. He needed to be sure of his facts lest he get laughed out of his own motion hearing for not even knowing that the easement was never violated in the first place.

Raine had a measuring tape in one pocket and his phone in the other. It didn’t appear that the Lutz Development bulldozers had started up again since the stoppage caused by the discovery of Zoe West’s skeleton. He just needed to reach the remnants of the cement foundation, then try to follow down at least one unbroken path from ground level to the lowest point he could find. Maybe the basement had a basement, a secret chamber with lost books or something.

Just like last time, the original steps to the store’s basement were still intact. Raine descended to the lower level and began looking for some passageway that led down even further. While a sizeable chunk of the basement was gone, punctuated by the site where the body was found, there were several small storage rooms still standing, almost a maze of them, extending farther than Raine would have expected given the size of the lot. He inspected each one in turn and confirmed none of the rooms that were left had stairs leading lower. It certainly appeared that Zoe’s skeleton was excavated by digging lower than the existing foundation.

Although that raised the question of how she could have ended up there.

“Hey! This is private property!” came a voice from the darkness, followed by a blinding flashlight aimed directly at Raine’s face.

It wasn’t a cop; Raine could tell that much. A cop would have told him to freeze or words to that effect, and there would be a gun trained on him, not a flashlight. But more than that, not many Seattle cops had New York accents.

“Mr. Lutz?” Raine raised a hand to shade his eyes against the glare of the flashlight. “It’s Daniel Raine. The attorney.”

“Carpenter’s attorney?” Lutz responded. “Oh yeah, I recognize you. I told you, you aren’t welcome here. What are you doing here?”

Raine took a step toward Lutz and raised an index finger. “Okay, funny story about that. Have you ever heard of a dry cow?”

“Shut up,” Lutz growled. The New York accent imbued that otherwise simple and ubiquitous phrase with an added layer of menace. It was as if the accent was designed for threats. “Why are you here?”

Raine could tell Lutz the truth. But the lawyer in him was immediately resistant to that course of action. There was always a time for the truth, but it was rarely at the beginning of an endeavor. Truth was the final act, not the overture. He could simply refuse to answer, but that would be awkwardly aggressive under the circumstances. It might also spur Lutz to call the police, and Raine couldn’t count on his ability to leave before they got there, especially if Lutz was willing to lay hands on Raine to prevent his departure. Raine thought he could probably take Lutz in a fair fight, but it wouldn’t be quick.

“I lost my gloves here the night they exhumed the body,” he said. “I’m just seeing if I can find them.”

“I never found any gloves,” Lutz argued.

“That’s why I said they’re lost,” Raine replied. “If you’d found them, they’d be found. That’s kind of how it works.”

“You didn’t lose your gloves here,” Lutz accused. “What are you really doing here?”

It appeared they were going to have that truthful conversation after all. Raine would just try to manage it so Lutz didn’t figure out his ultimate goal. Maybe Lutz would even confirm the reverse dry cow. “Why did you overpay so much for this lot?”

Lutz hesitated, which was notable for someone who seemed always ready to talk over anyone in vicinity. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We paid a fair price.”

“My source says you paid at least fifteen percent over market value,” Raine countered. “And my source is rarely wrong. Just ask her.”

“Seattle is a hot real estate market,” Lutz defended. “It’s standard practice to offer more than the asking price. We didn’t want to get into a bidding war.”

“Were there other developers interested in the site?” Raine questioned. “Or did you approach Mr. Carpenter and make him an offer he couldn’t refuse?”

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information, counselor,” Lutz grumbled, “but I can assure you of two things. First, you’re wrong. And second, I’m not telling you anything about how I run my business. You’re the one trespassing, not me.”

“Okay, fine.” Raine made no effort to cease his trespassing. “One more question, okay? The underground utilities easement. Did Mr. Carpenter know about that? It seems like it might have impacted the value of the property if you couldn’t dig a deeper foundation for a taller building of shops and apartments.”

Lutz bent down and picked up a large length of rebar. He slapped it menacingly into his other palm. “You need to leave, Mr. Raine. Now. And never come back. Is that understood?”

Raine raised his palms. “Understood,” he confirmed. But that didn’t mean he would comply, at least not the part about never coming back. Future circumstances and his duty to his client would dictate Raine’s future actions. Not an East Coast bully and fraud. But the bully did have a large piece of metal in his hand at that moment. Discretion, valor, and all that. “I’ll just take my leave then.”

“Yeah, do that.” Lutz gestured toward the road with the rebar. “And I don’t want to hear that you’re asking around about any easements on my property. That doesn’t concern you, Mr. Raine, and I promise, you don’t want to make an enemy out of me.”

Raine supposed that was true. And he supposed he probably would anyway. He walked toward his car, but when he reached the street he turned back and called out, “Let me know if you find my gloves.”

15

Lawyers had an old saying. If the facts are against you, pound on the law. If the law is against you, pound on the facts. And if they’re both against you, pound on the table. The facts surrounding the potential suppression of Zoe West’s body were not looking good, so Raine decided to embark on a quest for other facts. Facts that wouldn’t help with that particular battle, but might still help him win the war. Facts regarding the mysterious, and creepy, Mr. Turnbill.

The first stop was Ballard High School, a large red-brick building a few blocks north of the Carpenters’ and Wests’ homes. Raine could handle the first part of the plan on his own, but he was going to bring in a partner for step two. He arrived at 9:15, after classes had started but before things got too crazy or the staff got too tired and irritable. Being a lawyer and dealing with criminals and other ne’er-do-wells all day was exhausting, but at least he didn’t have to deal with teenagers.

The school office was directly off the main entrance. There were potted plants, institutional carpet, and motivational posters on the walls about staying in school, reaching for stars, and the like. The woman behind the receptionist counter somehow matched the décor—generally average but trying hard. She was in her late forties—Good, Raine thought—with intelligent eyes and deep wrinkles that suggested a career in education—Even better.

“Hello. Welcome to Ballard High School,” the woman greeted Raine upon his entry. “How can I help you today, sir?”

The ‘sir’ likely resulted, at least in part, from the suit Raine had made sure to wear on his excursion. Suits had become increasingly rare in Seattle, so their use suggested respect for others and an old-fashioned sense of professionalism. “Good morning,” he returned the greeting. “My name is Daniel Raine. I’m a local attorney and I was wondering if you might help me find a teacher who used to work here. In fact, he might still. I don’t actually know, but,” he grinned and pointed at the woman, “I feel like you probably do.”

The attempt to ingratiate himself probably didn’t go completely unnoticed, but flattery or not, it was nice to be complimented. “Well, I will certainly try to help, sir. I do know everyone who works here at Ballard High. Who is it you’re looking for?”

Raine feared the name he was about to provide might cause the offer to be revoked. “I believe his name is Turnbill.” He pretended he wasn’t already familiar with the lore around the creepy Mr. Turnbill. “Michael Turnbill, perhaps?”

The woman’s smile changed. It didn’t fade completely, but it turned from welcoming to something different. Not anger. Not disgust either, Raine assessed. That was good. It seemed more like concerned. Maybe even a little embarrassed.

“Matthew,” she corrected. “Matthew Turnbill. Yes, he was a teacher here once, but not anymore.”

Raine frowned slightly at the news, but he had anticipated it. He hadn’t expected to get to speak with Turnbill that very morning. He was trying to track the man down, and that sort of endeavor rarely succeeded at the first stop. At least for him.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the woman continued, “why are you looking for Mr. Turnbill? You said you were an attorney, right? Is he in some sort of trouble?”

The thing about marginally bad people, not terrible people but just unpleasant—the weird, the annoying, the creepy—was that not everyone found them unpalatable. Some might actually like them, and others might even feel bad for them, like you might for an injured animal. Raine studied the woman’s face and decided to take a chance.

“He might be.” Raine offered a solemn nod. “That’s why I need to find him, you see.”

That much was true. Raine needed to find him in order to perhaps get him in trouble. But he said it so that it sounded like the opposite. A lawyer saying black is white and white is black. The trick isn’t to say it, but rather to let the other person say it for you.

“Oh dear.” The woman raised a hand to her mouth. She glanced around to assure no other school staff was within hearing distance, then leaned forward. “People said some very unkind things about Mr. Turnbill while he worked here. Never to his face, always behind his back. But I probably don’t need to tell you that, do I?”

Raine shook his head and tried to match her facial expression. “I’m afraid not.”

“Well, I can tell you that Mr. Turnbill was always polite with me,” she went on. “Even friendly. And I probably don’t need to tell you that not all teachers are as respectful to the school staff as we deserve.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Raine consoled with a knowing nod, “even though it shouldn’t be.”

The woman hesitated. “What sort of trouble is Matthew in?” she asked.

It was ‘Matthew’ now. Raine sensed both an opportunity and a risk. She wanted to help him, but if he was too candid, she would slam shut faster than a cellar door with a tornado approaching.

Raine leaned in as well and lowered his voice to the level he thought she would find most appropriate. “I suspect it might have to do with the reasons why he’s no longer employed here. People are bringing up old allegations and I’d like to find him before it’s too late. Everyone has a right to defend themselves against untrue allegations.”

Again, each sentence was individually true, and yet collectively misleading. People were bringing up old allegations, if ‘people’ meant Raine himself. And Raine certainly wanted to find Turnbill before it was too late for Jim Carpenter. Because Carpenter had a right to defend himself against the untrue, probably, allegation that he murdered Zoe West. Raine really did enjoy his job sometimes.

“I understand,” the woman answered, lowering the volume of her voice to match Raine’s near-whisper. “I never did believe what people were saying. But eventually it doesn’t matter that what people are saying is untrue. It just matters that they keep saying it. Matthew stopped working here eight years ago. They didn’t throw him a going-away party. He just didn’t come back the next fall.”

“That’s just terrible.” Raine shook his head sympathetically. Then, “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know for sure,” the woman admitted, “but I heard he took a teaching job up north.”

“How far north?” Raine asked. He wasn’t looking forward to another field trip. “Everett? Bellingham? Blaine?” Blaine was the last city before the Canadian border.

“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that,” the woman assured. “Shoreline.”

“Shoreline?” Raine cocked his head. Shoreline was the first suburb to the north of the Seattle city limits.

“Maybe Lake Forest Park,” the woman qualified her answer with the next city next to Shoreline, “but I’m pretty sure it was Shorewood High School, on Aurora Boulevard. I don’t know if he’s still there, though. Those sorts of rumors have a way of following a person.”

“They sure do,” Raine agreed. He sure hoped so.

The trip to the Shorewood High School main office was less productive. The greeter was a young man who had been at the job for less than a year. He had never heard of Matthew Turnbill and seemed generally uninterested in doing even the basics of his job, let alone helping out some stranger with a bunch of questions. Raine thanked the man out of formality and walked back out toward the parking lot, unsure of his next move.

Clouds were rolling in and the temperature was dropping, but the rain hadn’t started yet. He glanced around the school campus. It was mid-morning. The students hadn’t started spilling out of the building to leave for lunch yet, and there was a quietness hanging over the block as a thousand or two teenagers sat sequestered away in dozens of classrooms. The only exception were the kids in that hour’s P.E. class, running around the track and shouting and laughing with each other.

Raine looked over at the sound and watched for a few seconds before noticing the only other movement outside the school just then: the custodian, emptying the outdoor garbage cans. He was placing the garbage bags on a small electric cart and driving to the next receptacle. Raine supposed it was because he looked to be in his sixties, close to retirement and physically unable to do all the heavy lifting he did years ago. Like when Matthew Turnbill worked there.

Raine shoved his hands in his pockets and walked briskly across the parking lot to the next garbage can on the custodian’s path.

“Good morning, sir,” Raine called out. “Do you have a moment for an old man with a couple of questions?”

Raine wasn’t really all that old yet, but he wasn’t young anymore. Not like the hundreds of high school kids who ignored the custodian day after day. It was a statement of bonding, an acknowledgement that everyone is getting older, even if the custodian was a bit ahead in the race at the moment.

He smiled at Raine and set his latest bag of garbage on the sidewalk. “Don’t go calling yourself old quite yet, sir,” he counseled. He had thick silver hair, overgrown white eyebrows, and deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Age spots dotted his neck and the backs of his hands. “There’s a lot worse coming for you, I can promise you that.”

Raine shook his head genially. “I don’t know. My neck hurts when I sleep wrong. My back hurts if I sit on the toilet wrong. And I don’t even know why my knee hurts, but it hurts more and more every day.”

The custodian laughed. “Wait till it isn’t just your joints. Wait until it’s your soft tissue too, if you know what I mean. Then you’ll know what it means to feel old.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Raine replied with a chuckle of his own.

“So, you said you had some questions?” the custodian recentered the conversation. “How can I help you, young man?”

Time to get down to business. “I’m looking for a man named Matthew Turnbill. I heard he used to work here. I’m thinking you worked here then too.”

“I sure did,” the custodian confirmed. “Why are you looking for him? He in some kind of trouble?”

“Maybe,” Raine admitted. “Depends on how fast I can find him.”

“If you find him fast enough,” the custodian asked, a glean under his bushy eyebrow, “is that when he’s in trouble?”

Raine smiled at the custodian. This man believed the rumors that assuredly followed Turnbill from Ballard High to Shorewood High. “That is the plan,” Raine admitted. “I represent someone who’s in some trouble of his own. I think Turnbill might be the one who’s really responsible.”

“If it involved teenage girls, then you’re probably right.”

“It did,” Raine confirmed. “Can you help me? I need to find him, and time is running out.”

The custodian nodded. “I never liked that fella. He wasn’t just overly friendly to the girls. He was rude to everyone else, especially the staff. Had a real inferiority complex, that’s what I think. Felt bad about himself, so he tried to feel better by talking down to the staff and getting the attention of girls who were too young to know better.” He laughed. “But that’s the thing about eighteen-year-old girls. It’s not that they don’t know what they want. They do, just like anyone else. It’s just that they probably won’t still want it when they’re twenty-one. That’s what happened to Turnbill.”

“What happened to him?” Raine prompted. He wondered if he could somehow get this custodian to be a witness at Carpenter’s trial. Everything he was saying was hearsay, conjecture, or both, but he knew how to tell a story.

“Lucy Delfino,” the custodian answered. “She’s what happened to him.”

“I don’t understand,” Raine replied. “Did he hurt her?”

The custodian laughed. “No. He married her. Right outta high school. Was one of his students. They fell in love, or so they claimed. He married her the day after graduation, and the school fired him the day after that.”

That was also probably not going to be admissible at trial, unless Lucy Delfino ended up under a building somewhere nearby. “What happened to them? Are they still together?”

“Well, like I said,” the custodian grinned, “what you want when you’re eighteen isn’t always what you want when you’re twenty-one. From what I heard, and I hear a lot⁠—”

Raine had no doubt about that.

“—she saw what the world had to offer and it was a lot more than Matthew Turnbill. She left him and moved to the East Coast. Or maybe it was Europe. Anyway, she’s gone, and he’s fired.”

“Did he try to follow her?” Raine asked. That’s what mattered. “He’s not in New York or Europe or something now, is he?”

Another laugh. “Matt Turnbill? Not likely. He wasn’t chasing naïve teenagers because he could function well in larger society. She left and he fell apart, from what I hear. He’s still living in the one-bedroom apartment he brought her home to after their honeymoon.”

“In Seattle?” Raine inquired. He really wanted to avoid that field trip.

“No.” The custodian shook his head, dimming Raine’s hopes. But then he pointed past the football field, setting them alight again. “Right here in Shoreline. The Shorewood Apartments. I still see him sometimes when I stop by the 7-Eleven next door on my way home. He looks terrible. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.”

Raine smiled and shook the old man’s hand warmly. “Thank you, sir. You’ve been a tremendous help. What did you say your name was?”

“Martin,” the man answered. “Call me Martin.”

“I’m Dan,” Raine told him. “Thank you, Martin.”

“You’re welcome, Dan,” Martin returned. “I hope you give that bastard whatever he deserves.”

Raine hoped so too. But first, he needed to make a phone call.

16

“I’ve got a first name, a last name, and the name of the apartment complex,” Raine explained into his phone. He cupped his hand over it to protect the device from the drizzle that had started, although it wasn’t hard enough yet to bother slipping inside his car. “I just need the unit number. Can you get that for me?”

“You know I’m not the police department, right?” Rebecca Sommers’s voice came over the line.

“Right. You’re better,” Raine replied. “Can you get me Matthew Turnbill’s apartment number?”

A moment of silence on the other end, then, “Yes. Of course.”

Raine smiled and opened his car door. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Sommers said. “I’ll text you the unit number.”

“Don’t bother,” Raine answered. “Just meet me there when you’re done. I’ll wait for you at the 7-Eleven.”

“The 7-Eleven?” Sommers questioned.

“I could really go for a Slurpee right now,” Raine explained. “See you soon.”

When Sommers arrived, the rain had stopped and Raine was sitting on a curb near the parking lot entrance, a nearly empty Slurpee cup in one hand and a snack in the other. He waved as best he could with his full hands, then stood up and walked to where she parked.

Sommers climbed out of her Land Rover and looked suspiciously at Raine’s meal. “Is that a hot dog? From a convenience store?”

Raine shrugged. “You took longer than I thought, and I got hungry. It’s actually pretty good. Want a bite?”

There was, of course, no chance that Rebecca Sommers would eat a bite of a hot dog from a convenience store, especially not one Raine had already eaten from. But he enjoyed asking her anyway.

“I would rather die,” Sommers answered, “which is what I think might happen to me if I did eat that.”

Raine shrugged again and took another bite. “Your loss.” He washed the hot dog down with the last of his Slurpee. “What did you find out?”

Sommers winced at the gastronomic display, then regained herself. “Apartment 23. He signed the original lease eight years ago and I didn’t locate any new addresses for him since then.”

Raine nodded. “That timeline checks out with my information.” He scanned the front of the apartment building. All of the doors opened directly to the outside; no interior lobby with elevators or anything like that. There was a balcony walkway on the second floor, and apartment 23 was visible, three doors down from the metal staircases bolted to the side of the building. “There it is. Let’s see if he’s home.”

“Who is this guy again?” Sommers asked, locking her car with her key fob and falling into step next to Raine. “How does he help our case?”

“He was one of Zoe West’s teachers at Ballard High,” Raine explained. “He could help us in two different ways. First, he might be able to provide us additional information surrounding her disappearance.”

“And second?”

“Second,” Raine answered, “he might be creepy enough that we can just accuse him of the murder and the jury will believe it.”

Sommers nodded. “Always good to have alternatives.”

They climbed the metal stairs to the second floor and made their way to apartment 23. Raine had been watching the apartment building the entire time he was waiting for Sommers, but never saw anyone come or go. A heavy curtain blocked any view inside from the single window next to the front door. Martin’s description of Turnbill made Raine suspect the man rarely left his apartment, so Raine had both high hopes for Turnbill being home and low hopes for how the residence might smell with a heartbroken hermit holed up inside.

Raine knocked crisply on the door and stepped back to await the response, and the odor. Sommers stepped back as well. They waited for several seconds, then several more, but no one answered the door. Raine stepped forward and knocked again, one more rap than before and a bit louder. They waited again but again no response.

“Maybe he’s not home?” Sommers suggested.

Raine hadn’t risked a days-old hot dog to come away empty-handed. He pounded on the door with the side of his fist. “Delivery from 7-Eleven!”

That got the response Raine wanted. They could suddenly hear movement inside, footsteps toward the door and things being kicked aside.

“I don’t remember ordering anything,” Turnbill’s scratchy voice came through the door as he unlocked the deadbolt, “but if you have something for me— Oh.”

Turnbill stood in his doorway, staring at his visitors who were obviously not delivery people. Raine was still in the same suit. Sommers looked ready to sell a penthouse condominium to the richest person in the city.

Turnbill, on the other hand, was not dressed for success. He was wearing a navy robe over a stained gray t-shirt with the word ‘COLLEGE’ arched across the chest, and black sweatpants that were tattered at the end of the legs. Visibly dirty socks covered his feet and several days of stubble covered his face. His hair was black and matted and his hairy stomach poked out between his rising shirt and low-hung pants. Raine knew Turnbill was only thirty-one years old, but he looked much older, especially in the deadened eyes he leveled at them.

“Who are you?” he demanded. He closed the door slightly, but it seemed to Raine that he did it more out of trepidation than an intent to slam it in their faces.

“My name is Daniel Raine. This is Rebecca Sommers. I’m an attorney and she is my investigator.”

“Attorney? Investigator?” That front door inched a little more closed. “Is this about Lucy? Is she okay? Did something happen to her?”

How sweet, Raine thought. Even after all these years, his thoughts were still on the woman whose youth he’d exploited to marry her.

“We’re not here about Lucy Delfino,” Raine answered. He slid his foot into the doorframe. “We’re here about Zoe West.”

Raine braced himself for the door slamming against his foot, but instead, Turnbill just stood there for several seconds, then opened the door with a sigh. “Zoe. Okay. Come on in. I’ll clear off the couch.”

Turnbill disappeared into his apartment and Raine looked to Sommers, a bit surprised by how easily the man had agreed to talk with them.

Sommers nodded toward the interior of the apartment. “Let’s go. I don’t have all day for this.”

Raine stepped into the apartment and was greeted by the odor he had anticipated. It was a combination of body odor, unwashed dishes, and something else he decided not to try to identify.

Turnbill transferred the plates and clothing on one side of the couch to the already teetering pile of clutter on the coffee table and Raine and Sommers sat down a little too close to each other. Turnbill repeated the clearing routine with the one other chair in the small living room.

“So, what do you want to know about Zoe?” Turnbill asked. “She went missing, you know. Never found.”

“Recently found,” Raine corrected. “Dead.”

“Long dead,” Sommers amended.

“As in, dead when she was one of your students,” Raine added. “And not just dead, but murdered.”

“Murdered?” Turnbill gasped. “By who?”

“Well, that’s what we’re trying to find out,” Raine answered without answering. “We’d like to ask you some questions about Zoe back then. See if you have any information that might shed light on who might have wanted to murder her, and why.”

“Has someone been arrested?” Turnbill pressed. “Is that why you’re here? Do you represent the killer?”

“We represent James Carpenter,” Raine answered.

“Carpenter?” Turnbill turned the name over in his mouth. “As in Chloe Carpenter?”

“Yes,” Raine confirmed. “James is her father.”

“Was,” Sommers corrected. A bit callously, Raine thought.

“She died in that car crash,” Turnbill recalled. “That was tragic. Zoe and Chloe were so close. They called each other sisters.”

“You seem to know a lot about the personal lives of your students, Mr. Turnbill,” Raine tried to regain control of the conversation. “Were you especially close to Zoe West?”

Turnbill’s demeanor shifted. He crossed his arms and his eyebrows lowered. “I’m aware of the rumors about me, Mr. Raine. But they aren’t true. I never did anything inappropriate with any of my students.”

Raine decided to address the creepy elephant in the room. “That’s not what I’ve heard, Mr. Turnbill. I heard you got fired for marrying one of your students immediately after she graduated, and we all know no one buys the cow without trying a little of the milk first.”

“Wow. Gross.” Sommers wrinkled her nose at Raine.

“There is more to that than you might have heard,” Turnbill defended. “And the joke was on me anyway. Lucy left me and I can’t get another job as a teacher. So, I’m just—” He gestured around his squalid apartment, a better summary of his current state than any words could be.

“Tell us about Zoe West,” Raine directed him. “Everything you remember. You don’t want to become a suspect in her murder. This is your chance to explain it all away. The rumors, everything. If you don’t, people will think you were involved, one way or another.”

Turnbill thought for several moments. As uncomfortable as the conversation was, he seemed to appreciate having someone, anyone, to talk to.

He sighed and opened his palms outward toward his guests. “Okay, fine. But first, I want to clear something up. That job at Ballard High was my first teaching job after college. I was only four years older than the seniors. I never chased after any of them. It was the opposite, if anything. You wouldn’t know it looking at me now, but I used to be a pretty good-looking guy. If there was any chemistry between me and some of the older girls, like I said, we were only a few years apart. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to do anything because of my role as a teacher, but it wasn’t like there was anything unnatural about it. I’m not some kind of pervert or something.”

“I’m not accusing you of being a pervert, Mr. Turnbill,” Raine assured. He was more interested in whether Turnbill was a murderer. “Tell me what you remember about Zoe West just before she disappeared.”

Turnbill took a few moments, raising a thoughtful hand to his unkempt chin. “Honestly, I don’t remember very much about her. I think I had her in one of my classes, but I’m not even sure about that, or what class it was. Of course, everyone knew about what had happened with Chloe. I felt bad for her. I think she lost a lot of friends over that. She was dating some boy right about then who broke up with her over it too.”

“Eric Garcia?” Raine ventured.

Turnbill nodded. “Yes, I think that was his name. But I don’t really recall much more than that. I’m sorry. There were a lot of students at that school. When one died in a car crash, everyone knew about it. When another went missing, everyone knew about that too. But details about the actual girls? No, I can’t recall much. Just that it was very sad.”

Raine frowned. The answer was so vague as to be almost worthless. But the entire interaction with Turnbill had at least confirmed some of the things he was learning about Zoe West’s final days. He was ready to end the interview. Especially given the oppressive nature of their surroundings.

Raine stood up. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Turnbill. If we have any more questions, we know where to find you.” It was meant to sound slightly threatening.

Turnbill frowned, but didn’t say anything.

Sommers jumped in instead. “Who would you say was Zoe’s best friend when she disappeared?”

Turnbill cocked his head. “I-I really don’t know. Chloe was her best friend before the car accident. Everyone knew that. But afterward, well, I’m not sure.”

“Hm,” Sommers responded as she too stood up.

She didn’t say anything more and Raine decided not to follow up. Turnbill showed them to the door and they made their way down to where Sommers’s car was parked in the lot of the apartment complex.

“Why did you ask about Zoe’s best friend?” Raine inquired.

“Well, we both know he was lying, right?” Sommers asked.

“Definitely,” Raine answered, “although I’m not completely sure what parts were lies and what parts were true.”

“Exactly.” Sommers tapped Raine on the chest. “Girls share, even when they shouldn’t. Find out who Zoe West’s best friend was when she disappeared. She’ll know the truth. About Zoe, about Eric, about Turnbill. About everything.”

17

The best-friend angle made sense to Raine, but he wasn’t sure of the quickest way to find out who Zoe’s best friend was at the time of her disappearance. Or death, rather. Murder.

That line of thinking reminded him that his client was charged with murder, and the criminal case against Jim Carpenter was speeding toward trial, whether Raine located Zoe’s bestie or not. So, Raine put the investigations on hold for a day and returned his focus on the legal machinations of the case. He needed to get that motion to dismiss filed, and soon. It had already been a week since the pretrial and three since the arraignment. A week’s worth of looking for nonexistent gloves, long-lost boyfriends, and inappropriate teachers, and suddenly trial was five short weeks away. It was barely enough time to initiate the separate civil action he needed to attack the purchase and sale agreement.

He decided it wouldn’t be sufficient to assert to a criminal judge that Carpenter was the true owner of the parcel and therefore the search lacked legal consent. No elected judge was going to suppress the recovery of the murder victim’s body, and thereby fatally wound the State’s prosecution, based on a civil claim that hadn’t been fully litigated. Raine needed to prove it separately, then come back to the criminal judge with a ruling that Carpenter was the true owner at the time of the search. That meant he needed Carpenter to sue Lutz Development. It was the smart play, even if the last thing Raine wanted was to have to deal with two separate cases arising out of the murder of Zoe West.

The only thing worse would be three cases.

“Mr. Raine! Is Mr. Raine here?”

Raine recognized the voice of Kristi Carpenter in his lobby. He also recognized Laura’s voice, although he couldn’t make out the words because she wasn’t yelling like Kristi. The tone was calming, and Raine could guess she was on her way to see if he was available. He was. If only because he needed Kristi to leave so he could work on drafting a complaint to sue Lutz Development. He should probably also visit Carpenter in the jail and get his approval to expand the case in that way. There would be a new fee agreement to sign. The original one only covered the criminal case, not a related civil case.

And certainly not a divorce.

“Here.” Kristi shoved a document toward Raine when he emerged into the lobby. Not so much as a ‘Good morning.’

Raine took the document. It was a pleading, made obvious by the large caption at the top of the first page. Kristi Carpenter, Petitioner, versus James Carpenter, Respondent. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage. “You’re filing for divorce?”

“I am,” Kristi confirmed. “I’ve thought about it and I believe Jim is guilty. Please go to the jail and give that to Jim. After that, I’m sorry, Mr. Raine, but your services will no longer be necessary. Please refund the retainer I paid.”

Raine actually laughed at that. “That’s not how it works. First of all, the retainer is nonrefundable. That’s how criminal cases work. Nobody pays their lawyer after the verdict, no matter which way it goes, so I get paid upfront, no refunds. Second, you can’t fire me. Jim is my client, not you. Only he can fire me.”

“But I’m the one who paid you,” Kristi protested.

“And I thank you for that,” Raine assured her, “but it doesn’t matter who pays. Jim is my client and he will remain my client until he decides to fire me.”

“Well, maybe he can hire you for the divorce, too.” Kristi scoffed. “Since you don’t mind representing murderers.”

“It’s not my first choice,” Raine replied, “but it’s a living. Are you sure you really want to do this, though? And now? He’s going to be devastated. It won’t help his criminal trial to be worried about a divorce on top of life in prison.”

“I don’t care about helping his criminal case,” Kristi said. “I told you. I think he’s guilty. I want him to be convicted. That’s justice.”

“Justice for Zoe?” Raine questioned.

“Exactly,” Kristi confirmed.

“But you never got justice for Chloe,” Raine tested. The divorce petition in his hand might accelerate the timetable for getting Carpenter to agree to blame Kristi for the murder.

“The wheels of justice sometimes grind slowly, Mr. Raine,” Kristi answered. “It took ten years to bring Zoe’s killer to justice. And I have a feeling that full justice for Chloe is coming next. Sooner than anyone expects.”

Raine wasn’t sure about that. The statute of limitations for vehicular manslaughter had run out over a decade ago, and the person responsible had ended up buried under a hardware store.

“Goodbye, Mr. Raine.” Kristi turned toward the exit. “If you care about justice, you’ll tell Jim to plead guilty.”

“I do,” Raine assured her, “and I will not.”

18

“Divorce?” Carpenter’s wail echoed against the white cinderblock walls of the jail visiting booth. He grabbed his head with both hands. “She’s divorcing me? Now?”

“Apparently.” Raine empathized with Carpenter. He’d also been blindsided when Nat told him she wanted a divorce. Or if not completely blindsided, at least intentionally ignorant. Looking back, he could see the signs, but in the moment, no one thing seemed so serious it could lead to divorce. Then again, murder was a pretty big thing. “She said she thinks you’re guilty, and she doesn’t want to be married to a murderer.”

“She said that?” Carpenter forced his reeling, reddening eyes to land on Raine.

“The part about you being guilty, yes,” Raine clarified. “The other part I deduced from context.”

“Context?”

“The divorce papers.”

“Ah.” Carpenter nodded. “What else did she say?”

“She told me I was fired and she wanted her money back. I told her no and no. Only you can fire me, and no one’s getting their money back, so you might as well keep me on the case.”

Carpenter took a moment then nodded. “Of course, of course,” he murmured. “Did she say anything else? Anything about Chloe? She wouldn’t have wanted us to get divorced.”

Raine tightened the line of his mouth. “We did talk about that the first time I met her. This time, the only thing she said about Chloe was a somewhat vague threat about justice for her death being imminent, but she didn’t elaborate.”

Carpenter frowned at that news. “She’s just under a lot of stress right now. Zoe’s body being found has dredged up a lot of unhappy memories for both of us. And then I got arrested. She’s stuck at home, having to do everything herself, and not knowing if her husband is ever coming home again.”

Raine pointed at the divorce petition he had slid under the glass partition to his client. “She seems to be taking a proactive route on the whole husband coming home again thing.”

“She’s trying to head off even more heartache if I’m convicted,” Carpenter assured, although he seemed to be trying to assure himself, not Raine. “She’ll change her mind.”

“Well, she might, or she might not,” Raine answered. “In the meantime, as your lawyer, I can tell you that you need to file a response to this. You two have thirty years of assets to unwind. Given your situation, we can probably get an extension until after the trial is over. But if you don’t file a response, the court will enter a default against you and she could get everything.”

“I won’t need anything if I go to prison for the rest of my life,” Carpenter lamented.

“Have some faith in me, Jim,” Raine said. “I was planning on coming here this morning anyway. I think we may have a way to invalidate the purchase and sale agreement with Lutz Development. If we can do that⁠—”

“We can get the evidence against me suppressed,” Carpenter finished the sentence, “and my case dismissed!”

“That’s the plan,” Raine confirmed. “But that means you’re going to have to sue Lutz.”

“Sue him?” Carpenter asked. “From jail?”

“Well, obviously I would do all the work,” Raine explained. He reached into the file he had brought with him and extracted two more documents to slide, one page at a time, to Carpenter. “These are new fee agreements. One for the divorce and one for the civil case against Lutz.”

Carpenter pulled the papers through the slat and examined them. “I can’t pay you any more. Especially if I can’t have Kristi bring you a check.”

“I’ll bill you later,” Raine offered. “It will give me incentive to win your criminal case.”

Carpenter stared at his lawyer through the partition for several seconds. “You need incentive?”

Raine shook his head and laughed lightly. “More incentive,” he corrected. “The truth is, our best chance of winning the case is if we can undo the sale of your building. It’s basically a part of the criminal case.”

“What about the divorce?” Carpenter asked. “Is that part of the criminal case too?”

“It affects it,” Raine answered. “I’d like to keep you married until after the trial.”

“Why?”

“Something called spousal privilege,” Raine explained. “It won’t take the prosecutor long to hear your wife thinks you’re guilty. She’d be a great prosecution witness, but as long as you’re still married, you have an absolute right to block her from testifying against you.”

“Really?” Carpenter replied. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing you hired me to defend you,” Raine said. He pointed again at the papers in front of Carpenter. “Now hire me for the other two things and I will get the necessary paperwork filed by the end of business tomorrow.”

Carpenter looked at the documents as well, then started to nod his head, slowly at first, then more strongly. “Okay. Yes. That makes sense.” He picked up the two-inch-long golf pencil the inmates were allowed to use as a writing utensil when meeting with their lawyers and scribbled his signature across the last page of each fee agreement. He slid them back to Raine, then looked at the divorce petition still on his side of the glass. “Do you want this back?”

“I have a copy,” Raine answered as he gathered up his latest business contracts, “but I can take it if you don’t want to take it back to your cell with you. I could see why you might not want to appear vulnerable to the other inmates.”

Carpenter began pushing the divorce papers back to Raine. “It’s not that. I’m a soft, middle-aged man scared out of my mind. I’m obviously vulnerable. No, I just don’t want to have to think about it. It hurts too much right now.”

“That makes sense,” Raine answered. He didn’t tell him it keeps hurting.

19

It was a simple matter to draft the response to Kristi’s divorce petition. It was little more than a form response and Raine had the form saved to his computer. He just changed the names from his last divorce case and added a sentence about his intent to seek a delay in the divorce proceedings until after the conclusion of the criminal trial.

The response didn’t have to be perfect, it just had to be filed. It fell into what the lawyers called ‘notice pleadings.’ The filing of the response put everyone on notice that Carpenter would be litigating the divorce case. As to exactly what he wanted, that could be provided later. There wouldn’t be much to it anyway. Like most middle-class couples, their largest asset was their house. That would be sold, the profits split equally, along with whatever savings and retirement accounts they had. And it wasn’t like they had a kid to fight over anymore.

The complaint against Lutz Development took more effort, and more time. Since Raine was initiating the lawsuit, he had to state exactly what he wanted, and at least some basic authority as to why he thought he was entitled to it. He didn’t have to spell everything out—the complaint was also a form of notice pleading—but if he left something out, he would need permission from the court to add it later. In addition, Raine fully expected Lutz Development to hire an attorney to fight the lawsuit, and one with more experience than Raine in commercial transactions, construction law, and the various other areas of the law that would touch on Raine’s effort to invalidate the contract that transformed Carpenter Hardware into the Zoe West Cemetery.

By 4:00 p.m., Raine was satisfied with both documents. By 4:30 p.m., they had been filed with the court clerk. The only thing left to do was to serve the pleadings on the opposing party. Raine decided to let a hired process server deliver the lawsuit complaint to Manny Lutz; he wasn’t ready for that fistfight quite yet.

For the response to the divorce filing, Raine decided to deliver it to Kristi personally. He thought there was a decent chance she might have changed her mind in the short time since she had stormed into his office and demanded their money back. Carpenter might be right. Kristi was going through a lot all of a sudden and needed time to process everything. Cooler heads might prevail after all.

Raine parked up the street and then walked back, past the blue West home, and up the steps to the front door of the green Carpenter house. He would be glad to deliver the divorce response to Kristi and get out of there. He had lost his desire to chat with Kristi with an eye toward delaying, or even terminating, the divorce proceedings. There was something oppressive hanging in the air over the two houses. Raine just wanted to go back to his own home, even if it was a small condo near downtown with no view worth mentioning.

He pressed the doorbell and could hear the chime inside the home. He held the copy of the divorce response in his hands and flopped it absently up and down as he waited for Kristi to come to the door. After a period long enough to suggest she hadn’t heard the doorbell, he pressed it again. He really did need to serve the paperwork on her. He didn’t want to have to come back out again the next day.

He waited a bit longer than previously but eventually had to press the doorbell a third and final time. He heard the chime again, but it was joined by the crash of breaking glass from the backyard.

He jumped down the steps and raced around to the back of the house. When he got there, he dropped the divorce papers into the wet grass. Kristi and Jim had bigger problems.

Kristi was standing on a low wooden deck. In her hand was a broken vase. It looked like it was crystal, and heavy.

At her feet, tangled within the frame of a shattered glass table, was Hannah West, unmoving, with a large pool of dark arterial blood expanding quickly from under her crushed skull.

Kristi looked at Raine, then at the carnage in front of her, then back to Raine. “I didn’t do anything!” she cried out. “It was an accident! I was defending myself!”

Raine shook his head. “You’re going to want to choose one of those, Kristi. Juries hate inconsistent defenses.”

20

Raine took a step toward Kristi and raised his hand to her. “Set the vase down and don’t touch anything.”

It was good advice, and obvious. He wouldn’t be blamed for telling a killer, intentional or not, to set down the weapon and preserve the evidence. But Raine knew he was in a precarious situation. Not as precarious as Kristi Carpenter, to be sure, but there were ethical considerations for what would unfold in the next few minutes. He was a witness, if not to the actual killing then to the immediate aftermath, and Kristi’s statements. He was also a lawyer, although not her lawyer. Quite the opposite. He was there to serve papers on her as an opposing party. But the last thing he wanted to be was a witness on his client’s wife’s murder case. And it was possible to represent multiple people at the same time.

Kristi set the remnants of the vase on the deck and stepped back from Hannah West’s motionless body. “Is she… is she dead?”

Raine was reasonably certain that she was. She wasn’t moving and the amount of blood on the deck was more than most people could lose before their hearts stopped. He wasn’t a medical examiner, but he had cross-examined plenty of them in court.

“Probably,” Raine answered. He wasn’t about to check for a pulse, though. Any contact with the crime scene could move him quickly from witness to suspect. Especially if Kristi figured out she could blame him for what happened. He didn’t expect her to think of that, but his mind was trained to think of every possibility, especially the bad ones. He needed to transform their relationship from rivals to partners. And quickly.

“Listen to me carefully,” he said. “It is very important that you follow my advice. Okay?”

Kristi’s eyes were wide with fear and adrenaline. There were no tears in the corners, but Raine wasn’t about to judge. He was about to lawyer.

“Okay,” Kristi replied. Shakily, but audibly. She was now his client.

“The police are going to come,” Raine said, “and they are going to find all of this. They are going to conclude that you did it, and they are going to arrest you. It is imperative that you say absolutely nothing to them. Do you understand?”

“But, maybe we should⁠—”

“Do you understand?” Raine interrupted.

Kristi hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good.”

“But should we maybe try to move the body or something?” Kristi suggested. “Hide it? Try to clean up?”

Raine smiled slightly. Like most of his clients, Kristi had watched too many crime dramas. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to move a dead body? She’s, what, a hundred and fifty pounds? Can you lift a hundred and fifty pounds? How about seventy-five, if I help, which, by the way, I will not do. Lawyers who move dead bodies don’t get to keep being lawyers.”

Kristi frowned down at her neighbor. “We could drag her.”

“And smear blood from here to wherever you take it?” Raine asked. “Get blood in your car too? Or try to dig a grave here in your backyard? First of all, the blood on your deck is never going away. It’s already seeped into the grain. They will find her DNA even if you bury the body. Second, I guarantee your yard is filled with rocks and tree roots so it’s basically impossible to dig more than a few inches into the ground without power equipment. Even if you dig deep enough to prevent scavenger animals from pulling the body to eat at it, the police will use cadaver dogs to find it anyway. I can’t think of any more damning evidence in a murder case than a body buried in your own backyard.”

Or under your business, Raine thought as an aside.

Kristi’s shoulders dropped. The tears finally started at the corners of her eyes. The adrenaline was wearing off and Raine was bringing the reality of the situation home to her. There was no covering this up.

“I really didn’t mean to hurt her,” Kristi said. “I was just trimming some roses from our rose bush to put in that vase when she came over to confront me about what Jim did. I told her I had nothing to do with it, but she didn’t believe me. She started screaming at me about how I was always jealous of her and Zoe. She was out of control. I think she’d been drinking maybe. I told her to leave, but she wouldn’t, and then she jumped at me. I just reacted and swung at her. I didn’t even think about the vase being in my hand. It all happened so fast.”

Raine nodded along. He could work with that.

“Why can’t I just tell the police that?” Kristi asked.

“You can,” Raine answered. “Eventually. But not now. Not while they control the process. They will twist your words and confuse you and make you wonder if it really happened the way you remember. You’ll confess to murder before you even realize it. They’re professionals and they’re good.”

Kristi blinked a tear from her eye, sending it trailing down her cheek.

“But I’m a professional, too,” Raine continued, “and I’m also good. You’ll get your chance to explain everything, but that will be at the trial, after we’ve seen all of the evidence against you and know what you should say.”

“Trial?” Kristi’s eyes flew wide again. “For murder? I don’t want to be put on trial. I’m not a murderer. I’m not Jim.”

Raine frowned at that. He needed the Carpenters to be on the same page if he was going to be able to represent them both. But he wasn’t going to get any more time just then to try to move Kristi off believing her husband murdered Zoe West. The crash Raine heard was loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

A woman hurried into the backyard. “Kristi, I heard a crash and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she began, before raising her hands over her mouth and gasping. “Oh my God! What happened?”

“Don’t answer that, Kristi,” Raine directed. “Anything you say, to anyone, can and will be used against you.”

“Oh my God,” the neighbor repeated through her hands. “You killed her. You killed her, didn’t you? Oh my God. I-I…” The woman slowly backed up several steps, then turned and ran away.

She was going to call the police, Raine knew. There definitely wasn’t time to bury the body and bleach the deck.

“What do we do now?” Kristi asked, shaking her head at the surreal situation.

Raine appreciated that she said ‘we’. It boded well for the future, even if the future itself didn’t bode well for Kristi. “We wait for the police. And then we fight the case.”

21

The neighbor did call the police. The police did arrive and arrest Kristi. Kristi did refuse to say anything to them per Raine’s advice. And Raine did call Sommers to schedule back-to-back jail visits that evening.

“Can you represent both of them?” Sommers asked when he explained the plan. “Can I?”

“It depends,” Raine answered.

“That’s a very lawyerly answer,” Sommers scoffed.

“That’s because it’s usually the right answer,” Raine replied. “Is it impossible for me to represent both of them? No. Is it smart? Probably also no. But let me worry about that. You just meet me at the jail at seven, after they’re done serving dinner and both of them will be available.”

“You sound like you have a plan,” Sommers remarked.

“I do,” Raine confirmed. Then he hung up and called Sawyer.

The King County Jail had set and limited visiting hours for inmates. Raine didn’t even know what those hours were because they didn’t apply to attorneys. Attorneys could speak with their clients any time of day or night, although they should expect it to take a bit longer for the guards to fetch their client if the visit occurred at 2:00 a.m.

Raine had found that 7:00 in the evening was an excellent time to visit his incarcerated clients. Dinner was over but lights-out was still a way off. He was able to finish whatever work he needed to get done by 5:00 and grab a bite to eat before walking up the hill on James Street to the jail, rested and refreshed.

Often, however, his clients didn’t share his content demeanor. Especially if they’d never been to jail before and had been arrested that morning on suspicion of murder.

“Mr. Raine!” Kristi called out as she spilled into the other side of the meeting room. “Thank God you’re finally here.” Then she noticed the woman accompanying Raine. “Who’s this?”

“My name is Sawyer Mount,” Sawyer introduced herself. “I’m an attorney.”

“Is this your associate?” Kristi asked Raine. “Are you handing me off to a junior lawyer at your firm?”

“Wonderful beginning,” Sawyer remarked to no one in particular.

“Ms. Mount is not my associate,” Raine answered. “She’s an experienced criminal defense attorney. We, uh, work together sometimes.” Raine relied on a broad definition of ‘work’. “She’s already familiar with the facts of your case, and also Jim’s. It’s probably in your best interest if you have your own lawyer, but one who can coordinate closely with me. You can hire anyone you want, but I would strongly recommend Ms. Mount. I can’t imagine working with anyone more closely than her.”

Kristi took a few moments to consider the situation, then she addressed Sawyer directly. “Is all of that true?”

Sawyer tipped her head slightly. “Close enough. You do need your own lawyer, and I am familiar with the case already. Also, I work well with Mr. Raine. It will be important to coordinate our defenses.”

“Why?” Kristi asked.

“Two members of the same family allegedly murdered by two members of the neighbor family?” Sawyer posited. “There is no chance the prosecution doesn’t consider them related.”

“But what I did was an accident,” Kristi protested. “What Jim did, well…” She trailed off, unable or unwilling to say her thoughts out loud.

“What Jim did is his business, and mine,” Raine jumped in again. “What you did, accident or not, needs to be yours, and your lawyer’s. But I agree with Sawyer. The authorities are going to consider these cases related.”

Kristi cocked her head. “Sawyer?”

“Ms. Mount,” Raine corrected. “Sorry. We know each other pretty well.”

Sawyer lowered a glare at him, then looked back to Kristi. “Allow me to suggest that you and I have a private conversation. After that, you can decide whether you’d like me to be your lawyer.”

Kristi shook her head. “I didn’t mean to do it. I’m innocent. Are you sure I need a lawyer?”

“You definitely need a lawyer,” Raine answered.

“Especially if you’re innocent,” Sawyer added.

Kristi thought for a few moments, then nodded. “Okay. Nice to meet you, Ms. Mount. Tell me what I need to know.”

“I will,” Sawyer assured, turning again to her boyfriend, “as soon as Mr. Raine leaves.”

“How did that go?” Sommers asked from her spot in the hallway outside the interview room where she had waited while Raine and Sawyer went inside.

“Better than I expected,” Raine admitted. “Kristi is scared, but she’s not stupid.”

“Does she still want to divorce Jim?” Sommers asked.

Raine frowned. “Ask me again after Sawyer talks to her. Some marriages are held together by love, some by obligation, some by the children.”

“What’s the Carpenters’ held together by?”

“The spousal privilege,” Raine answered. “Now, let’s go talk to our actual client. We have a lot of news for him.”

Raine and Sawyer had arrived together, along with Sommers, and asked to see both Jim and Kristi at the same time, one inmate per attorney. That meant Jim would be ready at approximately the same time as Kristi. But Kristi was housed in the women’s wing of the jail; Jim was in the men’s section, which was the remaining 90 percent of the jail. The visiting rooms were on an entirely different floor, so by the time they saw Jim Carpenter face-to-glass-partition-to-face, he had been waiting for them for probably close to ten minutes.

“There you are,” he said when Raine and Sommers finally walked into the conference room. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up.”

“Good to see you, too, Jim,” Raine replied. He sat down at the counter in front of the glass. Sommers sat next to him. Carpenter was seated as well. “I’m glad you’re sitting down, Jim. We have some news for you.”

“Good news, I hope?” Jim asked, apparently overlooking the comment about it being good that he was sitting down.

“No, not really,” Raine warned. “I mean, we could start with some of the sort-of-good news. We made some progress on the investigative side. Spoke with Eric Garcia and Matthew Turnbill. Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know who Zoe West’s best friend was after Chloe died, would you?”

“What?” Jim sputtered. “No, I mean, I’m not sure. Why would I⁠—”

“Let’s start with the big news,” Sommers suggested to Raine. “The bad news.”

“Yeah, the bad news,” Jim agreed. “What’s the bad news?”

“There’s no easy way to put this,” Raine said. “Kristi’s been arrested. For murder.”

“Kristi?” Jim fell backwards in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair as he absorbed the information. Then he leaned forward again. “This is good news, though, right? At least for me. They think Kristi killed Zoe, not me.”

“Oh.” Raine frowned. “No, they still think you murdered Zoe. They think Kristi murdered Hannah.”

“Hannah?” Jim threw his hands up. “Why would they think that?”

“Probably because she smashed her head in with a crystal vase and was caught standing over her dead body,” Raine answered.

Jim stared at him for several seconds. “What the hell are you talking about? Hannah West is alive and well and probably in her home right now.”

“She was all of that this morning,” Raine explained. “Now, not so much. She’s at the morgue. They’ll do the autopsy in the morning, but the findings aren’t really in doubt. And then they’ll arraign Kristi on one count of murder in the first degree tomorrow afternoon.”

Jim leaned back in his chair again, clasping his hands between his knees and staring down at the ground. “What is happening? Everything is falling apart. I don’t understand. Everything was great just a few weeks ago. Well, maybe not great, but not this. Not me and Kristi both in jail. Not Hannah dead.” His head popped up. “Oh my God. Donnie. Does Donnie know?”

Raine nodded. “I’m sure he does by now.”

“You have to tell him we didn’t do it,” Jim implored. “We didn’t do any of it.”

“I don’t think he’d believe me,” Raine replied. “The better path is proving it to him. We need to win the trial. Both trials. You and Kristi have been through a lot. Let’s get you through this and see if you two can’t get your lives back in order, at least a little bit.”

Jim’s eyes softened. He obviously remembered that other legal matter that Raine told him about during their last visit. “Does she still want to divorce me?”

“She might,” Raine answered. “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure her defense lawyer doesn’t want her to. Your marriage is on life support, but it’s more alive than Hannah West.”

“Too dark,” Sommers commented with a shake of her head.

Raine supposed she was probably right. But the whole business was dark, and getting darker.

“Are you representing Kristi, too?” Jim asked.

Raine shook his head. “No, but a good friend of mine is. She’s someone I trust. The only way we get you both through this is if we work together.”

Jim nodded at that, but cast his eyes downward again for a few moments. When he looked up again, the softness in his eyes had disappeared. “But if it comes down to me or her, you’ll save me, right? Even if it means she gets convicted of murder, you’ll save me.”

Raine nodded. “Yes, Jim. You’re my client. My loyalty is to you, and you alone.”

Jim Carpenter leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his mouth a thin line. “Good.”

22

Raine represented Jim Carpenter. Sawyer represented Kristi Carpenter. Their interests were similar, but not identical. Neither were their court dates. Jim spent the next day in his cell in the jail, while Kristi was brought to the felony arraignment calendar at 1:00 for her arraignment. No delay in the filing of charges this time. They didn’t need an excavator to recover Hannah West’s body from Kristi Carpenter’s shattered glass table. So, it was Sawyer’s job, not Raine’s, to appear in court that afternoon and represent Kristi at her arraignment. Raine went anyway.

He arrived a few minutes early so he could find a good seat at the edge of the attorneys’ section of the courtroom, the part in front of the bulletproof glass that separated the proceedings from the gallery. Sawyer was already there.

“Came to see how a real attorney handles a criminal case?” she teased when she saw him.

“Yeah, I have no idea how to say ‘not guilty’ and stand there while the judge imposes a million-dollars bail no matter what I say,” Raine returned with a grin. “Nah, I just want to be here in case anything weird happens.”

“Are you expecting that?” Sawyer questioned.

“With this case?” Raine scoffed. “Yeah.”

Douglas McClain blew into the room then, announcing himself in case anyone overlooked his dramatic entrance.

“Douglas McClain, Chief of the Criminal Division of the Attorney General’s Office,” he called out his name and title. He strode over to the bailiff and announced loud enough for everyone to hear, “I am entering a Special Notice of Appearance. The Attorney General’s Office will be taking over the Carpenter murder case.”

Raine looked to Sawyer, who returned his concerned gaze. He raised a finger into the air. “Which Carpenter murder case?”

McClain spun around and looked at Raine. It only took a moment for the glint of recognition to flash in his eyes. “Well, both of them, actually. The Attorney General’s Office has a special interest in these murders. I want to see to it personally that the defendants are prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.”

Raine had very mixed feelings about that. He was no fan of Jared Tompkins, but he found Douglas McClain affirmatively annoying.

“You mean,” Raine replied, “you want to be on the news as much as possible while you prepare for your run for governor. Right?”

McClain narrowed his eyes at Raine. “I’m sorry. Could you tell me your name again? I forgot it immediately the last time we met.”

“You’ll remember it after the trial,” Raine responded. “For now, I’m not here on any case. You get to battle with a better lawyer than me on this Carpenter case, Mr. McClain. Good luck to you.”

Before Sawyer could introduce herself, if she even felt the need to do so, Tompkins walked into the courtroom. A minute late and a case short, although he didn’t know it yet.

“Hey, Jared,” Raine called out. He pointed at McClain. “Watch out. This guy is trying to steal your cases.”

Tompkins glanced around, visibly confused. It didn’t help him that everyone in the courtroom had stopped what they were doing to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, he’s just being a sore loser,” McClain chuckled, but clearly intending the notion that Tompkins being taken off the case was a loss for the defense. “You’re the prosecutor on the James Carpenter case, right? I thought I recognized you. I’m Douglas McClain, Attorney General’s Office. I’m taking the case over from you.”

“You are?” Tompkins’s eyebrows knitted together. “I didn’t hear anything about that.”

McClain shrugged. “Well, you’re hearing about it now. I’m also taking over the Kristi Carpenter case.” He reached out and tapped the file Tompkins had under his arm. “Did you prepare the charging documents? You can give those to me and be on your way.”

Raine leaned over to Sawyer. “Not so much as a ‘Thank you.’ Rude.”

“Quiet, you sore loser,” Sawyer whispered back. “I’m enjoying the show.”

“I-I don’t think—” Tompkins began.

McClain reached down and pulled the file from Tompkins’s hand. “Yes, here it is.” He extracted the criminal complaint from the folder. “Thanks, Thompson. I won’t forget this.”

Tompkins opened his mouth to either protest or correct his name.

But before he could say anything, the bailiff stood and called the courtroom to order. “All rise! The King County Superior Court is now in session, The Honorable Francis Fassbinder presiding!”

Raine’s heart dropped a bit at the unexpected name of their judge for the afternoon. Like an elevator falling, but only a floor or two. Fassbinder was well known as one of the vainest, most self-serving, most self-important judges ever to grace the bench of the King County Superior Court. On the other hand, he was undeniably entertaining. And he would give McClain a run for his money, in terms of seeking attention and adoration. In fact, Raine considered as he confirmed the presence of several news cameras in the gallery, likely tipped off by McClain himself, Fassbinder had probably gotten wind of McClain’s effort to seize the spotlight and asked the usual judge to allow him to take the calendar and challenge McClain for the starring role.

After all, it wasn’t his case. Sawyer would have to navigate the competing egos of Douglas McClain and Francis Fassbinder. Raine could sit back and enjoy the show. The only thing missing was popcorn.

“Are there any matters ready?” Judge Fassbinder demanded, one eye to the cameras on the other side of the glass. He was a large, thin man—what people used to call a ‘tall drink of water’, with medium brown skin, large white teeth, and gray temples.

“The Carpenter matter is ready, Your Honor,” McClain announced. He hurried over to hand Tompkins’s handiwork to the bailiff. “Douglas McClain, by special appearance, on behalf of the State of Washington.”

Raine stepped over to Tompkins. “I’m going to miss you, Jared. I think the trial would have been fun.”

“What just happened?” Tompkins asked, eyes wide and locked on McClain handling what should have been his arraignment.

“There’s always someone looking to cash in on your hard work,” Raine answered. “That’s why I work for myself.”

“Bring out Kristi Carpenter!” Judge Fassbinder bellowed. He didn’t need to raise his voice; the guards were right there in the courtroom, not twenty feet away, standing sentry at the door to the holding cells. But the cameras loved it.

The guard pressed down on the heavy metal handle and unlocked the door with a loud clank. He shouted “Carpenter!” into the void hidden behind the courtroom.

A few moments later, Kristi Carpenter entered the courtroom. Like most people, she did not look better after a night in jail. Her hair was unkempt and matted in the back and dark eyebags replaced her usual well-practiced makeup. She shuffled into the courtroom in her red jail scrubs and plastic sandals, her hands cuffed in front to a belly chain around her waist.

Sawyer stepped forward and joined her client at the bar before The Great and Terrible Wizard of Fassbinder.

“This should be quick,” Raine commented to Tompkins, whom he suddenly felt a kinship with, since they were no longer opponents. They each were watching someone else fight the battle they ought to be fighting. “It won’t be, but it should be.”

“This is the matter of The State of Washington versus Kristi Beth Carpenter,” Judge Fassbinder announced. “Could counsel please identify themselves for the record?”

McClain went first. The prosecution always went first; it was their burden of proof. “May it please the Court,” he began archaically, “Douglas McClain, Chief of the Criminal Division of the Attorney General’s Office, on behalf of the State of Washington.”

Fassbinder nodded down at McClain, grinning with approval. He turned to the other end of the bar.

“Sawyer Mount on behalf of the accused,” she stated simply. No ‘may it please the Court’, and ‘accused’ instead of ‘defendant’. Words mattered, especially when your entire trade was in words.

Fassbinder frowned at Sawyer’s introduction. Things didn’t get better from there.

McClain announced the charges: one count of murder in the first degree, for the premediated, intentional killing of Hannah West. Sawyer acknowledged receipt of the complaint, waived a formal reading of the charges in open court, and asked the judge to enter a plea of ‘not guilty’ to the charge. The plea was so entered, then the judge moved directly to conditions of release—bail. McClain asked for two million, because one million wouldn’t have impressed the cameras and he was competing with Fassbinder. Sawyer reminded everyone that her client was presumed innocent, had no criminal history and had strong ties to the community, and asked for a release on personal recognizance. Fassbinder set bail at three million, outdoing McClain, and the hearing was over.

“That went well,” Raine remarked when Sawyer returned to his position and Kristi was dragged away by the guards.

“Fuck you,” Sawyer replied. “I better not get Fassbinder as the trial judge. It’ll be a dick-measuring contest between him and McClain.”

“No worries.” Raine dispelled her concerns with a wave of his hand. “We both know you’ve got the biggest dick in this courtroom right now. I mean, except for me, of course.”

Sawyer smiled ever so slightly. “Agree to disagree. Anyway, I guess it’s about what we expected. Kristi and Jim will both be in custody until their trials. You win first, then I’ll win, and everything will be fine. Right?”

“Excuse me, you two.” McClain stepped between them. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be filing a motion to join your cases for trial. Boil them in the same pot and see who screams first, am I right? Anyway,” he placed a hand on his chest, “Douglas McClain. Great to meet you. Looking forward to beating you in court. Bye now. There are cameras waiting for me.”

McClain whooshed away with a dramatic wave of his arm. Sawyer watched after him exiting the courtroom and stepping up to the waiting cameras visible through the glass partition at the back of the courtroom.

“I really don’t like that guy,” she said.

Raine shared the sentiment. “It’ll feel that much better when we beat him.”

23

The unexpected developments surrounding Kristi killing Hannah, murderously or otherwise, and Douglas McClain taking over the prosecutions made Raine almost forget about his gambit to invalidate the sales contract for the store. Manny Lutz reminded him. After hours, in a dark alley.

Raine worked about an hour after Laura’s usual quitting time of 5:00 p.m. and so was alone when he locked up the office for the night. He bolted the front door with his key and turned east, away from the water. His car was parked behind the building, but he fancied some hot pot for dinner and had no other plans to hurry him home, or anywhere else. The time alone would give him a chance to think.

He liked Sommers’s suggestion that if anyone knew who might have wanted to do Zoe harm, it would be whomever Zoe was confiding her secrets in at the time. He was trying to figure out the best way to determine who Zoe’s best friend was just before her disappearance. In fact, Raine was so wrapped up in thought that at first he didn’t even notice his name being called.

“I said, I wanna talk to you, Raine!”

That New York accent. Raine knew who it was, even before he turned around to face the man who had followed him into the puddle-strewn alley he was using as a shortcut to the hot pot restaurant. Manny Lutz stood at the entrance to the alley, backlit by the streetlights on Jackson Street. Raine glanced around for anything that might be usable as a makeshift weapon, but there were only a few plastic garbage bins spaced along the back walls of the businesses. At least there wasn’t any rebar lying about.

Lutz began to close the distance between them. Raine wondered how close he would get before stopping. Raine had no intention of retreating.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you, Mr. Lutz,” Raine called back to him. “I’m on my way to dinner and I’m rather hungry.”

“It’s about that lawsuit you filed against me,” Lutz shouted as he continued to march toward Raine, stomping in a puddle to punctuate his explanation.

“Oh, then, I definitely don’t want to talk to you,” Raine replied. “I’m not allowed to talk directly with someone I’m suing. I need to communicate through your lawyer. I assume you have a law firm for this sort of thing?”

Lutz was almost on top of Raine. “My law firm is Eat Shit and Die.”

Raine shook his head. “I’m not familiar with that firm. Is that Michael Shit?”

Lutz had reached him. “How about the law firm of my fist and your face?”

Lutz unleashed a fat hand haphazardly at Raine’s head. Raine saw it coming and was able to duck under most of it, the meaty paw bouncing off the back of his head. Raine stood up straight again and squared off against Lutz, who was already panting from the exertion of chasing him down the alley.

Lutz was big, not as tall as Raine but heavier, and out of shape. He wasn’t going to be able to handle a prolonged fight. That suggested a strategy of staying just out of arm’s reach and letting Lutz tire himself out. The reality was that once Lutz started to get exhausted he would likely grab onto Raine and they would end up on the pavement where Lutz’s exhaustion would matter less and his additional body weight would give him the advantage. That meant Raine needed to handle Lutz like a focused cross-examination. Hit fast, hit hard, get out.

Raine delivered a right jab directly to Lutz’s nose. It was a solid punch, and even though he didn’t feel bone break under his knuckles, Raine was sure it hurt his opponent, if only because it certainly hurt his hand. He followed with a left to Lutz’s sizeable stomach and then another right to his jaw. Every punch landed solidly, and while it sent Lutz staggering against the alley wall, he managed to stay on his feet. Raine shook his throbbing hand in disappointment.

“Why don’t we call it a draw?” Raine suggested. “It’s going to be awkward in court if we have to explain a police report about an assault.”

Lutz wiped at the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m not the kind of man who calls the police to solve his problems.”

Raine was relieved to hear that what happened in that alley would stay in that alley. The Bar Association wouldn’t look kindly at fisticuffs with an opposing party, even if he was only defending himself. Kristi Carpenter had made a similar claim, and she was having her dinner in the King County Jail that night.

“You ruin my plans for my own property,” Lutz growled. “Then you trespass on my property. And now you sue me to take the property back? Oh no, buddy. That’s not how Manny Lutz does business. No one treats me like that. Not you, not nobody.”

Lutz pushed off the wall and charged Raine, head lowered and both arms extended. Here came that bear hug and tackle Raine was worried about. There wasn’t time or space to avoid it. Raine twisted his body and grabbed at Lutz’s as they collided, managing to redirect their fall enough that Lutz didn’t land squarely on top of him. At best, that would have knocked the wind out of him; at worst, the back of his head would have hit the pavement rendering him unconscious, or even dead from the fatal brain bleed that could happen if his skull struck the cement at exactly the right angle. Raine had seen that case. He didn’t want to become it.

They landed in an oily puddle next to a pair of those plastic garbage bins. He was definitely going to have to change clothes before dinner. Raine’s hand still stung from his earlier blows, but he didn’t have much choice other than to deliver a series of punches to the side of Lutz’s face.

Raine’s punches seemed to be effective. Lutz struggled to raise his body enough to deliver a strike of his own. But just as Raine thought he might be able to wriggle out from under Lutz, his attacker flopped backwards and punched upwards in a single, floppy motion, like a whale cresting the waves and falling back into the ocean. Lutz’s back hit the pavement, but his fist hit Raine’s jaw, sending a shock of pain through his skull and an explosion of stars in front of his eyes.

As his vision started to darken at the edges, Raine forgot any concerns about the Bar Association or his ruined suit or delayed dinner. He was fighting a man larger than him and he’d been pulled down into the concrete swamp. He needed to get on his feet and end the fight on his own terms before it ended on Lutz’s. Raine wasn’t sure he’d survive Lutz’s terms.

Lutz was flat on his back, chest heaving, more beached whale than breached whale. Raine took the opportunity to push himself off the pavement for extra force then fall forward and punch Lutz as hard as he could directly in the throat.

Raine felt his fist sink into Lutz’s neck, the windpipe giving way under his aching knuckles. Lutz’s eyes bulged and his tongue stuck out of his mouth, but he couldn’t make any sound other than a strangled choke. Raine pulled his arm back and Lutz rolled onto his side, holding his throat and coughing uncontrollably into a puddle of old rainwater, fresh blood, and whatever else was smeared across the pavement of that back alley.

Raine stood up and backed away from his disabled competitor. “Getting beat up in back alleys when I’m on my way to dinner isn’t how Dan Raine does business.”

He knew he should get out of there before Lutz regained his ability to breathe. There was only one thing left to say. “See you in court.”

Raine hurried back the way he came, looking over his shoulder to confirm Lutz was still on the ground.

When he’d made it safely back inside his office, he smiled. Not because he had won the fight. Because the fight meant he was on to something.

24

Raine went straight home after the fight, changed into warm, dry clothes, and ordered delivery Thai food. It wasn’t hot pot, but he didn’t need to fight an angry giant in an alley to eat it.

He expected some ramification the next morning at his office, but none was forthcoming. No Manny Lutz waiting for him, a handful of rebar, or worse. No police officer there to question him about the assault the previous evening. Raine knew there was likely another of Manny Lutz’s shoes to drop eventually, but he let himself believe the paper-thin chance that in winning the fight, Raine had also won Lutz’s respect, and they could move forward like gentlemen as Raine tried to undo Lutz’s latest property acquisition.

In that vein, the civil case against Lutz was really just a procedural necessity arising from his true focus—the criminal case against Jim Carpenter. It would all be a waste of time for Raine and the white-shoe law firm of Eat, Shit & Die, PLLC, if Raine didn’t file the parallel motion in the criminal case. So, he spent the day working on that brief, one eye on the clock and one ear listening for any sound of Manny Lutz entering his office.

At 4:00 p.m., the motion and attendant legal brief were finished, and no one had barged into the lobby demanding a rematch to the death. That was all good because Raine wanted to file the motion at the courthouse before he drove out to Ballard to ask Donnie West about Zoe’s high school best friend.

Filing and serving his Defendant’s Motion to Suppress Evidence for Illegal Warrantless Search, and its Defendant’s Brief in Support of Motion to Suppress Evidence was a fairly simple matter, although not as simple as it would have been if Tompkins was still on the case.

Raine filed the originals with the Clerk of the Court on the first floor of the courthouse, and dropped a ‘working copy’ for whatever judge was assigned to hear the motion into the basket in the judges’ mailroom on the third floor, but he wasn’t able to deliver the final copy to the King County Prosecutor’s Office on the fifth floor because they weren’t prosecuting the case anymore.

Instead, he had to go to the process serving company across the street from the courthouse and pay them to deliver it to the Seattle office of the Washington State Attorney General’s Office, some five blocks away from the courthouse. Raine could have done it himself, but it was quicker to drop it with the process server than try to find parking around the A.G.’s building, and he wanted to get on the road before downtown emptied out for rush hour.

Once in his car with his office in his rearview mirror, Raine dialed Sommers’s number.

“Rebecca Sommers, Executive Realtor,” she answered the way she usually did. “What do you need now, Dan?”

She knew his number. “Why do you think I need something every time I call?”

“Because you do need something every time you call,” Sommers answered.

“Can’t I just call to talk?” Raine asked.

“Please don’t,” Sommers replied. “Now what do you want? I’m in the middle of a showing.”

“Why did you answer then?” Raine questioned. He turned right from Washington Street onto Alaskan Way, heading north along the waterfront.

“Because I wanted to know what you needed,” Sommers answered. “I like to know what’s going on with our cases even if I can’t drop everything to hold your hand every time. But this is already taking longer than I’d expected. I need to go, especially if you’re not going to tell me why you called.”

“I’m headed to Ballard right now,” Raine went ahead and told her, “to ask Donnie West who Zoe’s best friend in high school might have been. That was your idea, so I thought you might want in on the conversation.”

“The conversation,” Sommers questioned, “between a grieving father and husband and the lawyer representing their killers? No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

“I don’t represent Kristi,” Raine corrected.

“Your girlfriend does,” Sommers pointed out. “Distinction without a difference.”

Raine frowned as he came to a stop at yet another of the far too many lights between downtown and Ballard. “That’s exactly why I want someone with me when⁠—”

“Oh, sorry to interrupt, Dan,” Sommers interrupted with no hint in her voice that she was in any way sorry, “my client needs me. And I need to close this deal. Good luck. Don’t kill him too or anything.”

“What?” Raine exclaimed, but Sommers had already hung up. He followed suit with a push of a button on his dashboard and considered delaying his visit until Sommers was available. But time was running out, and he wasn’t at all confident his gambit to invalidate a facially valid sales contract and suppress a murder victim’s remains from evidence was going to work.

He was likely to have to try the case, and he didn’t try cases to lose them. Jim Carpenter said he didn’t murder Zoe West, which meant someone else did. Sommers said if anyone knew who had the motive to do it, it would be Zoe’s best friend at the time. Raine didn’t necessarily trust Carpenter, but he trusted Sommers.

Raine found a parking spot a few houses up from the West residence and made his way back down the sidewalk to the home’s front walk. He hesitated, expecting a less-than-warm welcome, then strode to the front door anyway. He had a job to do. He didn’t have to be a jerk about it, but he couldn’t shrink away from it either.

Raine knocked on the door and stepped back to wait. He thought he might need to knock a second, or even third time, judging by Donnie’s level of engagement the last time they met, so he was surprised when the door opened only a few seconds later.

Donnie took one look at him, then declared forcefully, “No,” and slammed the door in Raine’s face.

“That went well,” Raine quipped to himself.

He stepped forward and knocked again. He backed up an extra step in case Donnie felt the need to be more physically assertive with his rejection of Raine’s visit. His concern proved warranted.

Donnie took a bit longer to open the door the second time, but Raine realized it was because he needed time to fetch his gun. The door flew open and Donnie stepped out onto the front porch, only socks on his feet and a 9 mm semi-automatic handgun extended in front of his concerningly unhinged expression.

“You have a gun,” Raine observed, raising his hands and stepping backward.

“Damn right I do!” Donnie yelled. “After what happened to Zoe and Hannah? After what those goddamn Carpenters have done to me? Damn right I got a gun. And I’m not afraid to use it.”

Raine wasn’t convinced by that last assertion, but he felt that Donnie’s fear of using the gun just added to the instability of the situation.

“I’ll just be going then,” Raine offered, hands still raised and another step toward the stairs behind him. “Whatever I wanted to talk to you about, I’m sure it wasn’t important.”

“Not as important as my wife.” Donnie shook the barrel of the gun at him. “Not as important as Zoe.”

“Yes. Right. Exactly.” Raine had reached the short staircase from the porch to the front walk. He felt for the edge of the porch with his foot while keeping his eyes focused on Donnie and his unsteady weapon. “Thanks for your time. I won’t bother you again.”

“Damn right you won’t,” Donnie yelled. He didn’t make any movement toward Raine, which Raine took as a license to descend the steps, backward and slowly. Once Raine’s foot reached the cement walkway, Donnie’s expression changed, almost as if waking from a dream. He lowered the gun, shook his head, then dashed back into his home and slammed the door closed.

Raine, for his part, got the heck out of there while the getting was good. Lutz was angry, but Donnie was something more. Disturbed. Unbalanced. Dangerous. Raine could hardly blame the man; he had lost a lot. Almost everything. Everything that mattered. Pulling a gun on Raine was arguably a crime, subject to a homestead defense claim, but Raine wasn’t the type of person to involve the police to solve his problems either.

If he couldn’t get the information directly from Donnie, he would have to figure out a different source. Or a different method for extracting it from someone who would probably pull the trigger the next time he saw Raine on his porch. Raine just needed to make sure he wasn’t seen.

25

McClain added a second pretrial conference on Jim’s case to occur at the same time as the first pretrial on Kristi’s case. It was annoying, even unprofessional, to schedule a pretrial conference without consulting the opposing counsel, but it wasn’t against the court rules. Jim was going to be pulled from his cell and brought to the holding cells next to The Pit. Raine had no choice but to appear himself. At least he’d get to see his girlfriend.

“I’m not your girlfriend,” Sawyer warned him. “Not here. Not now.”

“Understood,” Raine was sure to agree. “You’re my co-counsel.”

But Sawyer shook her head. “Not if we can avoid it. We don’t want these cases joined for trial. I don’t want to be sitting next to you at trial if it means our clients are sitting next to each other too.”

Raine agreed with all of that as well. “How about colleague? Vague acquaintance? A fleeting memory of a former lover roused by an especially beautiful sunset and a long-forgotten melody played by a nearby street performer?”

Sawyer just stared at him.

“Colleague,” Raine confirmed with a serious nod. “Colleague.”

McClain entered The Pit then. Raine noticed because McClain made it impossible not to notice his arrival. The door from the hallway opened and McClain backed into the room while shouting out to the reporters he had undoubtedly told he would be there to provide a comment on the cases. “Thank you, thank you! I appreciate your support. I will be out again soon to take more questions, but I can assure you of this right now: Justice will prevail! Thank you.”

Raine threw a disgusted glance at Sawyer. She returned it.

“Although it might be fun to team up on this guy,” she suggested. “Just because he can supervise other attorneys and shoot his mouth off to the press doesn’t mean he knows how to try a case.”

Raine was thinking the same thing, watching the politician try to fit in with a room full of actual trial attorneys. Or rather, making no effort to try to fit in. Blustering and blowing his way across the room to where Raine and Sawyer were seated. There was a certain respect for the Art of Trial Advocacy which even opponents could share across the aisle. McClain didn’t seem to understand that, or if he did, he didn’t respect it.

“The press loves me.” McClain shook his head and shrugged, a self-important grin on his face. “I don’t know why.”

“Probably because you comment on pending criminal cases even though it impinges on the constitutional rights of the accused,” Sawyer suggested.

McClain’s grin held, but it turned cold. “Delightful. So, is that how we’re going to do this? I accuse your client of a crime, so you accuse me of misconduct? Not very original, I must say. The public has a right to know how the criminal justice system works, especially on a case of such high public interest.”

“I hardly think a fight between two women on a back deck in Ballard is of high public interest,” Sawyer replied.

“Oh, yes, I would agree completely,” McClain pointed a finger at her, “if it weren’t for his case.” The finger swung toward Raine. “That missing girl case was big news ten years ago, and it’s even bigger news now.”

“Because you keep calling the media,” Raine pointed out.

“Fire needs oxygen, Mr. Raine.” McClain grinned broadly.

Raine was tiring of the verbal jousting. “Did you see the motion I filed? I had a copy served on your office. I’ll be setting that for a hearing prior to trial. Do you need more than a week to file your response?”

Professionalism. Schedules could be respected and court dates agreed upon, even if the substance of the motion was contested.

“The motion to suppress the remains of the murder victim?” McClain asked.

“Yeah, that one,” Raine confirmed. “You know the case gets dismissed if I win that. Hard to prove murder without a body. Not impossible, but pretty close to it.”

“That motion has no merit,” McClain asserted.

Raine shrugged. “Tell it to the judge. I certainly plan to.” He jabbed a thumb toward the door McClain had entered through. “It’s going to be pretty embarrassing if you lose that motion in front of all those cameras you keep calling to court. I mean, who would vote for a guy to be governor who can’t even keep a defense attorney from suppressing the body in a murder case? Not me, I can tell you that.”

“I won’t vote for you either way,” Sawyer put in.

“I assure you this is not about votes.” McClain laughed, but Raine thought he noted an undertone of anxiety. “It’s about bringing justice and closure to the West family.”

“Okay.” Raine was tiring of the conversation.

“Mr. West,” Sawyer corrected. “There’s not really a West family left anymore.”

McClain frowned. “Yes, well, as I said, that’s what this is about. But I would be doing the Wests, or Mr. West, and the public a disservice if I weren’t honest about the chances, however slim, that this motion to suppress might prevail.”

Raine leaned forward. He wasn’t bored anymore. “Go on.”

McClain glanced around The Pit, as if to confirm no one was still paying attention to them after his very attention-seeking entrance. He pulled a chair over from the next table and sat down at the table with his opponents. He leaned forward and in a low voice informed them, “I have a proposal.”

“An offer?” Raine sought clarification.

But McClain shook his head. “Not yet. This is a proposal. For both of you. Then, depending on how it goes, I may have an offer. For one of you.”

Raine leaned back and crossed his arms. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

McClain frowned at Raine, then turned to Sawyer. “What about you?”

“I haven’t heard the proposal yet,” Sawyer answered.

“Okay, here it is.” McClain clasped his hands in front of him. “In both of these cases, I know what happened, but I don’t know what happened.”

“Are we doing riddles?” Raine asked. “I didn’t know there would be riddles.”

“I know James Carpenter murdered Zoe West ten years ago,” McClain expounded, almost begrudgingly. “And I know Kristi Carpenter murdered Hannah West some five days ago. What I don’t know is why. Or how.”

“If you don’t know why or how,” Raine argued, “you’re going to have a hell of a time proving it in court.”

“Hence my proposal,” McClain tacitly agreed. “I may not know how or why, but I do know who would know those things.” He crossed his arms to point at both Raine and Sawyer. “Your clients. Each of them undoubtedly spoke with the other about what happened to Zoe, and whatever happened to Zoe is a direct cause of what happened to Hannah.”

“You want them to snitch each other out,” Sawyer sneered.

McClain shook his head. “No, I want one of them to snitch out the other, and then use the snitch to get my conviction. I don’t care which one snitches and which one gets convicted. So long as I can stand in front of the cameras at the end of the trial and claim a victory for justice, law and order, and the good ol’ U.S. of A.”

“That’s monstrous,” Raine responded.

“It’s smart,” Sawyer opined. “How do you get around the spousal privilege? Each of our clients can block the other from testifying.”

“Only as long as they’re still married,” McClain answered, “and a little birdy told me a divorce petition has already been filed. We can accelerate that and get the divorce finalized before the criminal trial of whichever one of your clients was too stupid to take the deal.”

“I haven’t heard the deal yet,” Raine reminded McClain. “You want our clients to rat each other out but we don’t know what they get in return.”

McClain shrugged. “It depends on what they say. That’s why this is a proposal. Your client sits down with my detective and gives a full and complete statement as to everything they know about the case. We have a written agreement in advance that it can’t be used against them at trial if they don’t take a deal.”

“A proffer,” Raine added the label to that sort of arrangement.

“Precisely,” McClain agreed. “Then I decide how valuable the information is and make an offer accordingly.”

Sawyer shook her head. “You still have a problem with the spousal privilege. It doesn’t only apply if they’re married. It also protects any communication during the marriage regardless of whether they’re still married.”

“Only conversations that go to the heart of the marriage.” Raine frowned. “A judge could easily find that conversations about covering up a murder don’t go to the heart of a standard marriage.”

“That will be my argument,” McClain confirmed. “I expect I’ll win. The judges are elected too.”

Raine pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all.”

“There’s one more condition you’ll like even less,” McClain said. “You have to withdraw your motion to suppress. I’m not going to strike a deal with Kristi Carpenter only to have James’s case thrown out on a technicality.”

“That does make sense,” Sawyer agreed.

“Whose side are you on?” Raine asked her.

She looked at him with a perplexed expression. “Kristi Carpenter’s side,” she answered. “Obviously.”

“Let’s do this,” McClain suggested. “Let’s schedule that silly motion to suppress of yours, Mr. Raine, at the same time as my motion to consolidate these cases for trial. That will be the deadline for my offer.” He placed his hands on the table and pushed himself to his feet. “So, speak with your clients. Then let me know how you wish to proceed. But understand, only one of you will get a deal. This is very much a race. First to provide a statement and accept my offer wins. Loser dies in prison.”

McClain spun on his heel and marched away. Raine watched after him for a few moments.

“What a load of—” he started to say, but Sawyer stood up. “Where are you going?” he asked her.

Sawyer narrowed her eyes at him. “To talk with my client, of course. The real question is, why aren’t you?”

“Proffer?” Carpenter cocked his head as he repeated the word. “What does that mean?”

Raine shrugged slightly. “It’s a fancy word for offer. Lawyers do that. We don’t squash a warrant, we quash it. It’s not blood splatter, it’s blood spatter. There was even a century-long battle with the banks over insisting that ‘endorse’ should be spelled with an ‘i’.”

“I don’t really care about all of that,” Carpenter told him. “I just don’t understand what he wants me to do.”

“He wants you to sell out Kristi,” Raine explained. “Tell him that you think she killed Hannah on purpose, maybe based on conversations that you had about how much she hated her, or feared her, or whatever makes the most sense for bashing her brains in with a crystal vase on your back deck.”

Carpenter frowned. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. It’ll be a lot easier for Kristi to offer McClain something he wants. You were in jail when Hannah was killed. How would you know anything about that? But she could provide him with all kinds of information about Zoe’s disappearance if you guys talked about it.” A pause. “Did you talk about it?”

“Of course we talked about it,” Carpenter answered. “But not because I did it. Nothing like that. It was just the sort of thing you would talk about, especially after what happened to Chloe.”

“Okay, good.” Raine nodded. “We just have to hope Kristi doesn’t give a proffer either.”

“Why would she?” Carpenter asked. “Isn’t it better if we both don’t say anything?”

“Mostly,” Raine answered. “It’s a twist on the classic prisoner’s dilemma. The usual setup is that both prisoners are better off if they both stay quiet, but one is worse off if they stay quiet and the other one talks, so you’re tempted to talk. In this case, he’s offering a deal to whoever talks and life in prison to whoever doesn’t. It’s like he’s pumping water into the cells and you’ll drown unless you pull a lever to dump the water into the other prisoner’s cell.”

Carpenter frowned at the analogy. “Well, I’m not going to pull that lever. Not if it means lying to get Kristi in trouble for something she didn’t do.”

“Good for you,” Raine commended.

Carpenter thought for a moment. “What do you think Kristi is going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Raine admitted. “But I’ll find out.”

Raine waited for Sawyer outside the holding cells. She was taking significantly longer with her client than Raine had taken with his. That probably wasn’t good.

Eventually, Sawyer emerged and seemed startled to see Raine waiting for her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I work here,” Raine replied with a grin. He nodded toward the meeting room. “What did she say? My guy doesn’t want to do it.”

Sawyer shook her head. “I can’t tell you. Attorney-client privilege.”

“You can if we’re working together,” Raine returned. “Jim is fine with coordinating our defenses, and we’ll need to share information to do that.”

“Well, Kristi isn’t willing to share information. Not yet anyway,” Sawyer said. “And neither am I.”

“So, you’re still not my co-counsel?” Raine asked. “Even after McClain explicitly said he intends to join the cases for trial?”

“Until and unless that happens, Dan, I’m not your co-counsel,” Sawyer told him. Then, without a whiff of regret, she added, “In fact, as long as these cases are pending, I can’t even be your girlfriend.”

26

Raine was more than a little shocked to be broken up with, even if it was temporary and for professional reasons. He also wished Sawyer hadn’t been quite so bloodless about it. But he supposed that was one of the things he liked about her.

He made his way back to his office just as Laura was getting ready to leave for a doctor’s appointment. He wished her luck and said he’d see her tomorrow, then settled into the quiet of his empty office. He was able to be productive for a while, but the silence became increasingly distracting. Not even the phone was ringing. The only noise was the occasional splash of a car driving through a puddle on the street outside. It was several hours before quitting time, and he had more than enough to do to fill up the time, not least of which was to get ready for the first hearing in the civil case against Lutz Development. He just wished he didn’t feel quite so alone doing it.

He picked up his phone to call Sommers, maybe to offer her an update on the case, maybe to just hear another person’s voice. He heard her voice, but only a recording of it as the call went to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message. Instead, he fetched a shot glass and the bottle of bourbon he kept in the cabinet in his office. He added a light pour of the brown liquid to his glass and held it aloft. “To solitude.”

The bourbon was sweet but it burned his throat.

When five o’clock finally arrived, Raine was more than happy to close his laptop. It had been a long, lonely day, but the evening would prove to be more social. Maybe even more social than he had planned. He was going to take his boys out to dinner, a rare mid-week visit. He was glad for it, and grateful that Nat had suggested it. She had called the previous week to make the arrangements, before Raine knew he was going to be functionally single for several weeks. He spruced himself up in the mirror of the office bathroom, then drove to Nat’s place to pick up the boys. He was going to ask Nat if she wanted to join them.

When he arrived and she opened the door to his knock, he immediately suspected the answer would be ‘No’. She was very much dressed up for dinner and very much overdressed for The Spaghetti Barn with her teenage boys and ex-husband. Little black dress, silk champagne wrap, sparkly dangling earrings. Hair up, makeup on, and eye on the road behind Raine.

“Going out tonight?” Raine ventured. No wonder she wanted him to take the boys.

“Uh, yeah,” Nat confirmed. “Dinner and a show.”

Raine nodded. It would be awkward if he asked, but it already felt awkward without asking. “Do I know him?”

Nat smiled slightly and shook her head. “No.” Then, after a moment, “The boys will be out in a minute. Thanks for doing this. Would you, maybe, mind waiting in your car?”

Raine supposed seeing the ex-husband on the steps might kill the vibe of the date. “Sure,” he agreed. “I’ll have them home in a couple of hours.”

“Sure,” Nat answered, already starting to close the door. “Jason has a key.”

Because she wouldn’t be home before them, Raine knew. Or at all that evening, he supposed. He shook the thoughts out of his head and walked back to his car to wait for his boys. He didn’t even like The Spaghetti Barn.

Dinner was uneventful. Jason spent most of it on his phone, despite the fleeting connection Raine thought they had made at the awards ceremony. Jordan was more engaged, but his conversation revolved mainly around video games Raine had never heard of through mouthfuls of spaghetti and breadsticks.

Sure enough, when Raine returned to the home he had formerly shared with Nat, she wasn’t there. Raine confirmed Jason had his key and waited to watch them unlock the door and make it safely inside. He felt a temptation to park up the street and wait for Nat to come home, but realized that was unhealthy, bordering on criminal. And he knew it might be a very long wait.

Instead, he decided to go for a drive. He certainly didn’t want to go back to his condo alone. He soon found himself drawn to the water—not difficult to do in a city surrounded by it. He turned east onto Valley Street, straddling the south end of Lake Union, then followed the road as it changed names into Fairview Avenue and then Eastlake Avenue. He passed under Interstate 5 and crossed Portage Bay, then turned right onto Northlake Way, doubling back west and circling the north end of the lake. Past Gas Works Park to Fremont Avenue, then up Canal Street until he realized he had made his way to the Ship Canal, the waterway that was the southern border of the Ballard neighborhood. Puget Sound lay directly west. And directly north stood the empty residence of the Carpenters and the nearly empty home of the Wests.

Raine turned right on 15th Avenue and headed north. If he was going to be alone that night, he wanted to find some small comfort to confirm he wasn’t the only one. At least Raine’s solitude hadn’t been brought on by the decade-apart killings of his child and spouse.

He rolled his car to a stop across the street from the West and Carpenter homes. It was raining slightly. Raine could see the drops falling to the ground in the beams of his headlight. He turned off the lights, but kept the windshield wipers on so he could keep a clear view of the houses. The Carpenter house was completely dark. The West home had a single light on in an upstairs window, the interior of the room obscured by curtains. It seemed a bit too early for Donnie to be going to bed, but Raine supposed the man probably didn’t know what to do with himself anymore and might welcome the sweet, if temporary, relief of sleep.

Or maybe not. The upstairs light turned off, followed quickly by a dim light on the lower level, as if from a back hallway. A few moments later that light turned off as well. And a minute or so after that, a car backed out of the Wests’ garage and turned onto the street, its headlights flashing over where Raine had slid low in his driver’s seat to avoid being seen. Raine sat up again and watched the car head up the street. He hesitated for only a moment before turning his headlights back on and pulling into the roadway to follow.

Donnie turned north onto 15th Avenue NW, then west on 65th Street NW, toward State Route 99, known as Aurora Avenue that far north. There was an awkward constructed entrance onto the freeway that required cars to divert two blocks south the 63rd, duck under the freeway, then turn abruptly north again directly onto a freeway ramp with remarkably little time, and no shoulder, to get up to freeway speeds. Donnie zoomed through the interchange and accelerated north.

Raine struggled to stay close enough to keep visual contact but far enough back not to seem suspicious. He was barely able to merge between two pickup trucks going 60 miles per hour, but managed to get onto the freeway and accelerate after Donnie’s unhelpfully common gray Japanese sedan.

It took a bit, but Raine was able to catch up with Donnie, and a good thing, because just as he did, Donnie turned into the parking lot for one of the seedy motels that lined that particular stretch of Aurora. Raine drove past the driveway, lest it be completely obvious to Donnie that someone was following, then pulled into the lot for the next motel and drove back to face his car toward where Donnie had parked in front of the line of rooms, their doors opening directly onto the parking lot.

The possibility that Raine had mixed up gray sedans on the freeway was dispelled when Donnie West emerged from the car, recognizable even through the rain and across the distance from where Raine sat, his headlights once again dimmed as he found himself on an impromptu surveillance of someone he didn’t even know he wanted to surveil.

Donnie ducked into the small, glass-walled office at the front of the motel. Raine could see him speaking with the attendant behind the counter. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and the clerk pulled a key off the wall. A minute later, Donnie was hurrying to Room 14, hunched over against the rain. He unlocked the door and disappeared inside, the light turning on to struggle through thick, dirty curtains drawn tightly closed.

Raine rubbed his chin. There were any number of reasons a person might rent a room at a dive motel on Aurora. A lot of them involved criminal activity, and all of them—save an out-of-town tourist who mistakenly booked the motel sight unseen thinking it would be a quick drive into downtown—involved wanting some level of privacy, anonymity even. Donnie West literally had his house to himself. He could have had anyone over he wanted. But then the neighbors would see, and neighbors talk.

“What are you doing, Donnie?” he asked aloud. He couldn’t help but smile at the riddle of it. He was excited to see how it played out. There was almost no chance Donnie spent the night alone in that motel room. He could have stayed home for that. The only question was how long it would take until Donnie opened the door with the peeling red paint and brass ‘14’ to whomever he was meeting there that night. And what she charged.

It took almost twenty minutes before anyone arrived to join Donnie. The visitor parked a dark sedan in front of room 14. The person wore a long dark coat that made it impossible for Raine to know for sure whether it was a man or a woman. It didn’t mean the person didn’t charge by the hour/deed, but it opened the possibility that the desire for secrecy was not because the activity was criminal, but rather that it carried potential adverse social repercussions.

Raine decided to settle in and wait for Donnie’s visitor to depart. The amount of time the person stayed would itself be informative, and then Raine could follow them, maybe even make an identification. He hadn’t expected to play Private Eye that night, but he was enjoying himself. He could see why Sommers liked it.

“Hey, baby,” a woman’s voice pierced Raine’s thoughts. It was joined by a rap on his car window. “I’m Tiffany. You looking for a date tonight?”

Raine turned to see a gaunt-faced woman pressed against his car door window. She was scantily clad despite the persistent rain, in a top that wasn’t much more than a bra, and a red leather miniskirt. Heavy makeup featuring ruby-red lips and sparkling eyelids covered her face. She had blonde hair with dark roots and more jewelry than he could fully process. The only source of natural beauty were the woman’s striking eyes, half hidden behind fake eyelashes. They were a remarkable shade of blue, light without being pale, like a sapphire.

“Fifty for a half hour,” she read him the menu. “Hundred for an hour. Two hundred for girlfriend experience. Greek is extra.”

Raine had no interest in spending any time, or money, with a sex worker, and certainly not a street-level prostitute working the night shift on Aurora.

“Uh, no thank you, ma’am,” he answered. “I’m not here for that.”

“Ma’am?” the woman snarled. “How old do you think I am?”

Raine took a moment to size her up. It could be hard to hazard a guess as to someone’s age when that person had obviously led a hard life, then painted over the cracks. Despite the makeup, or maybe because of it, Raine still guessed ‘Tiffany’ was old enough to warrant a ‘ma’am’. But he didn’t say so.

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “Miss. Thank you, miss, but no, thank you.” Then, feeling bad for her, he added, “Good luck tonight, though.”

The woman took a moment, obviously trying to decide how to respond to Raine’s rejection. Honey won out over vinegar.

“Come on, baby.” She tried to purr but a decade or two of cigarette smoking made the sound less than beguiling. “I can make you feel good tonight, baby. It’s so cold out. Let me warm you up. You won’t regret it.”

Raine was absolutely certain he would regret it. If he did it. Which he definitely was not going to do. “Look, as much as I’m enjoying talking to you, I’m actually kind of in the middle of something here. So, maybe you could look for someone else who you could warm up tonight.”

“Aw, c’mon, baby,” the woman persisted, but her effort was interrupted.

“Jezebel!” came a slurred shout in a husky male voice. “Harlot! Be gone, temptress!”

The woman at Raine’s window turned toward the back of the car and the approaching man. “Shut the fuck up, Joe! Get the hell out of here. I’m fucking working!”

“Your work is evil, Lena,” Joe growled at her. “Offer your sinful wares elsewhere.”

“I’ll offer my wares wherever the fuck I want!” Lena yelled back at him. She disappeared down the side of the car and Raine turned to watch her confront the man at the rear wheel of his vehicle. And then the fight was on.

Raine could make out the shape and sound of swinging arms and landing punches, or at least slaps. No matter what else was going on—Private Eye surveillance or not, desperate street-level sex worker or not, seedy rent-by-the-hour motel or not—Raine wasn’t going to sit by while some man assaulted a woman. He jumped out of his car and to her defense.

Joe was larger than Raine suspected. And hairier. And dirtier. He had matted gray hair under a visibly stained beanie, a long gray beard, and dark dirty skin on his cheeks and under his wide, wild eyes. He was wearing several layers of clothes, none of which seemed to be waterproof, but which, combined, would probably keep his skin dry despite the ongoing rain. He was certainly going to be warmer and dryer than Lena, in her tiny outfit, fishnets, and platforms. He was also going to win any physical fight against her. But not against Raine.

“Leave her alone!” Raine boomed.

That was pretty much all it took. Joe immediately retreated. He may have been big, and could have been dangerous in close quarters—something Raine was not looking forward to but was willing to endure—but he was also homeless, unhealthy, probably mentally ill, and almost certainly high. He was in no shape to take on a healthy man of similar stature to him, and he knew it.

Joe shoved Lena away from him and raised his grubby, chapped hands. “Okay, okay. I don’t want any trouble, man.”

“Good,” Raine returned. He pointed generally back toward the parking lot and away from his car. “Get out of here. Now.”

Joe turned and scurried away into the dark, grumbling something under his breath that probably pertained to Raine, but which Raine felt no need to call out.

He turned to Lena. “Are you okay?”

She smiled and stepped forward to lean onto his arm, and hip, and leg. The overly sweet smell of her perfume turned his stomach slightly. “Oh yeah, big boy.” She looked up at him. “I’m fantastic. Is this what does it for you? Are you ready to claim your prize, my big strong man?”

Raine winced and pulled himself away from Lena, even as he was impressed by her ability to stay on task.

“Like I said, that’s not why I’m here.” He looked over at the next motel only to discover that the dark sedan parked in front of room 14 had departed while Raine was distracted by the Joe and Lena Show. “Fuck,” he hissed.

“Exactly,” Lena replied.

“No.” He held her back with an extended arm. He’d lost his opportunity to learn more. But he had already learned a lot. That would have to be enough. And he was getting soaked in the rain.

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and extracted what cash he had in it. Sixty dollars. He handed it to Lena. “Here. Take thirty minutes off.”

Lena looked at the money for a split second, then snatched it out of Raine’s hand. “You sure? I can give you a discount for chasing Joe away.”

“Thanks,” Raine answered, “but I’m sure. Have a safe night.”

He returned to his vehicle and Lena returned to the shadows. He doubted she would take that half-hour off. But he was more than ready for a rest.

27

There was, they said, no rest for the wicked. Raine wasn’t sure that was true. Plenty of wicked people slept like babies. But there was often little sleep for the wicked’s lawyers. Raine didn’t know whether Jim Carpenter was actually wicked, but the judicial proceedings to determine that were about to come at them, one after another, fast and furious. The first was of Raine’s own doing—the defense’s motion to dismiss on his civil lawsuit against Lutz Development, LLC.

In a criminal case, the first formal hearing was always the arraignment. It was when the charges that initiate the case were filed, the defendant was advised of the charges, and the speedy trial clock started ticking. Future court dates were set by the judge, and the lawyers knew how much time they had to prepare for the trial, which would occur after a series of standard pretrial court dates spaced out in a predictable fashion, each building on the other, and each requiring the presence of all involved. It was very rigid, in part to protect the rights of the defendant, and in part to ensure that the thousands upon thousands of criminal cases that passed through the courthouse each year didn’t go off track. The only way Raine could stop the train speeding toward the jury trial depot was to get it dismissed at one of those pretrial hearings, a feat about as difficult as derailing a speeding locomotive.

Civil cases were different. There was no state prosecutor pressing the case forward as part of their fully benefitted, fully pensioned government job. The judges were under no constitutional obligation to protect the defendant’s right to a speedy trial, and in fact were incentivized to allow civil cases to shrivel on the vine to keep the courtrooms free for the criminal cases. When a civil case was filed, it was up to the plaintiff to note any future hearings and make sure everyone showed up.

But the first hearing in a civil case was usually scheduled by the defendant. And it was always a motion to dismiss for failure to state a claim upon which relief could be granted. The lawyers called it a 12(b)(6) motion, the number of the court rule governing such motions. But it was basically lawyerese for, ‘Oh yeah? So what? Even if everything you say is true, you can’t sue over it.’ If the judge agreed, the case would be thrown out before it got within a whiff of a jury.

Another difference between criminal and civil cases was that the actual parties—not the lawyers but the real people behind the lawyers—didn’t need to appear in court for the hearing. For his arraignment and pretrials, Jim Carpenter had been transported to the courtroom, as he would be for his trial as well. For this motion to dismiss the civil case, Carpenter would be remaining in his cell two blocks away. Manny Lutz also didn’t appear, although he could choose to do so. Raine was relieved not to have to worry about a rematch of their earlier bout. Judges rarely ruled in favor of judges who punched the opposing party. That meant the hearing would just be the judge, Raine, and Lutz’s attorney, whose name was not actually Mike Shit.

Her name was Naomi Childers, and her law firm was Holdbrook, Tarkanian and Graves. She wasn’t a named partner, but she wasn’t a rookie either. She was in her forties, like Raine. She was tall, like Raine. She was wearing a dark suit and white shirt, like Raine. And she had a firm handshake, like Raine.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Raine,” she greeted him upon her arrival in the courtroom. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

That was true, as far as Raine recalled. There were too many attorneys in Seattle to get to know all of them.

“I think you’re right,” Raine confirmed. “Good to meet you too.”

Childers glanced up at the still-empty bench. “This shouldn’t take too long. The issue is simple enough and Judge Norton isn’t one of those judges who likes to hear herself speak for hours on end.”

Raine nodded. She was right about both of those things. Another saying lawyers had was, a good lawyer knows the law, a great lawyer knows the judge. Childers appeared to know both. She was also likable, with a pleasant face behind wireframed glasses, and brown hair styled simply but professionally. Raine liked her. Which meant the judge would too. Which meant he was in trouble.

“I hope it doesn’t go too quickly,” Raine replied. “I’d like the judge to consider my argument at least a little bit.”

“Oh, of course, course.” Childers nodded earnestly. “I’m sure she will. And then we can each hope for a different ruling. Again, nice to meet you, Mr. Raine. I’m going to get ready for the hearing now.”

Raine supposed that was a good idea for himself as well. He took up his position at the plaintiff’s table, extracting his file and other materials from his briefcase as Childers did the same. They were the only two people in the courtroom that morning. The hearing wasn’t scheduled to begin for seven more minutes. In two, the bailiff would enter and start up the computer. Two after that, the court reporter would arrive and turn on their stenograph. And three minutes after that the judge would enter, to a bellow from the bailiff.

“All rise! The King County Superior Court is now in session. The Honorable Jennifer Norton presiding!”

Judge Norton took her perch above the lawyers and instructed, “Please be seated. Are the parties ready in the matter of James Carpenter versus Lutz Development, LLC?”

Raine stood to address the judge. “The plaintiff is ready, Your Honor.”

The judge and Raine both looked over to Childers. She stood as well. Lawyers always stood when they spoke to the judge. If they wanted to win, anyway. “The defendant is ready as well, Your Honor.”

Judge Norton nodded, then lowered her eyebrows slightly. “Will the parties not be joining us today? Is Mr. Carpenter not here?”

Raine hesitated. He hadn’t been explicit about the status or even existence of the criminal case. He didn’t think it would help him, and it wasn’t technically relevant to the validity of the land transfer prior to his arrest. “Mr. Carpenter is unavailable, Your Honor.”

Norton pushed out a curious lip, but didn’t inquire further. “And is no one from Lutz Development going to attend either, Ms. Childers?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Honor. Mr. Lutz was involved in an incident recently that could have impacted his ability to attend today.” Childers sneaked a quick glance, and faintest of smiles, at Raine. “After some discussion, we decided it best if I proceeded without him.”

“I hope he’s okay?” Norton expressed her concern.

“Nothing an ice pack and some good news from today’s hearing won’t fix, Your Honor,” Childers replied.

Judge Norton leaned back and offered her own smile. But also a wag of her finger. “I can’t promise you good news, counsel. Not at this stage of the proceedings. But I am ready to hear the argument on the motion. This is your motion for summary judgment, Ms. Childers, so you go first. Whenever you’re ready.”

Raine sat down again, as Childers remained standing and prepared to speak. A deep breath and straightening of her suit jacket, and she was ready. “The Court should grant the defendant’s motion and dismiss this case because even if everything the plaintiff alleges in his complaint is true, the facts asserted therein fail to state a claim upon which relief can be granted.”

Fancy words, Raine thought, but really just a definition of the motion. Fine for the record, but not really effective advocacy about why the rule applied to Raine’s case. Then again, Childers had only uttered one sentence so far.

“In this case, the plaintiff, Mr. Carpenter, seeks to retroactively invalidate a lawful and binding purchase and sale agreement transferring the property upon which his former business was located from himself to Lutz Development, LLC, a closely held limited liability corporation, wholly owned and operated by my client, Manfred Lutz. The sale of the land was made freely and voluntarily by both parties, for due consideration, and properly reduced to writing and recorded with the county clerk. The sales price was reasonable and Mr. Carpenter was fairly compensated for the land he transferred to Lutz Development. There was nothing about the transaction that was in any way out of the ordinary or gave rise to concerns by anyone involved.”

Childers looked over at Raine again, but theatrically, not surreptitiously. “It was a good deal,” she declared, “for everyone involved.”

She looked back up to Judge Norton. “And that should have been the end of it. Mr. Carpenter deposits the money in his bank account and prepares for the retirement he has worked so hard to enjoy. Mr. Lutz develops the land into a profitable mixed-use building, leasing the ground-floor commercial space to new entrepreneurs like Mr. Carpenter and selling the upper floor condominiums to people excited to move into the vibrant Greenwood neighborhood. A neighborhood made more vibrant by the improvement of the property sold by Mr. Carpenter to Lutz Development.”

Another glance over at Raine, this time accompanied by a sad shake of the head. “But there was more to the story than met the eye. Certainly more than Mr. Lutz knew, although apparently not more than Mr. Carpenter knew. Construction began, specifically demolishing the old building to make way for the new. And it was during that construction that a secret was uncovered. A long-buried secret. A secret kept from Mr. Lutz, and the entire world.”

Raine snuck a peek up at the judge. He hadn’t mentioned Carpenter’s custody status in his briefing, for the obvious reasons. Childers hadn’t mentioned it in hers either, a bit to Raine’s surprise. But also to his relief. He had allowed himself to hope that the hearing might focus on the letter of the contract, rather than the allegations against his client. He shouldn’t have been surprised Childers went there in her oral argument, but he was disappointed.

“A body was found under the foundation,” Childers informed the judge. “Not just a body, a murder victim. And not just any murder victim, but the teenage girl who lived next door to Mr. Carpenter. Who had disappeared ten years earlier. After recklessly killing Mr. Carpenter’s own teenage daughter in a suspected drunk-driving crash she got away with.”

Judge Norton’s eyebrows rose further and further with each additional phrase Childers piled onto her revelation.

“It was only after the accidental unearthing of the body,” Childers continued, “after the identification of the remains as the missing neighbor girl, after Mr. Carpenter was arrested for the murder of that poor young woman, and after formal charges of murder in the first degree were filed against Mr. Carpenter—charges that are still pending—that Mr. Carpenter decided to attempt to invalidate the sale of his store and the land beneath it to Lutz Development.”

Everyone turned to look at Raine, even the bailiff and the court reporter, who lifted her hands and frowned slightly at him.

“Is that true, Mr. Raine?” Judge Norton asked. “Is your client charged with murder?”

Raine stood up. “Yes, Your Honor. But as you can imagine, there’s more to the story than Ms. Childers’s recitation so far. I’m happy to wait my turn to explain more fully.”

Norton raised an eyebrow at Raine. “Well, I am certainly looking forward to that.” She turned back to the defense table. “Ms. Childers, please continue.”

“I too am curious to hear what Mr. Raine has to say,” Childers resumed, “but one more thing I want the Court to know before we hear from him is the fact that he has noted a very similar motion in the criminal case, seeking to suppress the body that was discovered under his client’s business on the theory that if the original sale of the building was null and void, then his client was the true owner, and they never received his consent to search the property. Consent which was freely given by Mr. Lutz upon learning of the body secreted on the property he had just purchased.”

Another round of looks at Raine. Not glares exactly, but not entirely without judgment.

“So, Your Honor, in summation,” Childers concluded, “this motion, this entire lawsuit, is nothing more than a desperate gambit for a separate criminal case that very much involves James Carpenter and in no way involves Manfred Lutz or Lutz Development, LLC. The Court should free my client from this frivolous action and dismiss the case. Then Mr. Raine can return his focus to the murder case whose trial date is fast approaching. Thank you.”

Childers sat down crisply. Raine stood up slowly, like a student caught cheating on a test.

The judge grinned down at him, expectantly but not warmly. “Your response, Mr. Raine, whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” he began. That was always a good way to begin.

Raine knew he had been wounded by Childers’s argument. He had made a decision not to ‘draw the sting’, as the lawyers say, and be the first to mention the murder case against Jim Carpenter. And while he was disappointed Childers had brought it up, he wasn’t unprepared.

“When you turn over a rock,” he began, “sometimes you find bugs in the dirt. The reasons why you turned over the rock don’t really matter if the bugs you find under it are important. In this case, I was hired to turn over a rock, and when I did, I found a bug. A big fat bug looking straight up at me, daring me to do anything except put the rock back down on top of him and walk away.

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t walk away, Your Honor. Not from this bug. Not from this injustice. And the fact that I discovered this injustice while fighting another doesn’t mean I’m wrong. It just means there’s a whole lot of injustice in the world.”

“Did you just call me a bug?” Childers whispered, probably to herself but loudly enough for everyone else to hear in the otherwise quiet courtroom.

“The purchase and sale agreement is the bug,” Raine answered. “You’re the bug’s lawyer. Well, not exactly. The point is, if you’re looking for bugs, sometimes you have to look under rocks. How and why I became aware of the deficiency of the sales contract is irrelevant. The fact that a favorable ruling here might be of use to me in a different case is also irrelevant. We aren’t here to question each other’s motives. We are all officers of the court, doing our best to seek a just outcome. I know I am. And I am certain you are as well, Your Honor.”

“Can we move on from the bugs, Mr. Raine?” Judge Norton rolled a wrist at him. “I believe you’ve made your point. I do expect to rule on the motion based on the merits of this case, not the impact my ruling might have on a different, albeit related case.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Raine repeated. That was what he wanted to hear. “So, then let me pivot from rocks to the case at hand, and from bugs to cows. Dry cows, to be specific.”

“Dry cows?” Norton raised that eyebrow again. “Like from law school?”

“Exactly those,” Raine confirmed, pointing up at the judge. “I’m sure we all read the cases declaring that a dry cow was a different animal in kind from a dairy cow, at least for the purposes of a contract to purchase a dairy cow. There were no damages high enough to offset the inability of the cow to produce milk. The only remedy was voiding the contract in its entirety, from its inception. And that is the same situation we have here.”

“Your client’s store was a dry cow?” the judge asked.

That would be the easier analogy, Raine knew. But it would also be the losing one. “Not exactly, Your Honor. If that were the case, then the purchaser of the dry cow, Lutz Development, could simply decide to keep the cow despite the fraud, perhaps to sell as beef. Our position is that it was Mr. Carpenter who was stuck with a dry cow and therefore can invalidate the contract, retroactively to the date of execution.”

Judge Norton rubbed a hand over her mouth and jaw. “How is he the one with the cow? Isn’t he the one with the cash that was paid for the cow?”

“He bargained for a building that would not extend below the foundation that existed at the time of the sale,” Raine explained. “When Lutz Development violated that term of the sales contract, the development Mr. Carpenter had agreed to have replace his hardware store revealed itself not to be a dairy cow but rather something entirely different. A dry cow.

“Ms. Childers mentioned the concept of consideration in her argument. Again, from law school, we all remember that a contract requires a meeting of the minds and consideration. Consideration is money exchanging hands. A meeting of the minds means both parties agree on what is being sold. There was certainly consideration, in the form of the money paid to my client for the property. But there was no true meeting of the minds of Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Lutz as to what was being sold and what was being purchased. Without that, there was no contract. The land still belongs to my client, and this Court should rule as much.”

“You know, Mr. Raine,” Judge Norton pointed down at him, “I think your argument risks providing the prosecutor in the criminal case with evidence against your client. If he didn’t want Lutz Development to dig below the current foundation, doesn’t that suggest that he knew there was something down there he didn’t want anyone to find?”

Raine frowned slightly. The judge wasn’t wrong. “I understand why the Court might think so, but again, it’s irrelevant. This Court needs to look at the terms of the contract, not the reasons behind them. I would submit to you that Mr. Carpenter was aware of the utility easement under his building and cared enough about his neighbors that he didn’t want them to suffer any outages due to the sale of his family business. But it doesn’t matter why that provision was included. What matters is that it was included. And then it was violated, almost immediately. That wasn’t what Mr. Carpenter was selling and therefore it can’t be what Mr. Lutz purchased. The contract was null and void at the time of its execution, and the Court should deny the defendant’s motion to dismiss the case.”

Judge Norton nodded at the conclusion of Raine’s argument. She turned to Childers again. It was her motion, so she got to reply to Raine’s argument, and was supposed to have the last word. But sometimes the judge wanted the last word.

“Why was that term included in the purchase and sale agreement, Ms. Childers?” Judge Norton asked. “I think there might be a public policy argument against invalidating contracts with provisions intended to conceal crimes, especially murders. But was there a different reason for the provision about the utility easement? Something murder-neutral?”

Childers stood again to answer the judge. “I think calling the description of the easement an actual provision of the contract might be giving it too much weight. The existence of the easement was written down in the legal description of the parcel that was filed with the county clerk and attached as an appendix to the purchase and sale agreement. To the best of my knowledge and belief, there were no actual discussions between the parties regarding the easement. In fact, had Mr. Lutz known he couldn’t dig a new foundation deep enough to support the taller building he intended to erect, I don’t believe he ever would have signed the contract.”

“My point exactly.” Raine popped to his feet to interject. “Dry cow. Right there.”

Judge Norton frowned at Raine. “It’s not your turn to speak anymore, Mr. Raine. I can appreciate zealous advocacy but I do not take kindly to being interrupted by it. Please sit down.”

Raine did as he was instructed, but Norton took up his argument. “What about that, Ms. Childers? If your client wouldn’t have signed the contract if the easement in the parcel description had been pointed out to him, then doesn’t that suggest that there was in fact no meeting of the minds, as Mr. Raine is arguing?”

Raine wanted to add, “Yeah!” but refrained.

Childers shook her head. “No, Your Honor. If my client failed to notice something in the purchase and sale agreement that was to his detriment, then he might have a cause of action against Mr. Carpenter, but Mr. Carpenter still doesn’t have a cause of action against him. Maybe the utility company could sue Mr. Lutz, but that’s their right and their decision. Mr. Carpenter can’t stand in their shoes and then try to invalidate the contract as some sort of favor to them. He doesn’t represent them and doesn’t share their interests. As far as I know, that easement was a hundred years old and wasn’t even being actively used. There were no pipes or wires under that foundation, only the skeleton of a missing girl and murder victim.”

Childers looked over at Raine one more time, her face twisted into a disapproving, almost disappointed frown. “Let’s not lose the forest for the trees here, Your Honor,” she exhorted. “This lawsuit was brought for one reason and one reason only: because James Carpenter was charged with murder. If that body had never been found, if it had been crushed to dust under an excavator with no one noticing, and Lutz Development had proceeded to erect another successful multi-use commercial and residential building on the site, Mr. Carpenter would be using the money he made to sit on the beach and sip mai-tais, content in the knowledge that the body of the girl he murdered would never be found.”

Raine jumped to his feet and slammed the table. “Objection, Your Honor. My client has maintained his innocence from even before his arrest. He is presumed innocent until and unless he is proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Slandering him by calling him a murderer in open court is improper and, quite honestly, beneath Ms. Childers. I thought she was a better advocate than that.”

Norton threw up that index finger. “There will be no personal attacks in my courtroom,” she warned Raine. Then she warned Childers, “But he’s right. That was unnecessary.”

Childers nodded. “Yes, Your Honor. I apologize, Your Honor.”

Raine hadn’t actually been offended by her comment. They both were just doing their jobs. His job included attacking her when she gave him an opening to do so. But the job was almost over. Norton had clearly heard enough. She was ready to make her ruling.

“All right then,” she said. “Both of you can be seated. I have heard what I needed to hear and I am ready to rule on the motion of Lutz Development to dismiss the case for failure of the complaint to state a cause of action for which relief can be granted.”

Raine crossed his fingers. If he won the motion, they would still have to go to trial to win, but it would mean an independent judge thought there was at least some merit to his argument. That was a far better position to be in than if the judge said⁠—

“The defendant’s motion to dismiss is granted.”

Damn it. Raine refrained from slamming his fist on the table, but just barely.

“The utility might have some recourse against Lutz Development,” Norton continued, “but I just don’t see how Mr. Carpenter does. He sold the cow. The right to seek invalidation of the contract for the cow being dry belongs to Lutz Development, not him. There is no valid legal claim that can support this case proceeding. Accordingly, the motion is granted and the case is dismissed.”

Judge Norton punctuated her ruling with a rap of her gavel, then punctuated the finality of it by standing up and leaving the bench.

“All rise!” the bailiff shouted. “Court is adjourned.”

Raine ran his hands over his head. It didn’t prevent him from arguing the same motion in the criminal case, as Childers had said, but he was going to be hard-pressed to win it if another judge had already ruled against him. Especially if McClain knew about it. Which he did, Raine realized, as he turned and saw McClain sitting attentively in the back of the courtroom.

He stood up, smiling, and clapped. “Well done, Ms. Childers. Thank you for your service.”

Childers frowned at him and looked to Raine, jabbing a thumb toward the back of the courtroom. “Who’s that guy?”

“That’s the prosecutor on the murder case,” Raine answered. Then he noticed McClain wasn’t the only spectator in the gallery. “And that’s the lawyer for my client’s wife, who is charged with the separate murder of my client’s alleged murder victim’s mother.”

Childers blinked at Raine several times. “Wow, that’s complicated. I’m glad I don’t do criminal cases.”

Raine nodded. “I wish I could say the same.”

Childers exited the courtroom, pointedly not speaking to McClain on her way out, despite his outstretched hands and broad grin.

Upon being ignored by her, McClain fought to keep the smile on his face, and he bid farewell to his opponents. “I would say better luck next time, Raine, but I wouldn’t mean it. And it won’t help. You can’t prevail now. Your motion to suppress isn’t worth the pleading paper it’s printed on.”

With that he rushed out of the courtroom, perhaps to chase down Childers or perhaps just to go be awful someplace else.

Raine grabbed up his things and walked to where Sawyer was still sitting on the other side of the back of the courtroom.

“Enjoy the show?” Raine asked. “Even if I’m not your boyfriend anymore?”

Sawyer stood up. Raine was always pleased by how tall she was. “I can be your girlfriend again,” she declared. “Or at least your co-counsel.”

“Why?” Raine asked, not that he was disappointed. But he was curious.

“Because Kristi gave a proffer,” Sawyer explained, “but then McClain didn’t make her an offer after all. It was just a ruse to gain information. Our cases are going to be joined for trial and no one’s pleading out. We need to coordinate our strategies, or both of our clients are going to be convicted.”

28

The debrief was over coffee at a greasy spoon diner halfway between Raine’s office and Sawyer’s. Losing made Raine hungry. Or angry, at least, but bacon made it better. Bacon made everything better.

“So, you actually marched your client into Detective Adams’s office and had her rat out my client?” Raine shook his head at his again-girlfriend. “How could you?”

“I couldn’t,” Sawyer answered. “That was the problem. She was more than happy to sell out her husband, but then she didn’t have the goods. Sure, she suspected him. She still does.”

“Yeah, she told me as much the first time I met her,” Raine interjected.

“Well, she told McClain and Adams,” Sawyer continued, picking up a piece of rye toast from her plate, “but they wanted more than just suspicions. They wanted her to say she saw something—maybe not the murder itself, but something close. Or even be able to say that he confessed to her.”

“That would be damaging,” Raine agreed. He took a sip of his painfully weak brewed coffee. The food was great, but the coffee was terrible. “And admissible. But also a lie. They each told me they suspected the other, but neither ever confessed to it.”

“Well, maybe Adams should have taken your statement,” Sawyer complained. She took a bite of toast and swallowed it before continuing. “We did the whole spiel too upfront. They had a written advisement all ready for us. She had the right to remain silent. She was speaking with them in the hopes of receiving a favorable resolution to her pending criminal case. Anything she said couldn’t be used against her at trial, unless she took the stand and testified differently from what she told them. If the information she provided was truthful and helpful, then the prosecutor would make an offer to settle the case. She was free to accept the offer or reject it and go to trial.”

“Which is where we are now, it seems,” Raine acknowledged.

“Yeah, but only because McClain didn’t make an offer,” Sawyer complained. “No reduction at all. Just plead to first-degree murder and I could argue for the minimum sentence. That’s not an offer. I can do that anyway after a trial.”

“She should have said Jim did it,” Raine suggested. “She would have gotten a deal.”

Sawyer frowned. “I can’t knowingly let my client lie. I mean, maybe to the police and the prosecutor. Fuck them. But she’d have to take the stand to get the deal, and I can’t suborn perjury. I’d lose my license.”

Raine nodded. “Yeah, good call. No case is worth your entire career.”

“Plus truth and all that,” Sawyer added.

Raine shrugged. “Sure.” He took a bite of bacon. “So, now what?”

“Now we have your motion to suppress the body based on the same lame argument you just lost,” Sawyer recounted. “So, we’re going to lose that. Then immediately after that, we have McClain’s motion to join the cases for trial. Fassbinder is the judge, so he’s going to grant the motion then assign the trial to himself, so he can compete with McClain for the media attention.”

“Maybe we can sneak an acquittal from the jury while they’re preening for the cameras,” Raine suggested.

Sawyer smiled slightly, but it was clearly a struggle. “Just so we’re clear,” she said. “I will throw your client, you, and anyone else I need to under the bus—several busses, in fact—if that’s what it takes to win the case for my client.”

Raine smiled at that. No struggle at all. He raised his terrible coffee to his intermittent girlfriend. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

29

The hearing on Raine’s motion to suppress and McClain’s motion to join was as brutal as Raine had feared. Fassbinder had indeed made sure to be the judge to hear it. McClain had made sure more cameras arrived. They both had an audience. Raine and Sawyer had no chance.

First up was Raine’s motion to suppress the remains of Zoe West, based on the argument that the sales contract between Jim Carpenter and Lutz Development was null and void, that Carpenter was then the true owner of the property at the time of the search, that the police never obtained Carpenter’s consent to search the property, and the police didn’t get a warrant. McClain’s response was to hand the judge a copy of the order, signed by Judge Norton, dismissing the civil case against Lutz Development, LLC, after rejecting exactly the same argument.

“The defendant’s motion is denied,” Judge Fassbinder declared, to no one’s surprise.

Next up was McClain’s motion to join the cases for trial. That one took a bit longer, if only because the judge had to hear from three lawyers before almost certainly rubberstamping the prosecutor’s request.

“I will hear first from Mr. McClain.” Fassbinder leaned back and invited McClain to convince him of what everyone knew he was already convinced of.

“Thank you, Your Honor.” McClain stood up and gazed around the courtroom. “May it please the Court, counsel, the gathered public, and members of the media. These two cases are of significant, dare I say unique, public importance. I mean,” he gestured at the cameras in the back, “just look at how many members of the local media are here to report on just this small procedural motion. Imagine how much more interest there will be in the actual trial of these two cases.”

Raine knew, as did everyone else, that the cameras were there because McClain had called them. But then again, they had answered his call.

“Although these murders are some ten years apart,” McClain continued, “they are joined by a bond stronger than time. They are joined by family. Two families, in fact. The Wests and the Carpenters, families whose tragic fates have been intertwined since that terrible night ten years ago when the Carpenters’ daughter died in a motor vehicle accident caused, or so the Carpenters believed, by the reckless driving of the Wests’ daughter.”

Raine frowned slightly at the awkward use of ‘Carpenters’ daughter’ and ‘Wests’ daughter’. He suspected McClain had forgotten their names, or even more likely, he had never learned them in the first place.

“The courts favor judicial economy, Your Honor,” McClain continued, bumping into one of the actual factors to be considered by a court when deciding whether to join cases for trial. “It would be a waste of precious and limited judicial resources to put all of the same evidence on twice just to accommodate the desires of two murderers.”

Just to protect the constitutional rights of two defendants charged with murder but presumed innocent, Raine corrected in his head.

“In order to prove the motive Kristi Carpenter had to murder Hannah West,” McClain continued, “the State would have to call all the same witnesses and put on all the same evidence we will be putting on to prove James Carpenter guilty of the murder of Zoe West. To require those witnesses, especially Donnie West, to testify multiple times about these tragedies would not just be wasteful, it would be cruel.”

Raine frowned and looked down the defense tables. He and Jim were seated at one table; Sawyer and Kristi were at the next. The guards had insisted that the lawyers sit between the defendants, so the married couple was separated by two people, preventing any direct communication. That seemed to be fine with Kristi. Raine noticed that she hadn’t looked at Jim even once upon entering the courtroom, but Jim had looked at her several times before giving up.

Everyone was listening attentively to McClain make his argument. It was the polite thing to do, but Raine wished they weren’t all doing it. It leant McClain extra credibility Raine didn’t want him to have. He did what he could and looked away, pretending to be more interested in something else than in McClain’s words.

“I’m sure the defense attorneys will make arguments about how a joint trial wouldn’t adequately safeguard their clients’ constitutional rights,” McClain gestured vaguely toward the collection of his opponents, “but I for one have confidence in this Court to craft procedures to protect those rights, while also safeguarding the rights of victim family members not to be unduly harassed by multiple unnecessary trials, and the rights of the public to see justice delivered in an efficient and timely manner. And so, it is for all of these reasons that the State respectfully requests this honorable Court to grant its motion to consolidate these two cases into a single trial before a single jury. Thank you.”

Fassbinder smiled so broadly at McClain that Raine thought he might start applauding. After McClain sat down by himself at the comparatively spacious prosecution table, Fassbinder’s smile evaporated and he glared down at the defense table. “Which of you wishes to speak first?” he asked Raine and Sawyer.

Raine looked to Sawyer to confirm the plan they had agreed upon. She gave a single sharp nod, and Raine stood up.

“I will speak first, Your Honor,” he announced. “Daniel Raine, on behalf of defendant James Carpenter.”

“I know who you are, counsel,” Fassbinder grumbled, “and I know who you represent. There’s no jury here to impress. Please get on with your argument.”

Raine maintained a professional expression despite the unprofessional thoughts going through his head. “Thank you, Your Honor. Defendant James Carpenter respectfully asks the Court to deny the State’s motion to consolidate these cases for trial. Each of these cases is factually distinct, and indeed the murders involved occurred a decade apart. The witnesses who investigated the murder of Zoe West ten years ago are not the same officers who investigated the murder of Hannah West just weeks ago. There is nothing about the incident from a few weeks ago that could have any bearing on what took place ten years earlier. Any effort to combine these cases for trial is nothing more than an effort to prejudice my client, indeed both defendants, in front of the jury and invite them to paint both defendants with the same broad brush.”

“Are you suggesting Mr. McClain is making this motion for unethical reasons, Mr. Raine?” the judge accused.

Raine knew he needed to be careful. Fassbinder was goading him. He needed to not take the bait. “I am suggesting,” he answered in a measured tone, “that Mr. McClain has a job to do, and joining these cases for trial will make that job easier than it should be.”

“And are you suggesting the jury will be unable to follow my instructions and render separate verdicts for the separate defendants?”

“I am suggesting,” Raine tried, “that jurors are only human and there are reasons we don’t usually try multiple cases to the same jury.”

“Do you think I am incapable of implementing procedures to safeguard your client’s rights?” Fassbinder challenged.

“I think those safeguards will be unnecessary,” Raine answered carefully, “if the cases are allowed to proceed to separate juries.”

Fassbinder frowned. Raine thought it was because he had managed not to step into any of the judge’s traps.

“That really is the bottom line, Your Honor.” Raine knew it was best to wrap things up quickly. Make his point and sit down. It wasn’t as if he was likely to change Fassbinder’s mind. But he was being paid to try. “The safest thing to do, the best way to protect everyone’s rights and ensure a fair trial for both defendants, is to hold separate trials with separate juries. That is the procedure most likely to result in a fair and unbiased verdict, and that means it is the procedure we should use. Thank you.”

Raine sat down again, next to Sawyer, who was already standing up to deliver her remarks.

Fassbinder offered a curt nod to her. “Anything to add, Ms. Mount?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Sawyer confirmed. “My client may wish to testify at trial in her own defense, but she won’t be able to do that in a joint trial because the spousal privilege would permit Mr. Carpenter from blocking her testimony. Thank you.”

Sawyer sat down before Fassbinder could question her. He went ahead and did it anyway.

“If she is testifying on her own behalf,” the judge grasped for an argument, “then she wouldn’t be testifying against her husband and the privilege wouldn’t apply.”

Sawyer stood up again. “It depends on what she says. And I don’t have to tell anyone that in advance. If you want to join these cases only to have to declare a mistrial when my client takes the stand and says her husband did it, then by all means, go ahead. And tell me again about how having to start all over again would conserve precious and scarce judicial resources.”

McClain stood up. “She won’t say that, Your Honor. Defendant Kristi Carpenter already provided a lengthy proffer to Detective Adams and she failed to provide any direct evidence that her husband is guilty.”

“She did?” Jim whispered into Raine’s ear.

“Yeah, but she didn’t sell you out. She just wanted a deal.”

“Why would she do that?” Jim asked, half to himself.

Raine knew the answer. “She’s scared.”

“What say you to that, Ms. Mount?” Judge Fassbinder demanded.

“I say that I won’t know what my client will say on the stand until she says it,” Sawyer answered. “And no one else does either. Not the prosecutor, not Your Honor, not anyone. That’s the thrill of trial practice. No one knows for certain what will happen next. If we did, we wouldn’t need the trial. Or in this case, trials. Because if you join these cases for trial, I will do everything in my power to prove that decision wrong.”

Sawyer was definitely going for the ‘bad cop’ approach. She might as well; she was good at it. Raine appreciated that about her.

“Are you quite finished now, Ms. Mount?” Fassbinder sneered down at her.

She took a moment to think, then answered, “Yes, Your Honor,” and sat down.

“Good,” Fassbinder fairly barked. He banged his gavel. “The State’s motion to join the cases for trial is granted. Trial will commence two weeks from Monday, in this courtroom. I will be the trial judge, and you will come to my court on time and fully prepared to hit the ground running. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” McClain assured. “Understood, Your Honor. Thank you, Your Honor.”

Fassbinder smiled at the prosecutor, then turned to scowl at the defense attorneys. He raised an expectant eyebrow.

“Understood, Your Honor,” Raine confirmed.

Sawyer grinned up at the visibly angry judge. “I don’t practice any other way.”

30

Those two weeks before the trial date flew by. Raine had a theory that time passed more quickly the closer a lawyer got to the trial date. He hadn’t worked out how that impacted the nonlawyers he interacted with, but lawyers weren’t generally known for being considerate to those around them.

He used the time to clear his calendar and prepare for weeks on end in front of a jury. He prepared binders with clean copies of every report in the case, organized by witness. He printed out clean copies of every photograph. He wrote, rewrote, and rewrote again possible opening statements, never quite satisfied but encouraged that they were at least getting better with each attempt. Suits to the cleaners, shoes polished, fresh haircut scheduled. Sawyer wasn’t the only one who could always be on time and fully prepared. He just didn’t say it out loud. And even if he did, being truly prepared meant knowing things were going to happen that couldn’t be prepared for. All the more reason to have everything else locked down tight. It was easier to deal with the unexpected if the expected were already dealt with.

There was also a human aspect to preparation. He met with his client multiple times as the trial date approached, explaining the upcoming process, discussing strategy, but mostly just checking in to help prevent Jim from going crazy from anxiety.

Raine and Sawyer also met twice more before trial started. Once immediately after they lost the motion and the cases were joined for trial, and once more the Friday afternoon before trial started. She had her own preparations to attend to and they didn’t need to go over too many things, just some procedural choices, like which of them would give opening statement first, which would cross-examine which witnesses first, and coming up with a code word to use in court in the event of an emergency that required one of them to seek an immediate break in the proceedings. They settled on ‘alicorn’, a mythical creature that combined a unicorn with a Pegasus. It would be difficult to work into discourse naturally, but it would be unmistakable. They also agreed not to do anything socially until after the trial. Raine disliked that decision, but he knew it was the right call.

That left one person to check in with and bring up to speed on what had happened to date and what would likely happen next.

“Rebecca Sommers, Executive Realtor,” she answered the phone when Raine called her after Sawyer left his office that last Friday afternoon before trial began.

“Hello, Rebecca Sommers, Executive Real Estate Agent. This is J. Daniel Raine, Executive Attorney at Law. Is there any chance you might be available to be an Executive Private Investigator over the next few weeks if I need you? The Carpenter trial starts on Monday.”

“Monday? Already?” Sommers responded. Then, “No, that makes sense. It’s already in my calendar.”

“It is?” Raine was surprised. “How did you know when it was starting?”

“I was there the night before the arraignment,” Sommers explained, “and I know how long it takes for a case to go from arraignment to trial. This isn’t my first rodeo, Dan. You know that.”

Raine was impressed.

“Plus, Douglas McClain has been all over the news talking about the case,” Sommers admitted. “It would be difficult not to know when this trial was about to start.”

“Ah,” Raine replied. “That makes more sense.”

“So, I take it your gambit to dismiss the case for being a dry cow failed?” she inquired.

“The property was the dry cow,” Raine clarified, “but yes. That failed.”

“I suppose I’m not surprised,” Sommers said. “No one really cares about utility easements.”

“What do they care about?” Raine asked.

“First and foremost, location,” Sommers answered. “Then, square footage. Then, flooring.”

“Flooring?” Raine questioned.

“Flooring,” Sommers confirmed. “When you’re ready to sell, do yourself a favor and invest in some new flooring.”

“Okay,” Raine agreed.

“What was the flooring like at the crime scene?” Sommers asked. “I mean before they knocked down the building. When I was there, the flooring was mud.”

“I have no idea,” Raine admitted. “Probably whatever flooring hardware stores use.”

“Probably whatever they used ten years ago,” Sommers returned. “He could have gotten even more if he’d upgraded the flooring before selling.”

“I’ll tell him that when we start his murder trial on Monday,” Raine promised sarcastically.

There was silence on the other end of the call.

“It was a joke, Rebecca,” Raine said. “I’m not really going to talk to him about flooring.”

“I’m disappointed your motion didn’t work,” Sommers confessed after another few moments of silence. “I feel like that’s my fault. I was the one who found that provision in the purchase and sale agreement.”

“It was in an appendix,” Raine clarified, “and it’s not your fault. It’s the judges’ fault. And Jim’s. He shouldn’t have sold the place if there was a chance they might dig up Zoe’s body.”

“So, you think he did it?” Sommers’s voice held surprise.

“No, actually,” Raine answered. “If he knew that body was down there, he never would have sold that place, even with that easement supposedly restricting further excavation for foundation. That’s too much of a risk. At least, that’s what I’m going to argue to the jury.”

Another pause, then, “Can we go look at the building again?”

“You want to go back out to the crime scene?” Raine confirmed.

“Yes,” Sommers answered. “I’m missing something. I made a mistake and I don’t like to make mistakes. I want to make up for it.”

“There’s nothing to make up for,” Raine assured her. “And I’m not sure we should go out there again. The last time I went there uninvited I was escorted off the premises by a length of rebar.”

“Are you afraid of him?” Sommers challenged.

Raine knew she was trying to manipulate him. But it wasn’t manipulation if he actually agreed with her. Maybe she would see something he hadn’t. It was their last chance to find something, anything that might help Carpenter. Come Monday, they would be stuck with the evidence gathered to date, and that evidence sure made Carpenter look guilty.

“I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes,” Raine said. “Don’t go inside until I get there.”

“I won’t,” Sommers promised. “And try to hurry if you can. I headed over here as soon as I saw your number pop up on my car’s caller I.D. I’m already parked across the street. See you soon.”

It took Raine twenty-one minutes to drive to the location formerly known as Carpenter Hardware. He hit every red light between the International District and Greenwood. At least the Ballard Drawbridge wasn’t up. When he arrived, he couldn’t help but spy Sommers’s Land Rover with its ‘QUEEN’ personalized license plate. Not very Private Eye, he thought.

He parked his car, then walked over to hers. “You ready?”

It was still daylight, but just barely. Long shadows stretched across the ground and the orange ball of the setting sun shot blinding rays of light eastward between the surrounding buildings. At least it wasn’t raining.

Sommers hopped down from the driver’s seat and slammed the car door shut. “I’m always ready.”

Raine had a hard time disagreeing with that, so he didn’t. Instead, he asked, “So, what are you looking for?”

“I’ll know it when I see it,” Sommers answered.

“Not super helpful,” Raine grumbled.

“But super true,” Sommers chirped back. “This is what I do, Dan. I buy and sell places. You can look at photos on the internet and pull parcel descriptions from the county clerk’s office, but if you really want to understand a location, you need to go there. See it. Feel it. Experience it.”

“And what are you experiencing now?” Raine asked as they reached the edge of the property. The crime scene tape was gone, but in its place was a perimeter of portable chain-link fence segments, unevenly spaced and easy to slip between.

“Disappointment,” Sommers answered. “I thought I recalled more of the building still standing when we were here last time.”

Raine looked around. “Maybe. It has been a couple of months. And Manny Lutz is not a patient man, I think I learned. Once my lawsuit was dismissed, he probably had his people get back to work clearing the space and prepping the ground for his new building.”

“Well, then, we’d better hurry.” Sommers slipped effortlessly between two especially far apart sections of fence. “I’m not going to be able to tell much from a hole in the ground.”

Raine glanced around to see if Manny Lutz or anyone else was watching them enter a former crime scene. And a current one, he supposed, since they were trespassing. There appeared to be no one watching or even really aware of them. So, he squeezed through the opening and followed his investigator.

There did seem to be less of the hardware store foundation than the last time Raine had trespassed there. He hoped their venture wouldn’t prove fruitless.

She walked quickly but deliberately through the property, stopping occasionally to look closer at a scrap of drywall or to stare straight up at the night sky, perhaps imagining what the ceiling might have looked like before it was caved in by heavy machinery.

Raine considered making conversation, or the occasional smart aleck remark, but Sommers’s silence combined with the quiet away from the road stifled any desire to speak. He also didn’t mind being able to keep one ear listening for approaching footsteps.

Sommers led them through the entirety of what was once the first floor of the building, then down what remained of the steps to the lower level. That portion of the property seemed to be in the same condition as the night Lutz threatened to smash his skull in with the rebar. But Sommers was definitely looking at it with a different eye than he had. He’d been looking for evidence of murder. She was, he guessed, looking for evidence of flooring.

Sommers walked the full length of the connected rooms under what was left of the store’s floorboards, then emerged again to declare, “Okay, I’m finished.”

“What did you find?” Raine asked. “Anything important? Anything that can help Jim?”

“I don’t know yet, Dan. I need to absorb what I’m seeing here. I definitely feel like there’s something, but I’m not sure what quite yet.”

Raine sighed, then gestured for Sommers to go first toward the exit. “Well, don’t take too long. Trials feel like they take forever when you’re in them, but they’re over before you know it. We’re basically out of time.”

31

The first day of trial really started the night before, Raine always felt. Trials were extremely intense experiences. That was why they called them trials.

And even after all of the juries he’d selected, all of the opening statements he’d delivered, all of the witnesses he’d examined, all of the closing arguments he’d made, and all of the verdicts he’d received, Raine still got nervous before trial. He knew that was a good thing. It meant he understood the stakes. The day he didn’t get nervous before a trial was the day he should retire. He knew the nervousness would go away once he set foot in the courtroom and his focus turned to rapid-fire challenges being thrown at him by the prosecutor, the judge, and even his client. But the night before trial, the preparation was complete and there wasn’t anything to do except think about the next day and the coming battle.

He spent the evening alone. He didn’t have a girlfriend at the moment and the boys were with his other ex. He ate a light and nutritious meal, allowed himself one shot of bourbon on the rocks, and went to bed early.

Justice never slept, but its agents were only human.

The courtroom was absolutely packed. Standing room only. Luckily, Raine had a reserved seat in the front row, right behind one of two small name plates that read, ‘Defendant’. He pushed his way through the crowd spilling out of the gallery and into the walkway from the entrance to the ‘well’ of the courtroom, the name for the area surrounded by the jury box, the judge’s bench, the lawyers’ tables and the witness stand. The well was where all of the action would take place.

His trial briefcase was the size of a small suitcase, with rollers and an extendable handle. He rolled it to a stop next to his table and looked back to see who had come to see the action. At least half of the people there were media, judging by their cameras, notepads, and/or blazers. Most of the rest of the crowd seemed to be other lawyers, stopping by to watch a bit of the excitement of the big case everyone was talking about before making their way to The Pit or the clerk’s office or wherever else they had actual work to do.

It was often the case in criminal trials that members of the victim’s and/or the defendant’s families would sit in the gallery as well, and usually in the front row directly behind the lawyer for whichever side they were supporting.

In the current case, the only member of either set of families who wasn’t dead or in jail was Donnie West, and sure enough, he was seated directly behind the prosecution table. Raine looked at him, but he didn’t look back, instead keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead at nothing in particular. Raine decided not to engage with him, even to say good morning. It likely wouldn’t have been received well, and he knew he’d get his chance to talk with Donnie West soon enough once the trial started in earnest.

Raine was the first lawyer to arrive, which surprised him. He figured McClain would be late due to a series of media interviews as he walked through the courthouse, but he expected Sawyer to beat him to the courtroom. A moment later she entered, wheeling her own trial briefcase through the crowd and joining Raine at the front of the courtroom.

“Good morning, Mr. Raine,” she greeted him, setting the tone for their interaction for the next several weeks.

“Good morning, Ms. Mount,” Raine returned. “I trust you had a restful weekend?”

“Okay, knock it off,” Sawyer directed. “Let’s focus on the here and now. We each have a trial to win.”

Raine was fine with that. He had previously noted that Sawyer wasn’t very much fun when she was in trial, and that had been when she was in a trial with someone other than him. He expected little more than perfunctory greetings and pure, unadulterated strategy. And maybe the word ‘alicorn’ if things got too crazy.

The guards arrived next with the defendants. Each of the Carpenters was brought into the courtroom from a secure side door by their own pair of jail guards. Each was also dressed in regular suits rather than jail scrubs, lest the jury see that they were being held in jail during the trial and conclude the judge wouldn’t hold them in jail if they weren’t already—probably—guilty.

The teams of guards escorted the Carpenters each to an opposite end of the defense table, which was really two tables shoved together lengthwise. It made for crowded seating. Jim closest to the jury, followed by Raine, then Sawyer, and finally Kristi, all of them literally rubbing elbows as they sat down together at the table.

The guards took up sentry positions at each exit, in part to prevent either defendant from making a successful run for it, and in part because they weren’t allowed to hover directly behind the defendants because the jury would probably figure out that meant they were in jail even with the street clothes on.

“You ready?” Raine leaned over to ask Jim, using his body to try to form some barrier of privacy between them on the one side and Sawyer and Kristi on the other. They couldn’t hear each other anyway with the loud background noise of multiple conversations coming from the gallery.

Jim shrugged. “No. But I don’t suppose that matters, does it?”

Raine shook his head. “I don’t suppose it does.”

Jim craned his neck and looked past Raine. “Is that Donnie? Oh God. Can I say hi to him?”

“You one hundred percent cannot say hi to him,” Raine warned his client. “Not now, not at any point during this entire trial. The only time you get to speak to him is after the trial.”

“Because I’m going be acquitted and then he’ll know I didn’t do it?” Jim asked hopefully.

Raine took a moment. “Sure.”

Raine looked at the clock on the wall, then the empty prosecutor’s table. McClain had about three minutes to comply with Fassbinder’s directive to be on time.

A minute later his arrival was indicated by the flurry of excitement and shouted questions exploding from the reporters assembled at the back of the courtroom.

“Mr. McClain, are you certain you’re going to win the case?”

“Mr. McClain, what sentence will you be seeking after the defendants are convicted?”

“Mr. McClain, does this case prove your commitment to law and order?”

McClain declined to answer specific questions. Instead, he smiled for the cameras and delivered a canned statement. “Today the citizens of Seattle, and indeed all of the citizens of the great State of Washington, can rest a little easier knowing that while the wheels of justice sometimes grind slowly, justice eventually comes for all. Today marks the beginning of the end of securing justice for Zoe West and her family, and I am honored to be the one to deliver that justice. Thank you.”

Raine turned back to his client. “That guy is going to talk a lot in this trial.”

“You should talk more,” Jim suggested, a bit desperately.

Raine shook his head. “I’ll talk better.”

Before McClain had quite reached the prosecution table, taking special care not even to say good morning to Raine or Sawyer in front of the cameras and Donnie West, the bailiff appeared and announced the commencement of the proceedings.

“All rise! The King County Superior Court is now in session, The Honorable Francis Fassbinder presiding!”

A room full of people makes a lot of noise standing up. Fassbinder entered to the sound of mandatory respect and smiled. “You may be seated,” he directed with a motion of his hand. “Are the parties ready in the matters of The State of Washington versus James Carpenter and The State of Washington versus Kristi Carpenter?”

McClain stood, sneaked a small wave to the crowd behind him, and answered. “May it please the Court. Douglas McClain appearing on behalf of the people of the State of Washington. The State is ready, Your Honor.”

Fassbinder smiled at McClain, then lost the smile when he turned to the defense table.

Sawyer gave Raine the slightest nod, confirming their arrangement that he would speak first.

Raine stood. “Daniel Raine, on behalf of James Carpenter. Mr. Carpenter is ready, Your Honor.”

Then Sawyer finally stood. “The accused Kristi Carpenter is ready, Your Honor.”

And they were off. But the crowd was about to be disappointed. The most interesting thing of the day was the calling of the case by the judge and the answering of ready by the attorneys. After that it was scheduling, courtroom procedures, and selecting the jury. And it would take even longer than normal with three attorneys.

After about thirty minutes, most of the lawyers who had stopped by for the start of the trial had departed for their own courtrooms and cases. After sixty minutes, the media members realized there was nothing interesting to report or film and started packing up as well. By ninety minutes, the only person still in the gallery was Donnie West, seated directly behind McClain. But then he too was excused by the judge, not permitted to watch anything beyond scheduling since he was going to be a witness in the trial.

That left three lawyers, two defendants, and one judge to slog through all of the mundane matters that had to be handled before, several days later, the jury was finally impaneled, everyone except for Donnie West had reassembled in the courtroom, and Judge Fassbinder announced, “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please give your attention to Mr. McClain, who will deliver the opening statement on behalf of The State of Washington.”

32

McClain stood up and surveyed the courtroom. Not just the well, but also the gallery. Especially the gallery. His statements to the media notwithstanding, he wasn’t there to seek justice. He was there to seek higher office. He confirmed the cameras were on him, then turned his attention back to the proceedings.

“May it please the Court,” he practically shouted as he stepped dramatically out from behind the prosecution table, “counsel, members of the public assembled here today, and most importantly,” he walked over to the jury box and took up a position directly in front of the middle of the box, although a half step too close in Raine’s estimation, “ladies and gentlemen of the jury.”

He had the room, Raine had to give him that. Everyone was waiting for the next words out of his mouth.

In a lot of ways, those first words from the prosecutor were the most important spoken in a trial. It was the first time the jurors would hear the story of what happened, or at least what the prosecution was alleging had happened. Prosecutors went to seminars to learn how to give the best possible opening statements. They usually started with an ‘attention grabber’, one sentence that could encapsulate the core issue of the case and make the jurors sit up and take notice. Often it was a quote from the defendant themselves, some admission of guilt or expectation to get away with the crime. Whatever the prosecutor chose for that first sentence of opening statement, that was what the prosecutor considered the most important thing everyone should know.

“My name is Douglas McClain, and I am the prosecutor on this case.”

Raine had to struggle to keep his poker face. The jurors already knew McClain’s name and role. If they hadn’t seen him on television, the judge had introduced everyone at the beginning of jury selection. Then they had all spent days with McClain, answering his questions about their qualifications to sit as jurors. If there was one thing they didn’t need to be told, it was his name and that he was the prosecutor on the case. But Raine supposed that was what McClain thought was the most important part of the entire case.

“The people of the State of Washington, whom I represent here today,” he continued, “have filed a charge of murder in the first degree against each of the two defendants, for two different murders, separated by years but connected by family. Family of the victims, but also family of the killers.”

That was more like it, Raine thought. McClain was starting to bump into the facts of the case. Raine didn’t want McClain to do well, but he also didn’t want to sit through an opening statement that was more of a political speech than factual summary.

“James Carpenter,” McClain turned and pointed dramatically at Raine’s client, “is charged with the murder of seventeen-year-old Zoe West, the daughter of his next-door neighbors. That murder occurred ten years ago, a cold case that captured the imagination of everyone in the state and went unsolved until only very recently.”

McClain swung his arm to point at Sawyer’s client. “And Kristi Carpenter is charged with the murder of Zoe’s mother, Hannah West, who went to confront Mrs. Carpenter after her husband was revealed to be Zoe’s murderer.”

McClain seemed to have a grasp on the basic outline of the case. Raine suddenly wondered whether he had any deeper knowledge. McClain seemed like the kind of guy who might read the cliff notes instead of the novel, then bluster his way to an A on his book report on just presence and charisma.

“I won’t go into all of the details right now,” McClain continued. “This is neither the time nor place for that.”

Raine couldn’t hold back his expression any longer. Opening statement was exactly the time and place to get into the details. That was the entire point of an opening statement.

“Suffice it to say,” McClain said, “that the defendants blamed Zoe for the accidental death of their own daughter. James Carpenter took his revenge and murdered Zoe, hiding her body in the basement of his grocery store in Ballard.”

Hardware store, Raine thought. In Greenwood.

“No one knew what had happened to Zoe West,” McClain told the jurors, “and so it became a cold case. Then, ten years later, the grocery store was knocked down to make room for some condos, and lo and behold, Zoe’s body was found, her skull smashed in.”

That was mostly correct, Raine supposed.

“Obviously, James Carpenter was arrested for the murder,” McClain put to the jurors, “and you can only imagine how Zoe’s parents felt. So, after Mr. Carpenter was arrested, Zoe’s mother confronted Mrs. Carpenter, which she had every right to do. James Carpenter had murdered her daughter and she wanted to know what Kristi Carpenter knew about it.”

McClain looked back again at Jim and Kristi, his face a mask of exaggerated disgust. Even the cameras in the back could pick that up. Which, Raine knew, was the point.

“Well, she must have known a lot about it, because when Zoe’s mom tried to talk to her, Kristi Carpenter picked up a very large, very heavy crystal vase and smashed in Zoe’s mother’s head. Just like James Carpenter did to her daughter ten years earlier.”

Raine appreciated the symmetry McClain was trying to draw between the murders, but it left out a lot of details. But that happens when you don’t read the whole book.

“And so, ladies and gentlemen, please listen closely to the witnesses I will be calling to the stand. They will give you the rest of the story. And at the end of the trial, I will stand up again and ask you to convict both defendants of murder in the first degree. Thank you.”

McClain turned and walked back to his seat at the prosecution table. Compared to the crowd stuffed behind the defense table, McClain looked like a first-class passenger who had bought the seat next to him too.

Per the agreement, and as had been communicated to the judge during one of those sessions regarding schedules and procedures, Raine would be the next to give an opening statement. He would also cross-examine the State’s witnesses first and deliver his closing argument before Sawyer. There needed to be consistency and Raine didn’t mind being the first one to attack the State’s evidence.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Fassbinder announced, “please give your attention to Mr. Raine, who will deliver the opening statement on behalf of defendant James Carpenter.”

Raine stood up and offered a simple, “Thank you” to the judge. No archaic incantation about pleasing the Court, or anyone else. He had a job to do, and it wasn’t to please the Court. It was to defend his client. He buttoned his suit coat, stepped out from behind the defense table, and took up the same position in front of the jury where McClain had stood, but a half step back so he wasn’t too close.

“A parent,” Raine began solemnly, “will do anything for their child.” He took a moment and allowed the smallest of shrugs. “Most parents,” he amended. “I’ve been doing this too long to think all parents would. But most would. Almost all. Almost all parents would do anything for their child.”

A majority of the jurors were nodding back to him. Most of them were parents themselves, like Raine. And all of them had been children at one point.

“In fact, the phrase you usually hear is that a person would take a bullet for their child. Maybe just a bullet in the leg if it’s been a particularly tough day of parenting,” he joked, and received the appropriate level of quiet chuckles from a few of the jurors. “But seriously, that’s what we think of. That’s how we talk. That’s what we mean. I would take a bullet for my child. I would die for my child.” He paused just long enough to let the thought sink in, then underlined it. “Of course.”

Raine turned his body slightly and looked back at McClain, who was sitting very upright at the prosecution table, hands folded in front of him, not bothering to take any notes.

“The prosecutor,” Raine turned back to the jurors, “suggested, without really getting into any details, that a parent might also murder for their child. And while I can certainly imagine circumstances where I would take a human life to protect my child, that’s not what happened here. In fact, I would submit to you that the prosecutor’s suggestion that a parent would kill another parent’s child, not to protect their own but as a cold-blooded act of revenge, shows a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means,” he raised his fist to his heart, “what it feels like to be a parent.”

No nods that time, but plenty of narrowed eyes directed at McClain.

“The prosecution’s theory of the case against Jim Carpenter is that he murdered Zoe West, literally the little girl next door who grew up from diapers with his own daughter of the same age, Chloe, because she accidentally caused the death of Chloe in a car crash. Not that he killed Zoe to protect Chloe. That he killed Zoe in retribution, in revenge.” Another shake of the head and another glance at McClain. “All that tells me is that the prosecutor is not a parent, and he’s never experienced a truly deep loss. Let alone the soul-shattering death of a child.”

McClain probably could have objected to Raine making it so personal, and Fassbinder would have sustained the objection, but McClain either didn’t want to admit that Raine’s argument had teeth, or he didn’t know the rule to cite for his objection. So Raine continued, but it was time to shift away from the prosecutor anyway.

“Let me tell you a little about the Carpenter and West families.” He took that half-step toward the jury then, but rather than starting off too close, he was stepping closer as a signal of his sincerity, and the connection that comes from sharing personal information. “They met when the Carpenters bought the house next door to the Wests, matching craftsman homes in Ballard. They hit it off immediately. Jim and Kristi Carpenter and Donnie and Hannah West were those couples who did everything together. Dinners out, bar night, even vacations. In fact, they even started their families at the same time. Hannah and Kristi gave birth to baby girls just a few days apart, Zoe first, then Chloe; their names even rhymed. The girls were practically raised as sisters, every member of each family welcome at either house any time.”

He looked back at his client. “In fact, you’re going to hear from witnesses that Jim treated Zoe like his own daughter, and that she herself said, ‘He could never hate me.’”

Raine turned back to the jury. He clasped his hands and shook his head. “Jim Carpenter didn’t avenge the accidental death of his daughter by killing the girl who was like a daughter to him. That makes no sense. That’s the sort of thing you make up when you decide on a suspect without all of the evidence and then realize you need a motive. It might sound good when you throw it against the wall to see if it’ll stick, but it doesn’t hold up to further inspection. To common sense. To what it really means to be a parent.”

Raine took a moment to let his words sink in with the jury. He had told them why the prosecution was wrong about his client, but he hadn’t fully explained why they were so sure of themselves despite being wrong.

“The one circumstance in this case,” he explained, “the one thing that in any way connects the murder of Zoe West to Jim Carpenter is the fact that after missing for ten years, her body was discovered underneath the foundation of Jim’s hardware store in Greenwood.”

Another quick, disapproving glance at McClain. Hardware store. Greenwood.

He shrugged again. “Now, I can understand why that might make Jim a suspect, at least initially, but like too many cases, far too many cases, the police and the prosecution get so excited about solving a case quickly that they forget about solving it correctly. Because, you see, the only reason that body was found was because Jim sold his store to a developer who knocked down the old building and was digging deeper to build a bigger building. If Jim had known there was the body of a girl he murdered hidden under that store, he never would have sold it. He would have kept that secret literally buried and taken it with him to his grave.”

Raine shook his head. “No, ladies and gentlemen, this case is before you not because Jim Carpenter murdered anyone, least of all the neighbor girl he helped raise from a baby. This case is before you because the police jumped to the easiest conclusion and the prosecutor doesn’t understand what it means to be a parent. So, at the conclusion of the trial, after you’ve heard all of the evidence, you will know that Jim Carpenter is innocent and I will ask you to return a verdict of not guilty. Thank you.” He returned to his seat and sat down next to his client.

Jim leaned over and whispered in his ear, “How do you know so much?”

“Like I said,” Raine answered, “I’ve been doing this a long time.”

“And now, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Judge Fassbinder boomed, “please give your attention to Ms. Mount who will deliver the opening statement on behalf of defendant Kristi Carpenter.”

Sawyer stood up and walked directly to the jury box. She stood where Raine had started and clasped her hands in front of her.

“Hannah West went to Kristi Carpenter’s home to confront Kristi about the ten-year-old murder of her daughter, Zoe,” Sawyer began. “Hannah did this knowing Zoe was the one responsible for the death of Kristi’s daughter, Chloe, in a drunk-driving accident that Zoe got away with, thanks to Hannah’s help. Kristi was just home by herself, trimming some flowers to put in a vase. This took place on Kristi’s property, on Kristi’s deck, at Kristi’s home. And when Hannah tried to physically attack Kristi, she got a face full of vase.”

Wow, Raine thought. Very direct.

“Kristi didn’t mean to kill Hannah,” Sawyer continued, “but she did mean to defend herself and she has every right under the law to do that. What happened is a tragedy, but it’s not a crime. Kristi Carpenter is not guilty of murder. Thank you.”

Raine was impressed by the conciseness of Sawyer’s opening statement. He could see why she wanted him to go first. He was glad he had. Had he gone second, the jurors, who still looked a little shell-shocked by Sawyer’s brusque presentation, might not have been in the right frame of mind for his philosophical musings on the nature of parenthood.

In any event, the opening statements were complete, and it was time to begin the presentation of evidence.

“Mr. McClain,” Judge Fassbinder directed, “you may call your first witness.”

McClain stood up and announced, “The State calls Donald West to the stand.”

33

Donnie had been banished, at least temporarily, from the courtroom, but he was present in the courthouse that morning and ready to testify. After McClain’s announcement, an assistant from either the county prosecutor’s office or McClain’s own office popped up from her seat in the back row and slipped through the exit. A few moments later she returned to open the door again and Donnie West entered the courtroom.

He was dressed in a suit that had obviously stopped fitting well several years, and ten to twenty pounds, earlier. But his shirt was clean, and his tie was knotted, and after everything he had been through, no one was going to criticize his outfit. He walked to the front of the courtroom where McClain directed him to stand in front of the judge, raise his right hand, and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Once he had done that, he sat down on the witness stand.

“Please state your full name for the record,” McClain began. He had a clipboard with questions on it. Raine was beginning to wonder how many cases McClain had ever actually tried, or at least how long it had been since his last trial.

“Donald Alexander West,” Donnie answered. He was already sweating a bit at the temples.

“How old are you, Mr. West?”

“Um, I’m fifty-three.” He frowned and glanced around the courtroom. He looked flushed at his neck, but Raine thought it was maybe because the collar of his shirt was too tight as well.

Every witness examination began with an introduction of basic biographical information. Cops gave name, rank, and years on the force. Civilians gave name, age, and relation to the case.

“Did you know someone named Hannah West?” McClain moved to the next question on his clipboard. He seemed not to notice or care that Donnie was struggling.

Donnie’s eyes widened at the name. “Yes,” he answered, his voice breaking. “Yes, she was my wife.”

“And did you know Zoe West?” McClain moved on without looking up.

Donnie took a moment before he could answer. “Zoe was our daughter.”

“When was the last time you saw Zoe West?”

Donnie hesitated again. “Uh, it was ten years ago. She went missing one night and we never saw her again.”

Raine looked over at the jury box to see how they were receiving the testimony. Several of them seemed uncomfortable with McClain’s approach. One of them was just staring at him, mouth slightly open.

“Okay,” McClain replied. He checked that item off the list on his clipboard. “And when was the last time you saw Hannah West?”

“Uh, the day she was killed,” Donnie answered. The beads of sweat from his temples were starting to break free and trail down his jawline.

“Killed by Kristi Carpenter, correct?” McClain suggested.

“Objection!” Sawyer stood up. “Lack of personal knowledge. Calls for speculation. Also, the question is leading.”

She was correct on all three counts. Fassbinder had little choice but to sustain the objection. “Please rephrase your question, Mr. McClain.”

McClain frowned down at his clipboard. Raine guessed there wasn’t a rephrased version of his question there. “Um, I mean, did you see who killed her?”

Donnie shook his head. “No. Not personally. I was inside our house when it happened, over at Kristi’s. I mean, at the Carpenters’ house.”

McClain frowned again. “Okay, well, we can call the other neighbor who found Kristi Carpenter standing⁠—”

“Objection again!” Sawyer was back on her feet. “Counsel is attempting to testify for a witness who hasn’t even been called yet.”

Fassbinder sighed, but again Sawyer was correct. “Next question, Mr. McClain.”

McClain seemed to like that suggestion. He looked down at his clipboard. “Did Hannah West say anything to you before she went to speak with Kristi Carpenter?”

Raine considered making his own objection. Witnesses couldn’t always testify about what other people told them. It depended on what they said, and why the lawyer was asking. If Hannah said, ‘I’m going to go talk to Kristi’, then that would probably be admissible. Even if it were hearsay to prove that was what Hannah did, it fell under a few exceptions to the general rule that hearsay wasn’t admissible.

But everything was admissible if the other side didn’t object, and juries hated objections. Sawyer didn’t seem to mind, but Raine was more hesitant to object to an answer the jury probably wanted to hear. So, he kept his mouth shut and hoped Hannah hadn’t said anything too damning about Kristi, or more importantly to him, about Jim.

“She just said she was going next door,” Donnie answered.

“Did you ask her why?” McClain followed up.

Donnie shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“I guess I thought they were just going to talk or something. I didn’t know Kristi was going to kill her.”

McClain made another large checkmark on his paper and flipped to the next page. “Who is James Carpenter?”

Donnie thought for a moment, then pointed at the man seated next to Raine.

“That’s Jim right there. He was my neighbor.”

“Was he a friend too?” McClain asked.

Donnie nodded. “Oh yeah. Me and him and Hannah and Kristi, we were best friends.”

“Are you still friends?”

Donnie’s eyebrows knitted together. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because he murdered my daughter,” Donnie answered.

Raine had to object to that. “Objection. The witness is speculating at best. At worst, he’s just repeating back what the police told him.”

“The question was why they weren’t friends anymore,” Judge Fassbinder responded. “He gave his explanation. I didn’t hear him claim personal knowledge of the event. The objection is overruled.”

Raine sat down again, disappointed, but Fassbinder’s explanation let the jury know that Donnie was guessing.

“Did you know right away that James Carpenter murdered your daughter?” McClain continued.

“No,” Donnie answered. “I didn’t know for ten years.”

“What happened after ten years?”

“Her body was found,” Donnie explained.

“Where?”

Donnie looked again at Jim. “Under his goddamn store.”

McClain nodded. He ran a finger down the list of questions he had prepared. Then he looked up to the judge. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

Raine had to control his expression again. McClain’s direct-examination of the star witness had been almost as bare-bones as his opening statement. So much so that Raine worried he might accidentally help McClain by asking a question on cross-examination that McClain had neglected to ask himself. He wasn’t sure he should even conduct a cross-examination. But the jury would expect at least a few questions, and might think Jim had no viable defense if his lawyer didn’t even bother to question the father of the murder victim Jim was accused of killing.

“Any cross-examination, Mr. Raine?” Judge Fassbinder invited, maintaining the order they had agreed upon earlier: McClain-Raine-Mount-repeat.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Raine stood and stepped out from behind the defense table. The jurors would expect him to be at least a little confrontational with the witness. He didn’t have to get on top of him and yell, but he probably shouldn’t shout questions out timidly from behind his counsel table either.

“Just to be clear, Mr. West,” Raine began, “you did not witness the murder of either your daughter or your wife, did you?”

Donnie shook his head. “No, sir.”

He said ‘sir’ to the lawyer defending the man accused of murdering his daughter. The jury was going to love him. There was nothing to be gained by attacking him. Raine would just get what he needed and sit down.

“And neither Jim nor Hannah ever confessed to you or anything that they had committed the murders, right?”

“Oh, right,” Donnie agreed.

“So, when you say that Jim murdered Zoe or Kristi murdered Hannah,” Raine asked, “you’re just kind of repeating what other people have told you, is that right?”

Donnie thought for a moment. The redness in his neck was creeping up his cheeks, covering them in uneven blotches. “That seems right, sir. But it was the police who told me.”

“And we all want to believe the police, don’t we?” Raine followed up quickly.

“Yes, sir,” Donnie agreed.

Raine paused to decide whether there was anything else he wanted to ask Donnie before letting the poor soul off the witness stand. There was one area.

“You said the four of you were very close at one point; is that right?”

Donnie nodded. “Yes.”

“And you even had baby daughters at the same time, didn’t you?”

Donnie smiled weakly. “Yes.”

“Zoe and Chloe,” Raine said their names aloud. “They were like sisters, right?”

“They were best friends,” Donnie answered.

“And Zoe and Jim were close, weren’t they?” Raine asked. “He was almost like a second father to her.”

“I was her father,” Donnie replied a bit loudly. “I’m the one who raised her. And Jim was the one who killed her.”

Raine didn’t like how that answer twisted out of his grasp. Donnie seemed to be getting tired and increasingly uncomfortable. Maybe McClain was smart to limit his direct-exam.

Raine decided to end his cross. “No further questions, Your Honor,” he informed Fassbinder.

It was Sawyer’s turn. Fassbinder asked her if she had any cross-examination. “Oh yes,” she replied.

She walked out from behind the double defense table and all the way up to the witness stand. “You have no actual personal knowledge of what happened on my client’s own back deck when your wife came to her home the afternoon she died, do you?”

Donnie shrugged. “No, I suppose I don’t. I wasn’t there.”

“But you were there when your wife left the house,” Sawyer followed up, “and she told you, didn’t she, that she was going to confront my client about the allegation that her husband had murdered your daughter? Isn’t that true?”

“I mean, she told me she was going next door,” Donnie agreed. “But she didn’t say exactly what she was going to say when she got there.”

“Zoe’s body had been recovered by then, correct?” Sawyer demanded.

Donnie nodded. “Yes.”

“And James Carpenter had been charged with Zoe’s murder by then as well, correct?”

Another nod. “I think that’s right, too.”

“But now you don’t remember whether your wife was angry when she said she was going to confront my client at her own home?”

“Oh, she was angry,” Donnie agreed. “We were both angry. I’m still angry. I may not look like it, but I have so much anger inside me, I don’t know what to do with it. I’ve been angry for ten years. After a while you learn to mask it, but I don’t think I even remember what it’s like not to be angry.”

Sawyer seemed taken aback slightly by the unexpected answer. Raine knew her face. She seemed to respect the answer as well. A slight smile curled into the corner of her mouth and she nodded to Donnie West. “Thank you. No further questions.”

It was time for the ‘repeat’ part of McClain-Raine-Mount-repeat. McClain was allowed to conduct a redirect-examination, to follow up on any issues raised by the defense attorneys. If he did so, then Raine and Sawyer could each conduct a round of questioning based on whatever McClain asked, and so on, ad nauseam. But McClain declined Fassbinder’s invitation to do redirect-exam.

“No additional questions, Your Honor,” he responded. You couldn’t really prepare redirect in advance. It was based on what happened in court. That meant it wasn’t on his clipboard.

It also meant Raine and Sawyer were done asking Donnie questions. They could only do recross-exam if McClain did redirect. Donnie was done testifying.

“May this witness be excused?” Judge Fassbinder asked the lawyers.

A witness could either be excused or designated as subject to recall. Subject to recall meant they might have to testify again. Excused meant they were done. Importantly for Donnie West, if he were excused, then he would no longer be a witness and could sit through the rest of the trial. Although Raine wasn’t thrilled by the optics that would provide the jury, he didn’t want to be a jerk about it. Especially when he wasn’t claiming that Zoe wasn’t murdered, only that Jim hadn’t done it. And Donnie had just admitted he didn’t really know who did it. Not personally anyway.

“We would ask that the witness be excused,” McClain responded first.

“No objection to excusing Mr. West,” Raine added.

Fassbinder raised an eyebrow at Sawyer. Raine knew she would not hesitate to be a jerk if it benefited her client.

But she stood and answered, “The witness may be excused, Your Honor.”

Judge Fassbinder then looked down to where Donnie was still seated on the witness stand, not fully understanding what the lawyers were talking about. Fassbinder explained that he was excused from the trial and free to stay in the courtroom or leave, whatever his preference.

Donnie thanked the judge then took a seat immediately behind McClain in the first row of the gallery. Raine began to regret his decision to be kind.

Nevertheless, Donnie West was done testifying and had done less damage than Raine had feared.

Then again, the trial was just beginning. There was plenty of time for Jim Carpenter to be overwhelmed by the evidence against him.

34

McClain followed his less-than-scintillating direct-examination of Donnie West with a series of witnesses, each of whom provided some small part of the story he was trying to tell—or rather, sell. The truth was, his entire case against Jim was based on the fact that Zoe’s body was found under Jim’s store. To be fair, that was pretty strong circumstantial evidence, and Raine hadn’t figured out an alternate explanation to how her body ended up there. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, his cross-examinations repeated three simple points:

1. No one saw Jim murder Zoe.

2. In ten years, Jim never confessed to anyone that he had murdered Zoe.

3. Cops make mistakes.

Raine needed to be careful with the last one. There were plenty of people, maybe even the majority, who preferred to believe that cops were nigh-infallible. The system would be better if they were. But Raine knew the system, knew that cops were people, and knew that people made mistakes. It might be uncomfortable for some people, including undoubtedly some of the jurors, to hear that, but he needed those jurors to hear it, and believe it. His case depended on it.

McClain laid his case out more or less chronologically, starting with the discovery of the body. So, the first witness after Donnie was the construction worker who first noticed Zoe West’s remains. He was young and nervous and did his best to tell the jury what he saw and did to the best of his recollection.

Raine barely crossed him, other than the same three questions he was going to be sure to ask every single one of McClain’s witnesses.

“You didn’t see who killed Zoe West, did you?”

“No, sir.”

“No one ever told you that they killed Zoe West, correct?”

“Correct, sir.”

“People make mistakes, don’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No further questions.”

But after that first construction worker and the supervisor he told, it was time for the person the supervisor told.

“The State calls,” McClain announced, “Manfred Lutz to the stand.”

Raine had to stifle a grin. He hadn’t seen Lutz since he’d buried his fist in Lutz’s windpipe. Of course, Lutz’s lawyer, Naomi Childers, had done the same to Raine figuratively. Raine hoped Lutz was doing terrible. But he didn’t look it when he entered the courtroom.

Lutz wore a visibly expensive pinstripe suit, red silk tie, and black leather shoes that gleamed in the fluorescent lights of the courtroom. The suit was slimming, and he sported a fresh haircut and shave. He looked far better than he had the night of their combat in the alley. He didn’t even have a bandage on his throat as Raine had hoped. Instead, he walked confidently to the front of the courtroom to be sworn in and then took a seat on the witness stand.

“Please state your full name for the record,” McClain began. Again, with a clipboard. Always with a clipboard.

“Manfred Vincent Lutz.”

“How old are you, Mr. Lutz?”

Lutz hesitated, but then seemed to remember he was under oath. “Forty-three.”

“And how are you employed?” McClain read the next question on his script.

“I am self-employed,” he answered, the vowels in the words highlighting his East Coast accent. He sounded like he was saying he worked for the mafia without saying he worked for the mafia.

“What business are you in?”

“Real estate development and construction,” Lutz answered. “I am the owner and operator of Lutz Development, LLC.”

Name, rank, and serial were accomplished, and McClain marked the feat with a checkmark. It was time to focus the inquiry.

“Did your company purchase a plot of land at 7124 Greenwood Avenue North in Seattle?”

Lutz nodded. “Yes.”

“What was the nature of the business on that land when you purchased it?” McClain asked.

“I think it was a hardware store,” Lutz answered. “I’m not a hundred percent sure of that. It didn’t really matter to me. I wasn’t planning on keeping the store open or anything.”

“What was your plan?”

“My plan,” Lutz explained, “was to knock the building down and put up a ten-story mixed-use building with retail on the ground floor and condos above.”

“Were you able to do that?” McClain asked.

“Not yet,” Lutz grumbled.

“Why not?”

“Because one of my guys found a skeleton buried under the building,” Lutz explained. “My investment turned into a crime scene. I’m not supposed to do anything major until this case is over. The entire project is completely off-schedule now. I wish I’d never bought it.”

You should have let me win that motion, Raine thought with the slightest grin.

“Did you call the police the night the body was discovered?” McClain continued.

“I mean, yeah, eventually,” Lutz answered. “But first I went to see what my guys had actually found. I wasn’t going to call the cops if it was a raccoon skeleton or something.”

“Was it a raccoon skeleton?”

“Oh no,” Lutz answered.

“And so did you call the police?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lutz,” McClain said. “No further questions.”

“Cross-examination, Mr. Raine?” Judge Fassbinder inquired.

“Yes, Your Honor.” Raine stood up and stepped out from behind his counsel table. He walked up closer to the witness stand than he usually did. There was a sweet spot where the jury felt like the lawyer was challenging the witness without being overly aggressive. Raine took a step or two past that.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Lutz,” he began.

“I can’t say the same,” Lutz replied, raising a hand reflexively to rub his throat.

“You just testified that you wish you’d never bought my client’s business—” Raine started.

But before he could finish, Lutz cut him off. “I ain’t interested in undoing the deal. That’s prime real estate and it’s only going to go up in value. So, you can stop with trying to undo the sale.”

“Mr. Raine,” Judge Fassbinder interrupted in a low growl, “I trust you don’t intend to go into areas already ruled on by this Court in pretrial hearings.”

It wasn’t a question, but Raine answered it anyway. “No, Your Honor.”

Not anymore, anyway. He still wanted to invalidate that sales contract. It was increasingly becoming the only way he could see to win the trial. He had never been able to figure out who committed the ten-year-old murder of Zoe West, so he couldn’t offer any culprit other than Jim to the jury. That left winning on a technicality.

Raine took a moment to survey the room, for no particular reason other than a desire to know what was going on. He noticed Sommers had arrived to observe Lutz’s testimony. She had taken a seat two rows directly behind the defense table. Raine hoped she was there to help him save Jim and Kristi Carpenter from spending the rest of their lives in prison. He suspected she was there to learn more about the commercial real estate needs of Lutz Development, LLC. In his head he could hear her voice saying, ‘It can be both, Dan.’

Unable to press further on the sales contract, Raine fell back on his final three cross-examination questions. “You didn’t see who actually murdered Zoe West, did you?”

“I was in Jersey ten years ago.”

“No one confessed to you that they murdered Zoe West, correct?”

“That is correct.”

“People make mistakes, don’t they?”

“I would say murdering a teenage girl and burying her in your basement is a mistake,” Lutz answered. “So, yeah.”

Raine couldn’t end his examination on that answer.

“That’s a good point.” Raine pointed at Lutz, who seemed surprised by the compliment. “In fact, if you did murder a teenage girl and bury her in the basement of your building, you probably would never sell that building to a developer who intended on ripping the building down and might find the body. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Lutz shrugged meaty shoulders. “Hard to say. I’ve never murdered a teenage girl. But like I said, people make mistakes. Your guy’s mistake was selling that building to me.”

Given the situation Jim found himself in, Raine could hardly disagree. And Lutz was doing a good job of parrying his verbal assaults. Raine didn’t feel confident he could get Lutz to say anything further that would be helpful. And he wasn’t allowed to punch a witness in the throat.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Raine informed the judge.

Fassbinder looked to Sawyer. “Cross-examination, Ms. Mount?”

Sawyer stood long enough to shake her head and answer, “No, Your Honor. This witness has nothing to do with the allegations against my client. Thank you.”

McClain again didn’t attempt redirect-examination. Lutz was excused and it was time to start calling cops to the witness stand. The first two were the patrol officers who initially responded to the call and who, upon confirming the presence of human remains, called for the major crimes detective who would be the next witness.

“The State calls Detective Christina Adams to the stand,” McClain announced.

They were already several days into the State’s case-in-chief. Even with Raine’s surgically minimal cross-examinations, it took a long time to parade dozens of witnesses across the witness stand to tell their small part of the story. Detective Adams’s part was larger than most, but it was still partial.

She wore the detective’s testimony uniform. Brown blazer, black pants and shoes, badge on the belt and an open-collared white shirt. She looked the part. She testified like it too, as McClain launched into his initial name, rank, and serial number questions.

“Christina Beth Adams.”

“Detective with the Seattle Police Department.”

“Twelve years with the department. Seven years as a detective. Three with major crimes.”

McClain checked off each answer, then proceeded to what really mattered. “Were you called out to a report of human remains at 7124 Greenwood Avenue North in Seattle?”

“I was,” Adams confirmed.

“Please describe for the jury what you saw when you first arrived.”

Cops got specific training on how to testify when they went through the police academy. They were taught to turn and deliver their answers directly to the jurors, especially the longer answers. It helped the jurors pay more attention to their answers and it made them feel special, which in turn made them like the cops. And that, in turn, increased the chances of a conviction. Raine found it annoying but there was nothing he could do about it. He needed a case where the cops were his witnesses.

So, Adams described the scene to the jurors. A dark and stormy night, a half-uncovered human skeleton glinting in the moonlight. A career law enforcement officer raising her face to heavens and swearing to secure justice for the murder victim. Or something like that. Adams was definitely the hero of her own story, and McClain’s.

“Were you able to identify a suspect in the cold case murder of Zoe West?” McClain prompted.

“I was,” Adams confirmed.

“Who was that?”

Adams pointed at Raine’s client. “James Carpenter. The defendant. He is seated at the defense table, wearing a blue suit and yellow tie.”

“And what did you do after you identified him as a suspect?”

Adams turned again to the jury. “I arrested him.”

“Where?”

“The same place we found the remains,” Adams told the jurors, with a knowing smile. “He returned to the scene of the crime.”

Adams stuck the landing, Raine had to admit. He wasn’t going to get her to admit she made a mistake. But he could approach that part of his cross-examination from a slightly different angle.

“To be clear, Detective,” Raine began his questioning after McClain confirmed no further questions and Fassbinder invited the cross-examination, “you arrived on the scene well after the murder occurred.”

“Ten years after,” Adams answered. “Yes, sir.”

“In fact, when Zoe West was murdered,” Raine pointed out, “you weren’t even a detective yet, right?”

Adams took a moment to do the math in her head. “That’s correct. I was still doing patrol when she went missing.”

“So, you didn’t see whoever murdered Zoe actually do it, right?”

Adams grinned slightly at the absurdity of the question. “Right.”

“Now, as the lead detective, you were responsible for interviewing everyone you could speak to about this case, correct?”

“I did most of the interviews, yes,” Adams confirmed.

“And no one has ever, even to this day, confessed to the murder of Zoe West,” Raine said. “Isn’t that correct?”

“That is correct.”

Adams was experienced enough not to mention that Jim had invoked his right to remain silent. Jurors weren’t allowed to hear that. If a jury could hear that a suspect invoked a constitutional right, they might use that against them, and that would undermine the right. Everyone just had to pretend Adams had never even tried to interview Jim.

“And finally, Detective,” Raine put to her, “would you agree that police officers are only human and everyone can make a mistake?”

“I do agree that police officers are human,” Adams answered carefully to a few chuckles from the jury box. “And I suppose I would have to agree that everyone can make a mistake.”

“Even you?” Raine challenged.

“Even me,” Adams acknowledged.

Raine could have left it at that, but he was curious about something. The jury seemed to like Adams. He liked her well enough too, he supposed. She seemed like an honest cop, even if she’d taken the easy route on this case.

“What do you do, Detective,” he asked, “when you realize you’ve made a mistake?”

“Me personally?” Adams questioned.

“You personally,” Raine confirmed. “What would Detective Christina Adams do if she discovered she’d made a mistake? A mistake that could send an innocent person to prison.”

Adams thought for a moment. “I would admit the mistake and do everything I could to correct it.”

Raine nodded along to the answer. He liked it. So, he went ahead and asked the next question. “Is it possible you made a mistake in this case?”

Adams didn’t answer immediately. She adopted a thoughtful expression before finally replying. “I have been presented no evidence to suggest I made a mistake in this case.”

That was the right answer, Raine knew. He wasn’t going to score any more points with her. “No further questions.”

Sawyer was next to cross-examine. Adams hadn’t made the arrest in Kristi’s case and Kristi had likewise lawyered up, upon Raine’s advice. Sometimes the best cross-examination was no cross-examination. Make the jury think the witness didn’t do any damage. “No questions, Your Honor.”

McClain moved on from Adams to the remainder of the law enforcement witnesses. Every cop and forensics officer who did even the slightest task took the stand and told the jurors about that slight task. None of them saw who murdered Zoe; none of them took a confession from the killer; all of them eventually agreed that sometimes mistakes are made.

Eventually, after several more days of routine and generally unhelpful testimony, McClain was almost ready to rest his case.

“I would ask the Court if we could adjourn a bit early today,” he told Judge Fassbinder after the last of the law enforcement support witnesses. The clock on the wall said it was 3:17, and the calendar said Friday. “I next plan to call the medical examiner who performed the autopsies in both cases and the DNA expert who identified Zoe West’s remains, but neither of them is available until Monday morning. And their testimonies will take longer than an hour anyway.”

That last bit didn’t encourage Fassbinder to waste what time they had left that day. He communicated as much by his annoyed expression and a glance at the clock.

“But immediately after them,” McClain continued, “I will recall Detective Adams, just to explain that the police investigations were then closed and forwarded to the prosecutor’s office. After that, I will rest my case.”

Fassbinder’s expression lightened at the promise of completing the State’s case-in-chief by the end of the next court day. And he was experienced enough to understand that sometimes professional witnesses weren’t available to sit in the hallway all day, waiting to be called into the courtroom to testify.

“All right then,” Judge Fassbinder conceded. “Court will adjourn for the week.”

The judge didn’t even consult the defense attorneys. For his part, Raine had no objection to clocking out early that afternoon. It had been a long trial already. Even an hour’s respite would help him recharge. It also gave him a chance to huddle with Sommers after the jury and the defendants were escorted from the courtroom.

Sommers had attended at least part of most days of the trial since Lutz testified. She couldn’t make all of it, of course; she had her own job. Raine was just glad to have someone who could provide an outsider’s view of the proceedings. Someone closer to the jurors than the lawyers.

“What do you think?” Raine asked her.

“I think you’re going to lose,” Sommers answered.

Raine frowned. “I thought it was going okay.”

“It is,” Sommers agreed, “but okay doesn’t help you. Jim and Kristi are charged with murder. Everyone thinks they did it, including the jury, who wouldn’t be here if they were so obviously innocent. You need to shake things up or you’re going to ride ‘okay’ all the way to a guilty verdict.”

That wasn’t what Raine wanted to hear, except for the fact that it was the truth.

“So, how do we shake things up?” he invited.

“You wanna really shake things up?” Sommers smiled broadly. “Turnbill.”

“Turnbill?” Raine had to stop himself from shouting. McClain was still in the room. So was Sawyer, who had just walked up to join them.

“Isn’t that the creepy teacher?” she confirmed. “What about him?”

“Rebecca thinks we should call him as a witness,” Raine explained.

“Not we.” Sawyer raised her palms. “He does nothing to help me. You call him.”

“If I call him,” Raine complained, “it’ll look like I’m just throwing some random creep at the jury to distract them.”

“That is what you’d be doing,” Sommers remarked.

“The jury will convict for sure,” Sawyer said, “if they think you’re trying to trick them.”

“What if you call both Turnbill and that kid from Port Angeles,” Sommers suggested. “You still get the unpredictability of Turnbill, but maybe it looks like you’re just giving the jury some backstory on Zoe. They might like that.”

“Not from you,” Sawyer insisted. “They want that stuff from the prosecutor. Too bad McClain couldn’t be bothered.”

Raine raised a hand to his chin. He had an idea. “Hey, Rebecca, you have good handwriting, don’t you?”

“When I need to,” she answered. “Why?”

Raine fetched a notepad and pen from his table, along with a binder full of notes he had jotted down during their trial preparations. “Write out the name and address for both Eric Garcia and Matthew Turnbill. Super legibly. Like a printer.”

“Why?” Sommers questioned.

“Because we don’t have a printer here,” Raine answered. “But I want it to look official.”

A few moments later, Raine had a very neatly printed witness list to provide to McClain, who was lingering in the courtroom, his laptop open in front of him. At first Raine thought he might be checking email, but then caught a glimpse of a news article referencing the trial. McClain was reading his own press releases.

“Mr. McClain,” Raine interrupted the prosecutor’s narcissism. “Here is a list of the first two witnesses I intend to call after you rest your case.”

McClain accepted the paper, but eyed it suspiciously.

“They’re just people who knew Zoe when she disappeared,” Raine explained. “They’ll give the jury some background about your victim. Eric Garcia was Zoe’s boyfriend shortly before she disappeared. Matthew Turnbill was one of her teachers.”

“Ah,” McClain said simply.

“Yeah, honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t call them in your case. But I guess that lets me do it. We defense attorneys usually never have any evidence to present, so it’s nice to have a couple of witnesses the jury thinks we brought in.”

McClain didn’t say anything. He was reading the addresses on the paper.

“Well, anyway,” Raine terminated the brief conversation. “See you Monday.”

He returned to Sommers and Sawyer and herded them toward the exit. Once in the hallway, Sommers asked, “What just happened?”

“Eric Garcia and Matthew Turnbill are about to get added to the State’s witness list,” Raine answered. “Unless I miss my guess, we’ll get to cross-examine both of them on Monday.”

35

When Raine arrived at Judge Fassbinder’s courtroom Monday morning he was greeted by the sight of five witnesses near the entrance. Eric Garcia and Matthew Turnbill sat on opposite ends of a bench, with two doctorly types sitting quietly between them reviewing what Raine could reasonably guess were their respective reports—one for the autopsies and one for the DNA match.

Raine offered a good morning to Eric, who was dressed for court in an olive-green, slim-fit suit with black tie. He needed a moment before he recognized Raine from their conversation at the tire store. Once he recognized him, he stood up and offered a handshake and returned the wish for a good morning. Eric didn’t seem to mind being subpoenaed over the weekend by McClain, which was obviously what had happened. It was a good excuse for a day in the big city.

Raine next greeted Turnbill, but he was decidedly less enthusiastic about sitting in a courthouse waiting to testify about his familiarity with yet another teenage girl from his early teaching days. He was dressed in a blue button-up shirt, khaki pants, and brown shoes; no jacket or tie. He avoided eye contact with Raine, or anyone else.

The fifth witness was Detective Adams. She was standing, leaning against the wall next to the bench, again in her court attire. Raine thought it might have been a different dark-colored blazer, but he couldn’t even remember what color it had been the first time she’d testified.

Adams motioned toward McClain and Donnie West, who were fighting in hushed voices at the end of the hallway. “What do you think? Should I break that up?”

Raine very much wanted her not to stop whatever was happening. “Is it a crime to have a verbal argument in the courthouse?”

“Not until it turns into more than a verbal argument,” Adams answered.

“Then I would wait until then,” Raine suggested. “If it’s just words, that’s my department. I’ll make sure everything is okay.”

“I doubt Mr. McClain wants you to interrupt,” Adams ventured.

Raine grinned. “I know.”

He approached quietly and off to one side, lest one or both of them see him approaching and stop what they were doing. Raine wanted the actual dirt, not a fake explanation.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Donnie was demanding.

“He’s a witness, Mr. West.” McClain was notably calm. Experienced in trial or not, being a lawyer meant spending a career with at least one person in every case angry with you, and often more than one. “It’s important that the jury get the backstory on your daughter.”

“Zoe!” Donnie half-yelled in the decorum of the marble hallway. “Her name was Zoe. You never say her name.”

Trouble in paradise, Raine thought. An added bonus. He had heard what he needed to. It was time to embarrass his opponent. “Excuse me, Mr. McClain,” he interjected. “It looks like you might have more than just the doctors and the detective this morning.”

“Raine?” McClain turned away from Donnie. “Oh, uh, yeah. I thought about what you were saying about some additional witnesses to give a little more background.”

“This was his idea?” Donnie jabbed a finger at Raine.

“It most certainly was not,” McClain insisted, although inaccurately. Raine supposed he might not be lying. He seemed like the kind of guy who would steal other people’s ideas and truly believe they were his own. A natural-born politician. “I have an obligation to put on the best possible case, and these witnesses help me do that.”

Donnie shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re playing at. You don’t even know. This is a bad idea, Mr. McClain, a very bad idea.” He stormed away, avoiding eye contact with Raine as he blew past.

“Are we good now?” Raine asked. “Still ready to start at nine?”

“Sure,” McClain responded brusquely. “I need to get in the courtroom. The judge will want to get started right on time, especially with the extra witnesses.”

“I’ll keep my cross short,” Raine offered to McClain’s retreating back, but the prosecutor didn’t acknowledge the offer.

Sawyer walked up to Raine. “Looks like your plan worked. You’re pretty good at manipulating people. Don’t do that to me.”

“Don’t worry.” Raine laughed. “Some people are easier to manipulate than others. Let’s head inside and see if we can’t manipulate some jurors.”

Sommers was already inside and seated in the same spot as Friday, two rows behind the defense table. “Looks like everything is going according to plan.”

“So far,” Raine allowed. “That should last until about 9:01.”

Also already in the courtroom were Jim and Kristi Carpenter, seated at opposite ends of the defense table, with a guard standing between them to prevent any communication.

Raine sat down next to his client. “Ready for another day of trial?”

Jim sighed. “Does it matter?”

“No,” Raine answered. “I was just making conversation. But I do think today may prove to be more entertaining than originally planned. At least until we get to the autopsies.”

“I thought all that was left was the autopsies,” Jim questioned.

“Change of plan.” Raine smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

Jim looked at Raine for several seconds, his skin waxy from weeks without seeing the sun. “I sure hope so.”

Judge Fassbinder entered the courtroom then, to the call from his bailiff to, “All rise!”

He directed everyone to be seated. “Are your doctors and detective here, Mr. McClain?”

“They are,” McClain stood to confirm. “In addition, and before the doctors take the stand, I will be calling two very brief civilian witnesses.”

Fassbinder sighed. “Are you still going to rest today? This case needs to keep moving.”

“I do still anticipate resting today, Your Honor,” McClain confirmed.

“What about you, Mr. Raine?” Fassbinder asked. “Will you be ready to put on whatever evidence you have as soon as Mr. McClain rests?”

Raine stood up to address the Court. “I will endeavor to be ready, Your Honor.” But he really had no idea. A lot depended on what Eric and Turnbill said on the stand. Things could go sideways fast. At least, that was the plan.

“Bring in the jury,” Fassbinder instructed his bailiff.

A few minutes later everyone was properly assembled in the courtroom. The jurors in the jury box. Raine and Jim Carpenter on one end of the defense table. Sawyer and Kristi Carpenter on the other. McClain seated at his table like a king. Donnie West in the first row of the gallery behind McClain. Sommers two rows behind Raine. And a line of cameras and reporters at the back of the courtroom.

Judge Fassbinder reconvened the proceedings. “You may call your next witness, Mr. McClain.”

McClain stood and announced. “The State calls Eric Garcia to the stand.”

Raine was a little disappointed. Turnbill was going to be the far more unpredictable, and therefore entertaining, witness.

McClain had to fetch his witnesses himself that morning. No interns to help that day. It would give him the chance to confirm none of his witnesses had fled, Raine supposed. He opened the door and called into the hall. A moment later Eric Garcia entered the courtroom. McClain escorted him to the well of the courtroom and Judge Fassbinder swore him in. He sat on the witness stand.

McClain began his direct-examination. “Please state your name for the record.”

“Eric Garcia.”

“How old are you, Mr. Garcia?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Did you know someone named Zoe West?” McClain asked.

Eric nodded, a frown sliding across his mouth. “Yes, I did.”

“How did you know her?” McClain followed up.

“We went to high school together,” Eric answered. “We dated for a little bit, before…”

“Before what, Mr. Garcia?” McClain prompted. “The jury is already familiar with the general facts of the case.”

“Oh, okay.” Eric relaxed a bit. “I didn’t know if I could say anything. So yes, we dated for a little bit before she disappeared.”

“When did she disappear?”

“It was like ten years ago. A little longer now, I guess. About a year after Chloe died.”

McClain frowned slightly at the script in his hand. Apparently, the subject of Chloe was supposed to come later in the examination. McClain went ahead and addressed it then. It would have been strange not to.

“Who was Chloe?” McClain asked. “And how did she die?”

“Chloe Carpenter,” Eric answered. “She was a friend of Zoe’s. They were neighbors.”

“Okay.” McClain accepted the information, then gestured at the defense table. “Do you know the defendant, James Carpenter?”

Eric craned his neck to see past McClain. “Oh wow. Yeah. I know Mr. Carpenter. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, but yeah, I totally recognize Mr. Carpenter. We used to hang out at his store sometimes.”

“Is it correct that Mr. Carpenter was Chloe’s father?” McClain asked.

“Yes,” Eric confirmed.

“And is it correct that Chloe died in a car crash?”

Eric frowned again. His shoulders drooped slightly at the memory. “Yeah.”

“Was the car crash the fault of Zoe West?” McClain asked.

The question was probably objectionable for calling for hearsay. Eric wasn’t there when it happened. Anything he knew about the crash that took Chloe Carpenter’s life, he had heard from someone else. But Raine didn’t object. The jury already knew the answer. He wanted to hear what Eric had to say about it.

“I mean, that’s what everyone said,” Eric answered. “People were saying Zoe was drunk, but she never got charged or anything. Still, it kinda messed her up anyway.”

“How so?” McClain asked.

“She felt really guilty, I think,” Eric answered. “We didn’t talk about it because I was too young to understand how important it is to talk about things like that. Instead, we just kind of ignored it and tried to forget about it.”

Raine found that last bit interesting, if it meant what he thought it meant.

McClain, on the other hand, didn’t seem interested at all and moved to the next question on his list. “When was the last time you saw Zoe West?”

Eric thought for a few moments. “Probably like a week or two before she disappeared. She had broken up with me.”

“Oh,” McClain said. “Sorry to hear that.”

Eric shrugged. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. We were just kids.”

McClain nodded and apparently decided it was a good answer to end on. “Thank you, Mr. Garcia. No further questions.”

Raine stood up at Judge Fassbinder’s invitation to cross-examine the witness.

But before he could, Sommers leaned forward and hissed his name. “Dan! Dan!”

Raine turned to look at her. He was in the middle of something just then.

But she motioned him to come back to the half wall that separated the gallery from the well.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Raine?” the judge asked.

“No, Your Honor,” Raine assured. “This is my investigator. If I could just have a moment, Your Honor?”

Fassbinder wasn’t going to be inclined to tolerate mid-trial conferences with investigators. Raine figured Sommers had about three seconds to tell him what was so important that she interrupted the entire trial to tell him.

“What is it? I’m kinda busy.”

“Ask him about Jim’s store,” she directed. “I figured out what I was feeling when we went and looked at it before the trial started. It’s those underground storage rooms.”

“Mr. Raine?” Fassbinder interjected.

“One more moment, please, Your Honor,” Raine called over his shoulder without turning around. Then, to Sommers, “What about them?”

“I think they extend too far,” Sommers answered. “They go under the other buildings on the block.”

“So?”

“So, they extend beyond the recorded boundaries of the plot,” Sommers answered.

The light bulb went off in Raine’s head. “Jim sold the parcel described in the county records. But Lutz received more than that.”

“And the property exchanged doesn’t match the written description,” Sommers added. “In any sale of real property, everything has to be in writing.”

“The Statute of Frauds,” they said in unison.

“Mr. Raine,” Fassbinder growled impatiently at him. “We need to proceed.”

“That’s the dry cow,” Sommers went on. “Get him to describe those underground rooms.”

“And I can renew my motion to suppress Zoe’s body,” Raine realized, “just before the evidence of the autopsy is about to come in.”

“Mr. Raine!” Judge Fassbinder yelled. “If you don’t ask a question right now, you will waive your entire cross-examination.”

Raine spun around and pointed at Eric. “You used to hang out at the Carpenter Hardware store?”

“Yeah, a bunch of us did,” Eric confirmed. “Well, at least before Chloe died.”

“Sure, sure,” Raine replied. “What kind of things would you do when you hung out there? Did you ever help out, maybe carry things downstairs to the storage rooms?”

Eric cocked his head. “Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes Mr. Carpenter would ask us to help out. He’d give us free candy bars and stuff like that.”

“Great, great.” Raine walked forward to a more normal position from which to ask his questions. Not nearly as close to the witness stand as he had been for Lutz. “So, those storage rooms down there, they went pretty far back, didn’t they? Like maybe even beneath the other buildings on the block?”

“Objection, Your Honor.” McClain stood up. “This line of questioning seems to be beyond the scope of my direct-examination. Mr. Raine is also leading the witness, a lot.”

“Those objections are sustained,” Judge Fassbinder ruled. “Please keep your questions within the scope of the topics raised by the State’s direct-examination.”

Raine wasn’t even sure what those topics were limited to. McClain had asked about Eric’s relationship with Zoe and Chloe. Raine could probably ask about his friend group back then. Maybe they played hide-and-seek in the Carpenter Hardware basement. Maybe one of them always won because they were hiding all the way underneath a building that was actually next door.

“So, you mentioned that you dated Zoe for a period,” Raine set up his question to discourage another objection from McClain. “And you were friends with Chloe. Who else was in your friend group back then?”

Eric looked up at the ceiling and twisted his mouth into a thoughtful knot. “Let me see. There was me and Jeff, Chloe, Zoe and Lena, Dave…”

Raine had to interrupt. “Lena? Did you say Lena?”

“Yeah, Lena Benning. She was like Zoe’s best friend after Chloe died.”

“Zoe’s,” Raine repeated it back slowly, “best friend?”

“Yeah.” Eric nodded and let out a sympathetic sigh. “Zoe’s disappearance really messed her up.”

“Is that the ‘trying to forget’ you were talking about earlier?” Raine suggested. “Alcohol? Drugs?”

“Uh…” Eric glanced nervously around the courtroom full of judges, prosecutors, and jail guards.

“Don’t worry,” Raine waved Eric’s concerns away. “The statute of limitations for that ran out years ago. You can answer the question.”

“I’m going to object again, Your Honor,” McClain interrupted. “This is also outside the scope of my direct⁠—”

“I am asking the witness to expand on a specific statement he made during direct-examination,” Raine cut McClain off to respond before Fassbinder could sustain the objection. “It couldn’t possibly be more within the scope of the direct-examination.”

Raine was correct. Fassbinder had to overrule the objection.

“You can answer the question,” Raine directed Eric. “Did Lena use drugs to try to forget about Zoe’s disappearance?”

“Yes,” Eric admitted. “We all did a little. But Lena did a lot.”

“You said Lena was Zoe’s best friend,” Raine repeated. “Did Zoe tell Lena everything? Things she didn’t even tell you when you were her boyfriend?”

“I mean, I don’t know for sure,” Eric answered, “but it seemed like it. I know there was one thing that really bothered her. Something other than what happened to Chloe. I asked her what was wrong, but she wouldn’t tell me. But I think she talked with Lena about it a lot.”

Raine had forgotten all about the storage rooms under the store. “What happened to Lena?”

Eric shrugged again. “I don’t know really. She kind of disappeared too. Not like Zoe. Not a real disappearance. She just kind of stopped hanging out with us, then she stopped answering her phone, then she stopped coming to school, and then we just sort of never saw her again.”

Raine knew the story. And he knew where it ended, at least sometimes. He only had one more question for Eric. “What color were Lena’s eyes?”

Eric’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah. She had the coolest eyes. There were this really bright blue.”

“Like sapphires,” Raine knew.

“Yeah, like sapphires.”

Raine nodded. Then turned to look up at Judge Fassbinder. “No more questions, Your Honor. Also, I need a recess.”

“A recess?” Fassbinder scoffed. “We’ve only just gotten started. Ms. Mount hasn’t even had her chance to cross-examine the witness.”

Raine looked at Sawyer and shook his head. “Alicorn.”

“I have no questions, Your Honor,” Sawyer said. “And I would also ask for a recess. Women problems.”

Judge Fassbinder cocked his head at Sawyer, but he didn’t dare interrogate her about what her ‘women problems’ might be. He was checkmated. “Fine. We can have a brief recess. But before we do, Mr. McClain, did you have any redirect-examination for Mr. Garcia?”

McClain hadn’t conducted a single redirect-examination the entire trial. He had better not start now.

“No, Your Honor,” McClain answered. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

Fassbinder sighed again. “How long of a recess do you two need?”

Raine and Sawyer looked at each other.

“Uh, maybe one…” Sawyer started.

“Two…” Raine suggested.

“Two and a half hours?” Sawyer suggested.

“Maybe even three hours,” Raine added.

Fassbinder ran a hand over his face. “Two and a half hours puts us into the lunch hour,” he observed.

“So, yeah, three hours,” Sawyer amended her request.

“You really need three hours?” Judge Fassbinder questioned.

“Are you asking me to explain on the record in front of everyone in this courtroom?” Sawyer asked him.

Fassbinder waved his hands in the air. “No, no. Three hours it is.” He banged his gavel on the bench. “Court is at recess until one o’clock.”

“All rise!” the bailiff called out at the judge’s departure.

“What’s happening?” Jim grabbed Raine’s arm. “Why are you asking about my storage rooms and Zoe’s friends?”

“I can’t explain now,” Raine replied. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

Jim nodded and let go of Raine’s arm. “Okay. And good luck, whatever you’re doing.”

“What’s happening?” Sawyer stepped over to ask him after the jurors were all safely on the other side of the jury room door and out of earshot. But McClain and Donnie were still there.

“Not here,” Raine answered. “Not now. Trust me?”

Sawyer scoffed lightly, but also smiled. “I’ll hold down the fort here. Go do something awesome.”

Raine accepted the charge, then grabbed Sommers on his way to the hallway.

“Best friend,” Sommers said. “You remembered my suggestion.”

“I remember all of your suggestions,” Raine said. “I just don’t always follow them. This one, though...”

They stepped out of the courtroom and into the makeshift witness waiting area. Adams was still leaning against the wall.

Raine pointed at her. “Do you want to fix one of your mistakes?”

36

Raine explained everything to Sommers and Detective Adams on the way to the motel on Aurora Avenue where Raine had given Lena Benning sixty dollars not to have sex. And she had been right that she was too young to be called ‘ma’am.’ Hard living ages a person.

Raine hadn’t noted the names of the motels from that night, neither the one Donnie went to for his rendezvous nor the one Raine was parked in front of when he met Lena and Joe, but he felt confident he would recognize them when he saw them. Sure enough, Raine was able to point out where to park to Detective Adams, who was driving her unmarked car. That was a good thing since, even on a Monday mid-morning, there were plenty of sex workers walking up and down the street looking for customers.

“You all should do something about this,” Sommers complained from the back seat.

“It’s a complicated problem,” Adams replied, “with no easy solutions.”

“And it’s not why we’re here right now,” Raine admonished. “We need to find Lena, and time is short.”

Adams parked her car in a stall on the far side of the parking lot. Raine jumped out almost before the car came to a stop. He knew Adams would have to open the secure rear door for Sommers and he didn’t want to waste even a minute of the time they had to find Lena.

The problem, of course, was that they didn’t actually know that Lena would be there. Raine deduced that it was probably one of her regular work zones based on what appeared to be a long-running feud with Joe.

He shaded his eyes with his hand and scanned the area for anyone who looked like Lena. A lot of them looked a little like her, but as near as Raine could tell, she wasn’t out on the street. He was going to have to start asking people.

He walked toward a woman with long red hair and a dress that was made primarily of red shoelaces. “Excuse me. I’m looking for Lena. She might also go by Tiffany, but that’s more of a stage name. Do you happen to know Lena, or where I could find her?”

The woman smiled with ruby-red lips. She was almost as tall as him in her platform heels. “I can be Lena for you, honey. Or Tiffany. Whatever you want.”

Raine shook his head. “No, it’s not like that. I just want to talk with her.”

“Oh, honey.” The woman shook her head sympathetically at him. “She don’t really want to be your girlfriend. That’s just a scam some girls run on nice guys like you. Let me take care of you for a half-hour, baby. I won’t pretend I’m falling in love with you. You deserve better than that.”

Raine raised his palms slightly. “Okay, no, look, it’s not like that. I’m a lawyer. Lena was a witness to a crime. I need to talk with her.”

“You’re a lawyer, huh?” The woman sized him up. He was still wearing his suit. “Prosecutor or defense?”

For once in his life, Raine found himself in a social situation where ‘defense’ was the better answer. “Defense.”

“Oh yeah?” the woman asked. “Then why you hanging out with a cop?”

Adams and Sommers chose that moment to walk up and join Raine. Adams’s badge was clearly visible on her belt.

The women nearest them started walking away. That included the woman Raine had been talking with.

“You need to lose the badge, Detective,” Raine counseled. “At least until we find Lena.”

Sommers surveyed the area. After several seconds, she raised her hand and pointed across the street. “Is that her? Coming out of that motel room?”

Raine squinted toward where Sommers was pointing. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, and the woman was pretty far away, but Raine thought it might actually be her.

“Stay here,” he directed them. “Let me talk to her first.”

“Okay, but talking only,” Sommers teased.

“I’m on duty,” Adams added. “Don’t make me arrest you.”

Raine nodded at the attempts at humor, then hurried across the street toward the woman he really hoped was Lena Benning. He cut her off halfway across the parking lot. When he saw her eyes, he knew he had the right person.

“Lena. I don’t know if you remember me, but⁠—”

“You’re the guy who got rid of Joe for me and then gave me sixty bucks not to fuck you.” She smiled at him. “That’s the kind of thing you remember.”

Raine nodded. “There’s something else I need you to remember,” he told her. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

Lena took a half step back, crossed her arms and lowered a hard stare at Raine. “What is it?”

“It’s a who,” Raine explained. “And it’s a long story, but I think you can help an old friend.”

37

Raine arrived back to court just before 1:00 p.m. Sawyer was at the defense table with both Carpenters. McClain was alone at the prosecution table. Raine walked directly to McClain. Detective Adams was right behind him.

“I need you to let me call a witness out of order,” Raine said to McClain.

“Out of order?” McClain asked. “You mean interrupt my case-in-chief so you can call one of your witnesses. Do you even have witnesses?”

“I have one,” Raine answered, “and she needs to testify now. She’s my only witness, and if she says what I think she’ll say, she might be the last witness of the entire trial.”

“Ooh, that’s ominous,” McClain replied. “Especially when I have four more witnesses lined up.” He noticed Adams standing behind Raine. “Including her.”

“Look, calling witnesses out of order is unusual, but it’s not prohibited,” Raine tried to convince him. “In fact, it’s specifically allowed by Rule⁠—”

“Give me one good reason why I should do anything that looks like I’m helping out the defense attorney when I have the victim’s father sitting right behind me and a half-dozen cameras recording my every move.”

Adams stepped forward. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

McClain scoffed. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Then how about this,” Raine tried. “No one will vote for a candidate for governor who convicted the wrong person for the murder of Zoe West.”

Adams pointed at Raine. “That.”

McClain narrowed his eyes at Raine and Adams. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” Raine confirmed. “One witness, out of order. That’s all I’m asking.”

McClain hesitated. It was a big ask, gargantuan in fact, given the audience behind him. Before he could answer, the clock struck 1:00 and Judge Fassbinder took the bench.

“All rise! The King County Superior Court is now in session, The Honorable Francis Fassbinder presiding.”

The judge took a moment to count the participants. Not everyone was in their correct spot. Raine was at the prosecution table and there was a cop in the well who wasn’t testifying. Raine started making his way back to his spot next to Jim Carpenter. Detective Adams slipped back into the gallery. “Court is reconvened. Fetch the jury.”

The bailiff opened the door to the jury room and the jurors filed into the box. The case was ready to proceed, or so Judge Fassbinder thought. “Mr. McClain,” he asked formally, “is the State ready to call its next witness?”

“Actually, Your Honor,” Raine interrupted, “I have a motion.”

Fassbinder frowned at him. “What sort of motion, Mr. Raine?”

“A motion to take a witness out of order,” Raine explained. “I believe there is no objection from the prosecutor.” ‘Hope’ was probably a better word than ‘believe’.

Judge Fassbinder raised an eyebrow and looked down at McClain. “Is that accurate? Are you really agreeing to have your case-in-chief interrupted so Mr. Raine can call a witness now instead of waiting until you finish like he would normally need to do?”

McClain hesitated. He turned around to look at Adams. She nodded to him, and he turned back to face the judge. “That is accurate, Your Honor. I do not object to this one witness interrupting my case-in-chief.”

Fassbinder looked like he wanted to object himself, but he acquiesced. “Fine. Who is this witness? Some sort of professional with a very demanding work schedule?”

Raine nodded. “You could say that, Your Honor. Defendant James Carpenter calls Lena Benning to the stand.”

Whatever surprise might have registered on McClain’s face was completely overshadowed by the shout that erupted from behind him. “What?” Donnie jumped to his feet. “Who? Oh, there is no way! No way!”

Judge Fassbinder pounded his gavel on the bench. “Order! I will have order in my court.” He pointed his gavel at Donnie. “I will grant you extra dispensation this one time, Mr. West, given how you are connected to this case. But another outburst like that and you will be removed. Is that understood?”

The beads of sweat had returned to Donnie’s face and neck. He didn’t answer the judge audibly, but he did nod and sit down.

It appeared Raine could proceed. He nodded to Adams and she walked to the back of the courtroom to collect Lena Benning.

After a moment, Lena walked into the courtroom and all eyes were on her. There hadn’t been enough time for her to change outfits. She was still in her work clothes. Sommers had given Lena her suit jacket, so it at least partially covered her see-through tube top and leather miniskirt. The fishnets and red platform heels were on full display. Sommers pointed down to Raine then took a seat in the last available row of the gallery, right in front of the cameras. Detective Adams took a seat in the exact center of the gallery. And Raine, when Lena reached him, directed her to stand in front of the judge to be sworn in.

“Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will tell the truth,” Fassbinder asked her, both of them with right hand raised, “the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“I do,” Lena answered.

“You may take the witness stand,” Fassbinder instructed.

Lena walked across the well and sat down on the witness stand, keeping her knees together and what there was of her skirt pulled down.

“Please state your name for the record,” Raine began. The preliminary name, rank, and serial number bit had to be done, no matter who called the witness.

“Lena Benning,” she answered confidently. She didn’t seem nervous at all. Raine guessed that she had endured worse than answering a few questions in a well-appointed courtroom.

“How old are you, Ms. Benning?”

“I just turned twenty-seven.” It seemed like an admission.

“Well, let’s get right to it then,” Raine signaled. “Did you know Zoe West?”

Lena nodded. “Yeah.”

“How did you know her?”

“She was my best friend.”

“When?”

“Back in high school,” Lena answered. “Before I dropped out. And before…what happened to her happened.”

“Let’s talk about that,” Raine said. “What happened to her? We’ve heard testimony that she suddenly went missing. Is that what you’re talking about?”

“That’s part of it,” Lena answered.

“What’s the other part of it?” Raine prompted.

“She was murdered.”

“How do you know that?”

Lena’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly, but otherwise her posture and expression didn’t change. “I saw it.”

A murmur traveled through the courtroom, especially through the jury box.

Raine allowed it to dissipate, then continued. “Please explain to us how you were able to see Zoe West be murdered.”

Lena tipped her head to one side. “It’ll make a lot more sense if I can explain a few things first.”

Raine nodded. “By all means. What do we need to know for Zoe’s murder to make sense?”

“Well, first of all,” Lena began, “her dad wasn’t really her dad.”

Another collective gasp rippled through the courtroom. All eyes turned to Donnie West in the first row. He lowered his face into his hands and started shaking his head.

“And Chloe Carpenter wasn’t just her neighbor,” Lena continued. “Zoe’s real dad was Chloe’s dad. They were half-sisters.”

This time the gasp and eyes settled on Jim Carpenter, who lowered his eyes to stare intently at the carpet between his feet.

Kristi Carpenter glared at him, then turned away, a fist to her lips, and a glisten in the corner of her eye.

“I guess their parents were swingers or something when they were young,” Lena said, “and Mr. Carpenter was the one who got both of the moms pregnant.”

Almost everyone in the courtroom gasped, except the judge, of course. And Kristi and Jim. And Raine. A quick glance confirmed Donnie wasn’t surprised by the revelation either.

“Did many people know about that?” Raine asked.

Lena shrugged. “Zoe did. She overheard her mom yelling at her dad about it once, I guess. She’s the one who told me. I think Chloe knew too, maybe. I don’t think anybody else did though. They would joke about being half-sisters, so like no one thought they were serious.”

Donnie started to stand up, but Adams moved like a dart to come up behind and guide him back to his seat with a firm hand.

“What else do we need to know?”

“That one of our teachers was a total pervert,” Lena said, “and Zoe thought she was in love with him. She had a really cool boyfriend too, but she broke up with him for the pervert. And I know perverts.”

“What was the teacher’s name?”

“Mr. Turnbill,” Lena answered. “I don’t even remember his first name.”

“Matthew?” Raine suggested.

“Sure.” Lena shrugged. “I seriously don’t remember, or care.”

“Okay. Anything else?” Raine encouraged.

Lena nodded. “Yeah, Zoe’s bio-dad owned a store, and it had all these cool underground storage rooms, including one that had a trap door to just dirt underneath.”

“The sort of place you could dispose of a body if you needed to?” Raine suggested.

“Yeah,” Lena agreed.

“Especially if you wanted to make it look like Jim Carpenter was the murderer.” It wasn’t a question, but Lena agreed anyway.

“Yeah.”

“Who knew about that trap door?”

“Everybody who used to hang out at the store, I guess,” Lena answered. “It wasn’t like it was a secret or anything. Zoe said her parents had an extra key Mr. Carpenter gave them for when they went on vacation or whatever.”

Raine took a moment to make sure there wasn’t anything else he needed to set the scene. Then, confident there wasn’t anything else, he asked the question again. “What happened to Zoe West?”

Lena sighed and leaned forward. Everyone else in the courtroom did too, except Donnie West and both Carpenters. They all kept their heads down.

“I snuck over to Zoe’s house that night,” Lena recounted. “I had a bunch of wine coolers I got from this kid at school who had a full beard, so he bought booze for everyone. Her parents were going out to, like, the opera, or the ballet. So, we were just gonna get buzzed and talk about boys. But then she kept talking about that teacher dude, and I was telling her to watch out for adult men who like teenage girls. But she kept saying he thought she was so mature and not like the other girls, and I was like that’s what all of those creeps say. So, anyway, we started arguing about it, and we were playing music really loud, and so we didn’t even hear it when her parents got back super early.

“I guess they got into a really bad argument. Zoe said they were arguing more and more, and it was usually about how Zoe’s mom got pregnant by that other guy, and like her dad couldn’t deal with it. They weren’t having sex anymore, and he was going to prostitutes. Whenever they had a really bad argument, her mom would go sleep in the guest room they had in the basement, and then her dad would sleep in their normal room that was upstairs, just down the hall from Zoe’s room.

“We heard her dad when he got to the top of the stairs, but I wasn’t supposed to be there, so I hid in the closet, and I barely got in there before her dad opened the door to her room. There were empty wine cooler bottles on the floor, so he started yelling about that, and then he told her he didn’t like that nice boy she had been dating, so she told him she broke up with him anyway and she was in love with the teacher. He got really mad and he shouted, ‘I forbid it!’ But then she started laughing at him and said, ‘You’re not even my real dad!’, like right in his face, and he just lost it. He grabbed one of the full wine cooler bottles and he hit her on the side of the head with it. I thought it would’ve broken, but it didn’t, and those things are really hard. I think it knocked her out, ‘cause she just fell over without even trying to break her own fall and she hit the back of her head on the corner of her desk, and it made this really terrible noise. Like, the worst noise I’ve ever heard. It was like a weird marble-top desk, so it wasn’t just flimsy wood stuff.

“That noise, it was like her skull breaking and brains coming out or something. It made me want to puke, but of course, I couldn’t because I was hiding in the closet. And then he started freaking out because, like, he’d killed her. He was shaking her and telling her to wake up and stop faking, but she wasn’t faking. I heard her skull break. And then finally, he got a hold of himself, and he wrapped her body up in her comforter and carried it out of the bedroom.

“A couple days later I heard her parents reported her missing. I knew she wasn’t missing but I was scared. I thought if he could do that to his own daughter, he could definitely do that to me. And I guess maybe I started drinking too much and maybe started using drugs too much, to try to forget what I saw. And my whole life kinda got destroyed because of what I saw.

“And then a couple months ago I heard they found her body, buried under her bio-dad’s business, and I was like wow, her dad just really hated that guy so much, he tried to frame him for murder. Even after Zoe killed their kid, he still tried to frame him for murder.”

She looked around the courtroom and laughed darkly. “I guess he did a pretty good job.”

Raine couldn’t disagree. He walked over and put a hand on Jim’s shoulder.

Jim looked up.

“Lena,” Raine asked, “is this Zoe’s bio-dad?”

Lena nodded and smiled. “Yeah, that’s Mr. Carpenter. He’s Zoe’s bio-dad.”

Then Raine nodded to Adams. She stood up and pulled Donnie to his feet as well. “And is that the man you watched kill your best friend, Zoe West?”

Lena nodded again, but no smile this time. Her mouth contorted as she fought back tears. Raine wondered if she was hearing the sound of Zoe’s head hitting that marble slab again. “Yeah,” she was finally able to squeak. “That’s the bastard that killed Zoe.”

Raine finally exhaled and took a step backward. His trial was definitely over.

McClain could sense it too. And the cameras were still there. He leapt to his feet and pointed at Donnie West. “Arrest that man!”

Adams looked up from where she was putting her handcuffs on him. “On it.”

EPILOGUE

“You knew the entire time that Jim was Zoe’s bio-dad?” Raine asked, incredulous.

“Of course,” Sawyer answered. “Kristi told me in our first consultation.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Raine demanded.

“Of course not,” Sawyer replied. “Attorney-client privilege. You may look good in a suit, sir, but she was my client. I know where my priorities lie.”

They were enjoying a celebratory drink in a speakeasy cocktail bar hidden above a regular restaurant in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. It was very small and very hard to get reservations. Raine and Sawyer knew the bar, but Sommers knew the owner.

“Why didn’t Jim tell you?” Sommers asked Raine over her drink, a Bourbon Bijou with a perfectly clear ice block. “That’s the real question.”

Raine frowned. He’d opted for a classic Old Fashioned and took a drink from it. “He said he’d promised Kristi never to mention it again to anyone and he wanted to keep his promise.”

“Even after she filed for divorce?” Sommers questioned.

Raine shrugged. “He still loved her, I guess.”

“That’s so romantic,” Sommers remarked, taking another sip of her drink.

“It was stupid,” Raine grumbled.

“It can be both,” Sawyer put in. She’d ordered a classic Hemingway Daiquiri. “Most romantic things are also stupid.”

Raine cocked his head at her. “I’m not sure how I feel about my girlfriend thinking romantic things are stupid.”

“Feel relieved,” Sawyer suggested. “And grateful that I’m your girlfriend again now that the cases have both been dismissed.”

“I wanted to ask about that.” Sommers tipped her glass toward Sawyer. “I understand why Jim’s case was dismissed, but why did they dismiss the case against Kristi?”

Sawyer grinned. “Once Dan’s case was dismissed, the judge had to declare a mistrial on mine. They needed to start over with a new jury after all of those theatrics. The prosecutor could have tried to go forward against just Kristi, but McClain was there for the publicity of the cold case, not some random self-defense homicide.”

“He got publicity alright,” Raine laughed. “Nothing like dismissing a case on live television to torpedo your dreams of becoming the next governor.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sawyer agreed. “So, McClain dumped it on that Tompkins guy to clean up his mess. But Tompkins isn’t running for governor. He’s just a career prosecutor, a bureaucrat with a bar card. He saw that the only way to prove it wasn’t self-defense was to have someone testify that Hannah went over to Kristi’s home perfectly calm and not looking for a fight. Unfortunately for him, the only witness who could say that was Donnie, and you can’t build a case on a guy you’re about to prosecute for murder.”

“Especially a guy who lied about committing that murder for ten years,” Raine added, “and tried to frame someone else for it.”

“Exactly,” Sawyer agreed. “So, Tompkins had no case and therefore no choice but to dismiss.”

“Well, that’s good for the Carpenters,” Sommers said. “Are they still getting divorced?”

“Kristi withdrew the petition,” Raine answered. “I don’t know if they’ll stay together, but they’re going to try. They’ve been through a lot together.” He snuck a glance at Sawyer. “That can be good and bad.”

“Lena went through a lot too,” Sommers recalled. “Is she going to be okay?”

Raine sighed. “Probably not. She disappeared after her testimony. Detective Adams said she’d keep an eye out for her and try to connect her to services if she saw her, but my guess is she’s long gone from Seattle. Probably south to Tacoma or Olympia, at least until she doesn’t have a detective trying to find her to offer her counseling.”

They all took a moment in their own thoughts and sipped at their drinks. The silence was broken by a chime from Sommers’s phone. She pulled it out, turned off the alarm she had obviously set, and stood up.

“You have somewhere to be?” Raine questioned.

“I always have somewhere to be, Dan,” she replied. “But yes, I have a meeting with a potential new client. I think you might know him. Manfred Lutz?”

“Lutz?” Raine almost spit out a mouthful of bourbon. “You better not tell him you work with me sometimes.”

“Oh, quite the contrary.” Sommers smiled at him. “When he found out I worked with you, he wanted me to be his new real estate agent. He said he likes a man who can take a punch. He also wants a rematch.”

“No chance.” Raine shook his head. “I won that fight fair and square. I’m going to retire undefeated.”

“I’ll let him know you’re considering it,” Sommers replied, then she took her leave.

“You don’t want to start a side-hustle doing cage fights against East Coast real estate developers?” Sawyer teased.

Raine shook his head. “No, I fought against enough people in that last case. Including you. I thought we’d be a team, not opponents.”

“We were never a team on that case,” Sawyer reiterated. “But I’m glad we ended up on the same side.”

Raine nodded, took a sip of his drink, and smiled.

“I don’t think I want to try a case with you again,” he raised his glass to her, “but if I’m ever arrested, I’m definitely hiring you as my lawyer.”

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stephen Penner is an author, artist, and attorney from Seattle. He has written over 25 novels and specializes in courtroom thrillers known for their unexpected twists and candid portrayal of the justice system. Stephen began his legal career as a criminal defense attorney, appearing in federal, state, and municipal courts throughout the State of Washington. After several years, Stephen 'switched sides' and became a prosecutor. He has been practicing criminal law for nearly 30 years, working his way up from misdemeanor offenses, to felonies, and finally to homicides. He has conducted over 100 trials and draws on his extensive experience to infuse his writing with realism and insight. In his spare time, Stephen enjoys painting, drawing, and spending time with his family.

Visit Stephen Penner on his website:

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Body of Evidence

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