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“What?”
“You once asked me how I could sleep at night if I put an innocent person away or let a guilty person walk free.” He paused. “I’m lucky enough to have never dealt with the former, but the latter eats at me every goddamn day.”
I glanced at his desk.
The headlines I’d seen taped inside his closet were organized under new blueprints and fire reports.
“Who’s the guilty person you’re talking about?” I asked, stepping toward him. “There weren’t any survivors, so unless you’re insinuating that we’ve overlooked an eye witness or—”
“There weretwosurvivors that night,” he said. “A young boy and a newborn girl.”
I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure some reporter would’ve—”
“Trust me,” he interrupted. “There were two.”
Before I could ask him how he knew that, he looked at me.
“The landlord set that fire on purpose because he needed the money,” he said. “He didn’t care about his low paying tenants, didn’t even care enough to set off a damn alarm to give them a chance to survive.”
I bit my tongue.
Over our stakeouts, I’d noticed that the landlord was the only person I saw walking and leaving the building. He was a sweet elderly man who’d offered me donuts and coffee on occasion.
He’d even offered to give me a tour.
“Are you sure, Damien?”
“One hundred percent.” His eyes glazed over. “He’s a mass murderer and the moment he slips up and he stops using the cane that he doesn’t need, that he swore he injured on that night, I’ll put him away.”
“What if it takes five or ten more years?”
“I’m willing to wait as long as it takes.”
“What happened to the newborn?”
“A nice family adopted her and gave her an amazing life.”
“Do you ever talk to her?”
“Yes and no. She’s close enough for me to see her every day.”
I decided not to pry any further.
“Elizabeth,” he said, saying my name softer than ever, “where do you go on alternate weekends?”
I’ve tried to tell you.“I’ll tell you someday.”
“Okay.” He pulled me against his side. “Make it somedaysoon.”
CREDIBILITY (N.)
WHETHER TESTIMONY IS WORTHY OF BELIEF, BASED ON COMPETENCE OF THE WITNESS AND LIKELIHOOD THAT IT IS TRUE
ELIZABETH
The closing argument was still the worst thing in my arsenal, and I had yet to craft one that was worth giving. Piecing together weeks of intensive testimony and evidence into one tight performance eluded me, and deep down, I knew why.
Onstage, I was reciting the lines that someone else had written, and the applause was guaranteed whether the performance was believable or not. In the courtroom, the jury remained stoic, and the “applause” was given in the form of a verdict that came long after the curtains closed.
