Page 46 of Motion to Dismiss

“None.”

“Excuse me?”

“Is there any chance the jury got the Jameson Tate murder verdict wrong?” I try to keep my voice firm. “Like, any chance you might’ve been wrong?”

“I was the defense attorney, Rachel,” he says. “My job was to make him look innocent.”

“Did you?”

“It’s pretty hard to do when it comes to an open-and-shut first-degree murder.” He shakes his head. “The evidence at that trial spoke loud and clear for itself.”

The look on my face must give him pause because he lets out a deep sigh.

“Mr. Tate’s DNA was all over the scene,” he says. “It was on the murder weapon, the clothes he attempted to stash away, and the boots.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

“But what?” He arches a brow. “Where I’m from, they call that type of evidence a ‘slam fucking dunk.’”

“So, Mr. Tate just woke up one day and decided to murder his next-door neighbor?” I ask. “You believe he just magically transformed into a murderer?”

“Well, committing one murder automatically earns you that title, Miss,” he says. “So, yes. Mr. Tate might’ve been triggered by something Mr. Raider said and just lost his temper.”

“What if it was a crime of passion?” I ask. “Or a crime committed to prevent more crimes from happening?”

“Well, maybe you should’ve been his attorney.” He laughs. “I could’ve used those suggestions back then.”

“His son tried to give them to you.”

Silence.

“He wrote and called you every week.”

“He was a child, Rachel.”

“What if Mr. Tate really didn’t do it, though?” I ask, glancing at my remaining time. “What if someone else did?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those social media conspiracy crime people.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Just—someone who enjoys looking up old cases. Plus, uh, you literally mention this case at the back of your first twenty novels.”

“Ah, you must have the early editions.” He laughs. “My new publisher sucked all that away in favor of snippets from new books and photos. Would you like to see?”

“No.” I’m down to four minutes. “Back to Jameson Tate…His son was so affected by the case that he became a lawyer and filed appeals. He doesn’t just believe his father didn’t do it—he knows he didn’t.”

“Miss Rachel, in my wildest dreams, I would’ve never guessed that the son of this convicted murderer would become one of the worst defense attorneys I’ve ever seen.”

“You mean the best?” I ask. “He’s never lost a single case.”

“That doesn’t make someone the best.”

“How? You’d lost over fifty cases before you got into writing books.”

“I said what I said.” The jovial tone in his voice disappears. “Are you a friend of Mr. Tate’s?”

“No, I barely know him.” The words hurt to say. “I’m just wondering if you missed something at the crime scene. If maybe there was something more to this case and you brushed it away because you didn’t want to do any extra work.”

“Any extra work for a murderer?” He signs a mug and slides it toward me. “Okay, Rachel. I think I’ll have to give you a rain check on your friend’s pass, okay?”