Page 82 of The Guilty Trial

Chapter Forty-Seven

Seattle-Tacoma International Airport

Seattle, Washington

Allie stood in the arrivals area at Sea-Tac, watching passengers stream through the automatic doors in an uneven current of rolling luggage and tired faces. A family of four came through first, the father hauling an overstuffed duffel while the mother corralled two small children still buzzing with the restless energy of a long flight. Behind them, a businessman in a rumpled suit walked with his phone already pressed to his ear, his expression suggesting the call had started before the plane touched down.

She checked the time on her phone. The flight from Denver had landed twelve minutes ago, and Grams was never one to dawdle at baggage claim.

Nervous anticipation had been buzzing through her all day, and she allowed herself to feel the ache that came from missing her grandmother.

Then she spotted her.

Grams came through the doors pulling her small rolling suitcase, the same hardcase she packed weeks ago while Allie hovered nearby, pretending not to worry. She looked thinner, her cardigan hanging a little looser across her shoulders, but her posture was straight and her steps were steady. She scanned the crowd and immediately perked up when she spotted her granddaughter.

Allie hurried over and pulled her into a hug, careful not to squeeze too hard. Grams felt smaller against her, lighter somehow, and Allie held on for an extra beat before letting go.

Grams squeezed her back, then stepped away and looked up at her with those sharp eyes through her pink-rimmed glasses. “It's good to be home, sweetheart.”

“It's good to have you home.” Allie took the suitcase handle from her and started walking toward the parking garage. “How was the flight?”

“Long. The man next to me snored the entire way from Denver. I considered poking him with my knitting needle, but I thought that might cause a scene.”

Allie smiled. “Probably a wise call.”

They made their way through the garage and found the car. Allie loaded the suitcase into the trunk while Grams settled into the passenger seat with a sigh that sounded like it had been building for weeks.

The drive south on I-5 was slow with afternoon traffic, brake lights stretching ahead of them in a red chain that pulsed and stopped. Grams watched the passing landscape, her eyes moving from the strip malls to the evergreens and back again. Allie kept her hands on the wheel and let the silence rest easy between them.

After a few miles, Grams turned to her. “I've been watching the news, you know. That case you've been working on. It's been all over the national coverage.”

Allie glanced at her. “What have you seen?”

“Enough to know it's been a terrible business. A U.S. Attorney, a judge, another attorney. People being killed over some trial from years ago.” Grams shook her head.

Allie gave her the broad strokes without going into the darkest details. She told her about the Torrino RICO case and what the investigation had uncovered, about prosecutors and a marshal who’d decided that winning mattered more than the truth. She left out the brandings, the crime scene photographs, and the image of Sarah Park's body at Commencement Bay. Grams didn’t need to carry those pictures.

When she finished, Grams was quiet for a long moment. “It's hard to believe,” she said. “People who were sworn to uphold justice doing something like that. They were supposed to be the ones protecting it.”

“I know.” Allie changed lanes to let a merging truck pass. “Marze said something that stuck with me. He said power without integrity corrupts everything it touches. I think that's exactly what happened here. They had the power to put a dangerous man away, and they decided the ends justified the means. Once they crossed that line, there was no coming back.”

Grams considered this. “And people died because of it.”

“Yes.”

“I always knew he was a wise man, that boss of yours.”

“He has his moments,” Allie said, and she felt the corner of her mouth lift.

They drove on, the traffic gradually thinning as they moved past the sprawl into Pierce County. Grams asked about the weather while she was gone, about whether the garden had survived, about Connie and her chickens. They were normal questions, and Allie answered each one, grateful for how much she’d missed this particular rhythm of conversation.

They took the exit for Puyallup, and Allie turned down a residential street lined with mature maples, their branches mostly bare now, with only a few stubborn leaves clinging in shades of rust and copper. She slowed as they approached a charming two-story house with slate blue siding and a covered front porch. A swing hung at one end of the porch, swaying gently in the November breeze. The yard was bigger than anything Jason and Victoria could have afforded in Tacoma, with enough room for a child to run.

“This is it?” Grams leaned forward, taking in the house.

“This is it.”

“Oh, it's lovely.”