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Jeff crooks one eyebrow as though that’s the stupidest question he’s ever heard, but true to his word, he answers only what was asked. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Yes.”
“Good,” Monroe says, and Jeff’s mouth pinches.
“Mr. Horne probably didn’t think so,” Jeff interrupts.
Oh, so you do more than sit there and robotically answer, Jeff.
Judge Hopkins snorts, amused. “Good one, Jeff.”
Mr. Monroe has the good grace to look at least slightly chagrined, but he recovers quickly, holding up a piece of paper. “This is the Sheriff’s Department report on Mr. Horne’s death, correct?”
He hands it to Jeff, who looks it over. “Yes.”
“Can you read the cause of death?”
“Myocardial infarction.”
“Now, based on this report, did you close the investigation into Mr. Horne’s death?” Monroe asks. “Wrapped it all up?”
I sit up a little straighter. Jeff promised me he’d look into what we’ve found. My heart sinks when Jeff says clear and strong, “Yes, I closed the case when we received this report.”
But Jeff is looking past Mr. Monroe, straight to me. I replay what he said and realize that he’s answering exactly what’s asked, not showing his hand. He’s sticking to his plan and reminding me to do the same. I give him the smallest nod of recognition.
“No further questions.”
Mr. Walsh stands and tells the judge, “We have no questions for Sheriff Barnes at this time.”
I’m next. In what seems like a haze, I find myself sitting next to Judge Hopkins’s desk, my hands twisting in my lap as I look at Blake. Finally, his eyes are on me, but they’re empty, no sign of what we were doing mere hours ago. And his teeth are clenched, making his jawline look extra sharp.
What’s wrong, Blake?
I was expecting to maintain professionalism today, show that there’s been no conflict of interest if needed, but the cold shoulder stings more than it should. My brain knows it’s all business, but my heart doesn’t give a shit and is in panic mode, pounding away a drum rhythm of fuck, fuck, fuck.
Mr. Monroe’s questions are softball lob easy, basically reiterating what Jeff already said.
Yes, I’m sure Mr. Horne is dead. How? Because I performed an autopsy on him, so if he were alive, I definitely would’ve noticed. So would he.
But this time, Mr. Walsh has questions for me.
“Miss Walker, can you explain this report?” He hands me a piece of paper, Richard Horne’s lab results. I look to Jeff, whose eyes narrow.
Carefully and thoughtfully, I answer, “That’s a standard blood panel. Whenever there’s an autopsy, I perform one.”
“Why?”
“Protocol,” I answer. But Mr. Monroe stares at me silently, and I feel compelled to add more. “Because even in the case of extreme injury, such as a car accident, there could be internal reasons. Such as alcohol, medications, things like that. It’s standard practice to check everything.”
“And myocardial infarctions?”
I nod. “Yes. Bloodwork can be very important in such cases.”
“And these abnormal levels?” He points to the heavy metal results and my racing heart stalls out.
“They show Mr. Horne had high levels of lead, arsenic, and mercury at the time of his death. Results were confirmed by a repeated examination by the State labs.”
“Hmm, interesting,” Mr. Walsh hums, taking the paper back and looking at it carefully.
I think I know where he’s going with this, but I’m still unsure. I know what I do feel, which is under the microscope, frozen and not sure if that was a question or not. I wish I had Blake’s coaster in my hand, but since it’s in my purse back at my seat, I place my fingertips along the edge of Judge Hopkins’s desk. I run my fingers back and forth the smallest inch, as casually as I can.
Nothing weird to see here, no luck needed. Just answering some easy questions.
“Did you figure out what caused the high levels?”
Okay, maybe not so easy. I swallow. The truth is yes, I did. What I can prove is a totally different story.
“While indeed interesting, the high levels were deemed to have no relevance to Mr. Horne’s heart attack.”
“But did you figure out what caused the high levels?” he asks again.
Jeff’s speech is in my ear—all circumstantial, no proof, what if Yvette didn’t feed it to Richard?
“No, I did not.” It hurts me to say that, but it is the truth. I don’t know, I suspect. Two very different things. And I need more proof before I state my suspicions in a courtroom.
“I see. No further questions at this time.” I walk back to my seat next to Jeff, but my eyes are on Blake the whole way there. Is he disappointed? Does he understand why? Why is he still avoiding eye contact with me? Is it just about playing strangers?
Mr. Monroe rests his case, and Mr. Walsh stands for his turn. “I’d like to call Blake Hale, please.”
