He returned to his table.
Judge Harlan looked to the defense.
“Ms. Harper?”
Eleanor rose. Her voice, when she spoke, was calm.
“Good afternoon, Dr. Cade.”
“Good afternoon.”
“You and I have met before,” Eleanor said. “You’ve testified in my cases over the years.”
“I want to be very clear with the jury about the limits of what you can tell us.”
Eleanor stepped a little closer.
“Doctor, you cannot say how Caroline Simms died. Correct?”
“Correct. Cause of death is undetermined.”
“And you cannot say who placed her remains at Riverbend.”
“No.”
“Nothing about the bones themselves tells you who put them there.”
“That’s right. The remains don’t name a perpetrator.”
“And nothing in your examination allows you to say, within a reasonable degree of medical certainty, that David Mercer buried Caroline Simms.”
“No,” Cade said. “My conclusions are limited to identification and observable findings. I do not identify perpetrators.”
Eleanor nodded once.
“Thank you, Doctor. No further questions.”
She turned to walk back to her table.
Her eyes drifted toward Reid—instinct, nothing more. For years, that look had been a silent shorthand—did you see that?—meant only for him.
She caught herself halfway there, her gaze snapping back to the floor. The loss of that small, automatic connection felt like the floor dropping out beneath her.
“Dr. Cade, you may step down,” Judge Harlan said.
Cade left the stand.
Reid stood again.
“The State calls Sheriff Burke Scott.”
Burke walked to the stand, uniform pressed, expression even. He was sworn, took his seat, and settled with his hands loosely folded.
“Sheriff, please state your name and your position for the record,” Reid said.
“Burke Scott. Sheriff of Jackson County.”
“Sheriff Scott, did your office at some point receive information suggesting David Mercer had buried Caroline Simms at a location called Riverbend?”
