“Thank you, Mr. Perez,” Eleanor said. “No further questions.”
She sat.
Reid rose.
“Mr. Perez,” he said, “you testified that anyone using the path could’ve stepped off into those trees.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You also testified that the HOA maintains the common areas.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you at any point, in your role with the HOA, know there was a body buried behind that trail?”
“No, sir.”
“If you had known,” Reid asked, “would you have called law enforcement?”
“’Course I would,” Perez said. “I’ve got kids. I wouldn’t want—” He stopped, swallowing. “Yeah. I’d have called.”
“Thank you,” Reid said. “No further questions.”
Perez stepped down, looking relieved to escape.
Eleanor watched the jurors as he left. Some of them had their heads slightly tilted, the way people did when a picture in their mind shifted.
Riverbend was still a burial site.
But now it sat in the jury’s mind as something else too: open ground. A place hundreds of people had crossed for years.
That was all she’d needed from Perez.
Next up was Jenna Collins.
Eleanor had debated calling her at all. Jenna’s statement was simple and dangerous: David Mercer loved his son. Not perfectly. Not without temper or mistakes. But truly.
The State had spent two days turning him into a headline. Eleanor needed the jury to remember he was still a father.
Jenna was in her early sixties, hair pulled into a low knot. She wore a simple navy dress.
“Ms. Collins,” Eleanor said gently, “how do you know David Mercer?”
“I worked at Davie’s preschool,” Jenna said. Her voice was soft but clear. “I was his teacher.”
“For how long?”
“Two years,” she said. “From the time he was three ’til he went off to kindergarten.”
“Did you see Mr. Mercer with his son during that time?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jenna said. “Pick-up and drop-off, school events. He came to the little concerts we did. The Thanksgiving program. Things like that.”
Eleanor nodded.
“How would you describe his interactions with Davie?”
Jenna’s mouth trembled, but her voice stayed steady.
