David Mercer could be difficult. Proud. Furious. Impossible to live with.
And still not be a murderer.
Across the aisle, Reid was watching her.
He knew exactly what she was doing now.
Not trying to prove David innocent.
Trying to make certainty impossible.
Monday, they would do this all over again.
And Eleanor Harper was nowhere near finished.
55
Harper & Associates
Friday Evening
By the time Eleanor made it back to the office, the last of the daylight was fading behind the courthouse.
Main Street had mostly emptied out.
Inside the loft, the office was quiet and half-dark.
The reception lights were off. Frannie’s desk sat neat and empty except for a square stack of pink message slips and a coffee mug turned upside down on a legal pad.
Eleanor stepped inside, let the door close behind her, and set her trial bag down. Every muscle in her back seemed to complain at once. She reached up and loosened the top button of her blouse.
For one brief second, she thought about leaving it all right there.
Going home. Taking a hot shower. Falling face-first into bed. Letting the world burn without her for six hours.
Then she saw the glow from the conference room.
She glanced down the hall, frowned faintly, then toed off her heels and carried them in one hand as she walked toward the light.
Deck O’Rourke sat at the big conference table under the pendant lamps, sleeves rolled to his forearms, reading glasses low on his nose. Files and binders were spread around him—sheriff’s reports, exhibit lists, discovery, motion tabs, witness outlines marked in two colors. A Styrofoam cup of coffee sat near his elbow.
He looked like he had been there for hours.
“Thought you’d have called it a night by now,” Eleanor said from the doorway.
He didn’t jump. Just glanced up over the rims of his glasses.
“Ah now,” he said, his Irish roughening around the edges the way it always did when he was tired. “And miss the pleasure o’ swimmin’ through Calloway’s paper swamp for sport? Not likely, Ellie-girl.”
She stepped into the room, set her heels by the wall, and dragged a hand along the back of one of the chairs.
“How bad did it look from your row today?” she asked.
Deck leaned back a little and studied her face.
“Not bad,” he said. “Not near bad enough to warrant that look on you.”
She gave a tired, humorless laugh and pulled out a chair.
