Eleanor Harper stood at the defense table with one hand resting lightly on her legal pad while the bailiff moved toward the side door. Across the aisle, Reid Calloway was conferring quietly with his second chair, his face composed in that maddening prosecutor’s way that suggested he intended to keep the day on rails if it killed him.
The courtroom still carried the strained aftertaste of the morning. Judge Harlan had individually questioned jurors about the weekend mess at Catch My Draft. No mistrial. No contamination. Just stern warnings, tight nerves, and the uneasy understanding that everybody in the room was walking through a case already half-swallowed by rumor.
David Mercer sat beside Eleanor in a navy sport coat that didn’t quite hide how tightly wound he was. Behind him, his mother sat with Davie’s little toy truck sticking out of her purse, a bright bit of yellow plastic in a room full of dark wood and adult grief.
Eleanor glanced once at her notes.
Danny Mercer.
Timeline.
Parents’ house.
Baby routine.
Then move on.
She rose.
“The defense calls Trooper Daniel Mercer.”
A slight stir moved through the room as Danny Mercer stood from the benches near the rear. He crossed to the witness stand in pressed patrol uniform, broad-shouldered, neat, controlled.
He took the oath and sat.
Eleanor stepped to the podium.
“Please state your name for the record.”
“Daniel Mercer.”
“You are employed by the North Carolina State Highway Patrol?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How long have you served?”
“Eleven years.”
“And David Mercer is your brother?”
“Yes.”
“On the night Caroline Simms disappeared, were you on duty?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Before your shift began, did you see your brother David?”
“I did.”
“Where?”
“At my parents’ house.”
“Was David planning on spending the night there that night?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
