I breathed deeply, unwilling to let my frustration show. “I told you. The garage door wouldn’t open when I got home. I didn’t think ... I just went inside, and then I forgot about it.” I paused for a moment. “I believe someone messed with the door, to make me leave the car out on the driveway. To make it easy to plant the evidence.”
“So, the car was in the driveway the entire night, with the top down?”
I could’ve kicked myself for that. “Yes! I know, I got careless. It’s a rental ... and there was nothing of value in it. I just didn’t think—”
“Easy there,” he said, smiling at me for encouragement. The smile didn’t touch his worried eyes. “I know you didn’t see this coming. No one would have.” He stood and paced the living room slowly, thoughtful. “You don’t have video surveillance here, do you?”
“No ... but the neighbors might.”
He grabbed the legal pad and scribbled down a note. “Excellent.” He paced some more, staring at the tile floor. “Except for yours, no other prints were found on that bottle. Just some inconclusive partials they couldn’t identify.”
I sprang to my feet and walked over to him. “What if we can somehow get a hold of Claire Donovan’s prints, and prove those are her partials? Would that make a difference?”
He rubbed his chin, considering it. “They’d probably argue that partials aren’t conclusive. It would depend on how many fingers would match.”
“Why?”
“One partial print could potentially match more than one person. But if you have a series of partials coming from the same person’s different fingers, that probability is infinitesimal and becomes conclusive. It would be tough to argue, but all we need is the seed of reasonable doubt.”
Billy Ray, lying down on the couch and pretending to watch TV, clicked the remote until the sound was muted, but didn’t say anything. He was probably scared out of his mind for me.
“Why did they call you notorious?” I asked. Colton stared at me blankly, confused. “In the newspaper article, they referred to you as the notorious Colton Blake.”
Frowning, he shrugged and waved my question off with an irritated gesture. “I don’t know. Ask them.”
The undertones in his voice worried me. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Billy Ray propped himself higher on the cushions. “There’s something you’re not telling me, Colton.” I waited, but he didn’t say anything. He clenched his fists and plunged them into his pockets. “Let’s agree to not have this conversation again. You need to tell me everything. Give it to me straight. We have no time to dance around it like this every single time. I can take it,” I said, propping my hands on my hips and standing in front of him, bracing myself. “So, tell me.”
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head, his eyes avoiding mine. “With so much evidence against you, I would’ve expected the DA to offer a deal.” He lifted his eyes and looked into mine. For the first time since he’d started working on my case, I could tell he was scared.
Feeling my throat starting to close, I swallowed and tried to breathe, but air refused to fill my lungs completely. “What does that mean?” I asked in a low, tense whisper. He hesitated for a moment. “Colton? What does it mean?”
“It means they’re very confident they’ll get a conviction for murder one.”
I frowned, still unsure why this was more relevant than me being found guilty of murder.
“Which could mean the death penalty,” he added quietly, his voice fraught.
“Oh my God ...” I whispered, collapsing on the sofa just as Billy Ray got up. “I didn’t do this ...” Tears choked me.
He crouched in front of the sofa and took my hands in his. “I won’t let it happen, all right? I promise, I won’t.”
Billy Ray drew closer and settled his hand on Colton’s shoulder. “There comes a time when a man needs to go to Mexico with his sister and a rifle and an old truck, if you know what I mean,” Billy Ray said to Colton as if I weren’t even there. “We don’t have to be here for this kind of mess. She’s been through enough.”
I rose on unsteady legs, and Colton rose with me. He let go of my hands and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. It felt good, familiar, like the smell of pancakes on a Sunday morning.
“I’m not going to Mexico, guys. I’m not going to run for the rest of my life. But I want to speak with the detective who investigated my case, Aaron Stanek.”
“No.” Colton shook his head vehemently. “Don’t give them more ammo to use at trial. Everything you say, remember? They can use it against you. I’ll go. I’ll take your concerns to him.”
“I have a right to know how he investigated other suspects! Has he even looked at Winston’s wife? She had a motive, Colton, while I didn’t. And I know it’s her partials on that bottle of eye drops.”
“Why?” he asked loudly, frustration getting to him. “Howdo you know that?”
“They have to be!” I said, trying to find a way out of the corner I’d backed myself into. “Who else could’ve done it?”
“You’re not telling me everything, Hattie.” He walked away from me and stopped by the patio door, his gaze fixed on something farbeyond the glass. “You’re lying to me. You never trusted me ... not even ten years ago when you said you loved me. And you don’t trust me now, when your life depends on it.”
His words hit like a slap—sharp, raw, and deeply painful, even if I deserved it, or perhaps my guilt made it worse. I felt it in my chest, a sudden ache I hadn’t braced for.
