The detective’s expression hardened. “They plant evidence, manipulate the crime scene, create false leads. It’s not always about what’s there—it’s about what’smissing. The absence of evidence can be just as telling as its presence. A fingerprint here, a piece of clothing there—small things that, when pieced together or absent, form a narrative that might be entirely false.”
Colton nodded, perhaps sensing the impact her testimony was having. The jurors seemed captivated. “Detective Grimshaw, based on your expertise, would you say it’s possible someone framed my client for a murder she didn’t commit?”
Samantha’s gaze was piercing when she looked at me, then at the jury. “Absolutely. It’s not just possible—it’s highly probable. You don’t have a motive,” she said, counting on her fingers, “you have a conveniently available murder weapon with the defendant’s fingerprints on it, but no prints at the scene and no DNA anywhere in that hotel suite, no fibers—not even hair. As I said, it’s also about what’s missing.”
Colton smiled. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
Mitchell rose and fastened his jacket, approaching the stand with a spring in his step that promised nothing good. “Just two questions, Detective Grimshaw. In your opinion, what kind of person would frame another for murder?”
She frowned and hesitated a little before answering. “People with the right knowledge and resources can make it look like someone did something they never even thought about doing. And when the motive isn’t clear, it makes it that much easier to pull off.”
“And that could very well include the defendant, correct?”
The expert’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked at the judge, seemingly confused.
Colton jumped from his seat. “Objection, Your Honor. Calls for speculation.”
“Overruled. Let’s hear Detective Grimshaw’s opinion,” the judge said.
“Could you please clarify the question?” she asked Mitchell.
“Is it possible that the defendant, Olivia Taylor, had one of these deeply hidden motives you previously referenced, and decided to make it appear as if someone was framing her?”
“You’re asking if I believe it’s possible she framed herself for this murder, to deflect responsibility?”
“Yes, Detective Grimshaw. Do you believe the defendant could’ve framed herself?”
She looked at me and Colton with a hint of regret in her eyes. “Yes, I believe it’s possible. But that doesn’t—”
“Thank you, Ms. Grimshaw. No more questions.”
The courtroom reeled, rumbled, and shuffled, but I wasn’t paying attention. I felt as if someone had lifted me up, twisted me in the air, and stabbed me in the back on the way down. The glimmer of hope brought by Detective Grimshaw had been shredded to bits, and the bits set on fire.
Later that night, while Colton finally slept after preparing Claire’s testimony, I kept obsessing about her, digging into her past, and watching that mall video again and again.
It was the third glass of vodka that made me see it, in the same place where I’d looked a thousand times before and hadn’t.
The one thing I’d missed.
54
Claire
Things could still go terribly wrong with Claire’s testimony, even if Colton and I had been up since four, planning every question and mapping every possible reply she could give on the stand.
Even if I’d figured out how she’d snuck out of that apparel store.
She could still bring up the ransom, and that would turn the jury against me—if there was anyone left who still believed I hadn’t murdered Winston. The NDA she’d signed would only go so far; the court could compel her to disclose information if she hinted at something relevant.
I’d fueled myself with strong, bitter coffee and taken a cold shower to stay alert. I hadn’t been sleeping much, and last night’s drinking hadn’t helped. Billy Ray had been quick to tell me I stank of booze. He’d also made me an omelet, but I hadn’t eaten more than a mouthful.
I was a nervous wreck.
In the courtroom, rising for the judge, I felt a bit dizzy and steadied myself by holding on to the defense table. I took a drink of water from the bottle in front of me and smiled in response to Colton’s quizzical look. I was fine. Well, I wasn’t, but I had to be.
“Good morning, everyone,” the judge said. “Let’s get right to it. Mr. Blake? Any more witnesses?”
“Yes, Your Honor. The defense would like to call Claire Donovan.”
