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No, Agent Viotto looked pissed. He had his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed, and she even caught him shaking his head ever so slightly. After a curt word or two from his partner, Viotto loosened his jaw and reset his face, but Cassie could still see the anger in his eyes.
“Ms. Bolton will now take your questions.”
Davenport stepped back from the podium while Grayson’s publicist thanked him and adjusted the microphone to her height. She scanned the crowd of reporters, all of whom were shouting and raising their hands in unison. She pointed to one with a long, crimson nail.
“Does the Senator have a statement?”
“Not at this time.” Her voice was firm and not unkind, but there was something unsettling in it. “As you can imagine, Senator Grayson and his wife are devastated. They ask that you give them some privacy at this time.”
More shouting. More raising of hands. She pointed at another reporter.
“Does Senator Grayson plan to continue his run for president?”
Ms. Bolton smiled tightly. “His presidential run is not on his mind at the moment, but I have not heard of any talk that would lead me to believe he has changed his mind. I would imagine Senator Grayson would be even more interested in making sure no one else experiences the pain he is going through right now.”
Another crimson nail picked out the next question.
“Senator Grayson has a history of being tough on crime, especially with drug-related charges. Will his son’s death inspire him to propose new laws to prevent something like this from happening again?”
This seemed to be the question Ms. Bolton had been waiting for. She stood a little taller, and Cassie caught a sparkle in her eye. “I have not spoken to Senator Grayson about specifics, but I have worked closely with him over the last few years and would like to imagine how he would answer this question. Senator Grayson feels strongly about keeping our streets safe, both here in North Carolina and across the country. The percentage of violent offenses involving drugs has risen in recent years, and it is Senator Grayson’s ultimate goal and responsibility to combat these tragedies. I do not believe his mind will have changed on the subject after the passing of his son. I am not aware of any specific pieces of legislation the Senator will want to work on, but I can guarantee he will write them with a heartfelt hope that no one will ever have to experience what he is going through right now. Thank you for your time.”
Ms. Bolton left the podium before anyone could ask another question. She, the local detective, and the two FBI agents walked back into the police building without looking back, but Cassie could still sense Agent Viotto’s frustration in the tightness of his face and position of his shoulders.
The news cut back to the side-by-side spread of the station news anchor and the reporter on the scene. A mugshot of Anthony Jamal Lewis appeared on the screen as well. He was a Black man not much older than Connor. His hair was in cornrows, and Cassie could feel the anger and pain hidden behind his dark eyes, forever trapped in time by the photograph.
“We’re still learning about Anthony Lewis’ checkered past,” the news anchor said. “But for now, let’s go through the details of the case we’re certain of. Nicole?”
Judy turned the volume down. “That poor family. They just lost their son, and all everyone can talk about is politics.” She handed the remote to Laura and stood up. “I need some air.”
She left the room before either of them could say anything.
“What do you think?” Laura asked, nodding toward the TV. “Does it match up with what you saw?”
“The shooting? Yes.” Cassie looked back to the TV, back to the picture of the man they’d arrested for murder. “But that’s not the man who shot the Senator’s son.”
Laura’s eyes grew wide. “How do you know?”
“The man in my vision? The one who pulled the trigger?” Cassie could hear the gunshot in her mind, just as loud and final as the first time. “I didn’t see his face, but I did see his hand. He was white. Anthony Lewis didn’t kill Connor Grayson.”
The air hung heavy with revelation. It was a moment before Cassie could find her words again.
“They’ve got the wrong guy.”
18
For the first time since she arrived in Charlotte, Cassie allowed herself to remember what the city used to mean to her. Family vacations. Museums and parks and eating ice cream unti
l she thought she’d explode. It was their home away from home when she was younger, and now she hardly recognized it.
That said more about her than it did about the city. For centuries, Charlotte had adapted and grown and changed. This would continue in the years to come. Maybe she’d get to witness a part of that now that her parents had chosen it as their permanent residence.
But that was only if she could find a way to open up to her parents without getting committed to a mental institution.
Despite her love of the city and an urge to revisit all her favorite haunts Uptown, Cassie had popped out of the house under the guise of doing some shopping while she was in town. But she was really after a face-to-face with someone she hoped would hear her out.
Cassie had been sitting in the police station parking lot for two hours before she spotted Agent Viotto leaving the building. She’d left after breakfast and was hoping she’d catch the younger agent on his lunch break. She’d prepared herself to deal with him and his partner, but her plan would be much easier to enact if she could get Viotto on his own.
His partner looked like the skeptical type.
