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And therein lies the rub.
“You were a brilliant student, Finley. An incredible assistant district attorney.” Michaels sipped her tea. “I’ve watched you. You have the ability and the opportunity to make significant change. Grab that opportunity and don’t let go. Be the person who understands that sometimes the law doesn’t protect us and we have to protect ourselves. Make the difference for those who are powerless to protect themselves from the very law that should have protected them.”
The words seared through Finley like fire roaring in her blood. The flow of offhanded comments District Attorney Briggs had made about Carson Dempsey, about how he was too powerful and had done too much for the community to be touched, poured through Finley’s brain. Briggs was one of those people who didn’t see the difference ... who would nevermakea difference because the status quo suited him.
“You understand, Finley,” Michaels went on, drawing her back to the conversation. “I know you do. Ask yourself if crossing certain lines—under certain circumstances—makes one a monster.” She gave her head a shake. “I don’t think so.”
Finley understood perfectly. Just maybe she wasn’t a monster.
31
6:00 p.m.
The Murder House
Shelby Avenue, Nashville
Finley sat in her car for a while after parking in her driveway. She’d gone back to the office and filled Jack in on the meeting, including the much-deserved compliment from the professor. Jack had news for her as well. Ventura had called to say he had officially eliminated Winthrop as a suspect and would be focusing on finding Lena Marsh. Additionally, Winthrop’s personal attorney had shown up with the news that his client no longer required Jack’s services.
Finley wasn’t surprised by the news from Ventura. The attorney showing up with a release signed by Winthrop discharging Jack’s firm from further obligation was no real surprise either. According to Jack, the guy had poured on the compliments for all their hard work.
Who was he kidding? Winthrop’s team had done most of the legwork to prove their innocence beyond a reasonable doubt.
Except they weren’t entirely innocent. Justified, perhaps.
A call from her source for public transportation had been a bust. No reservations for Lena Marsh or Jessica Lauder. Finley had hopedone or the other would be shortsighted enough to use her real name. No such luck.
Finley had decided at that point she needed to take the rest of the day off. She had intended to head to the hospital to visit Houser, but when she called, the information desk warned that he wasn’t allowed visitors per the chief of police’s orders.
Typically, Finley would not have allowed that to stop her, but just now she wasn’t feeling up to a battle.
So unlike you.
God, she hated that voice.
Maybe that annoying inner voice was trying to tell her something she needed to hear and, more importantly, to heed. More likely it was her visit to Professor Michaels speaking to her.
Finley sat in the car ... stared at the rickety old house in front of her.
What had she become over the past few months? The question had her gut clenching. When she’d left the professor, some part of her had felt vindicated, but that heady feeling had dissipated all too quickly. What she had done was no better or different, really, than what Winthrop had probably done. She couldn’t view Winthrop as a criminal without seeing herself that way. The professor had basically confirmed as much.
But was this the place Finley wanted to be? This in-between place that wasn’t really good or bad, where nothing was ever firm or fixed?
Deep inside, beneath the anger and the pain, it didn’t feel like the place she wanted to be.
How had she fallen so far? When she’d come out of law school, everything had seemed so clear ... so easy. So black and white.
But real life wasn’t clear or easy or black and white, she reminded herself.
Derrick’s murder andthatnight had damaged her ability to see clearly. To find her way through the fog.
Or was she seeing clearly for the first time?
From the DA’s office her view had been the crime ... the criminal. Getting from point A to point B with the least resistance. But now she was looking from the other side, and the views didn’t properly align. There was too much gray ... the place too fluid and rapidly changing.
She got out of her car, walked toward her front porch. The cat stuck his—or her—head from under the glider. Strangely enough, Finley was glad for the animal’s sudden appearance in her life. She wasn’t so sure she liked being alone anymore.
“You still hanging around?”
