Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
VON
Grayson and Mr. Sanderson arrive around three o’clock in the morning.
For an old man, he’s remarkably sharp at this early hour. He’s a stout, hearty sort of guy, with thinning gray hair and keen blue eyes. He stomps into the house and gazes around the foyer.
“Last time I was here was at that party,” he says. When he looks at me, I see the sincerity in his gaze. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say.
“Oh please, call me Bob. Where’s Noah?”
“In the sunroom. This way.”
Noah is dozing on the couch but leaps to his feet when he sees Mr. Sanderson. The two of them embrace as Grayson hands me a USB drive.
“It’s all there,” he says triumphantly. “This gentleman has officially saved Noah’s cute little butt.”
“If I had known, I would have come back sooner,” Mr. Sanderson is saying to Noah.
“You’re here now,” Noah says. “That’s what counts.”
“How could anyone think you had anything to do with that awful business?” Mr. Sanderson says as I open my computer and plug in the drive. “The sheriff trained you himself!”
Noah shrugs. “People will believe what they want to believe, I guess.”
Mr. Sanderson scoffs. I click on the folder that appears on the screen and find the file with the correct date. June twenty-second. With my heart in my throat, I open it.
There’s Magnolia Bay, glittering in the early morning sun. I can see the prow of a little boat, as well as the banks of the bay, lined with trees. Mr. Sanderson keeps zooming in on various spots. I fast forward a bit, then Grayson says, “Stop.”
I click play and the camera zooms out. I can hear Mr. Sanderson saying, “Darn, thought I saw it.” Then he pans across the trees and zooms out a bit more. “Looks like Noah Patterson is up early too,” he says as the camera lands on Noah, standing at the end of his dock, just like he said. His hands are in his pockets, and he gazes across the water with a thoughtful expression. His clothes are neat, his posture relaxed. He doesn’t look like he’s just come running from a crime scene, that’s for certain.
I check the timestamp on the video.
6:22 am.
There is simply no way whatsoever that Noah could have been at Everton to shoot my mother at 6:24.
And now we’ve got the cold, hard evidence to prove it.
We enter the courtroom the next morning and I walk over to the prosecution table.
“I have a new witness,” I say, handing him a slip of paper .
Wilbur glances at it and frowns. “Robert Sanderson?”
“All rise,” the bailiff says, and I return to the defense table. I see Wilbur turn to his second chair, obviously confused as to who Mr. Sanderson is and what testimony he might have to offer.
Judge Warner takes his seat and nods in my direction. “Miss Everton, you may call your first witness.”
“Thank you, your honor. The defense calls Robert Sanderson.”
The gallery erupts in whispers. Mr. Sanderson was a beloved member of the community—Noah was telling me last night how sad people were when he moved away. Jake is grinning, seated beside Mrs. Greerson who clearly knows something is up as she nudges him hard with her elbow. My family is giving me a range of looks, from stern (Dad) to confused (Finn) to hopeful (Daisy).
Mr. Sanderson takes the oath and settles into the witness box.
“Mr. Sanderson, how long did you live in Magnolia Bay?” I begin.
“I was born here,” he says proudly. “My mother was a teacher at Magnolia Bay High School and my father worked at the old shoe factory before it closed down in the eighties. I moved to Florida a year ago to be closer to my daughter and grandchildren.”
“So you know the people of the town well,” I say.
“Very well. This community has always been a second family to me. That’s why I left Jake Stein the Crooked Screw—that’s the wine bar I used to own. Jake worked there for many years. He was like my own grandson.” He gives Jake a nod and a smile.
“Did you know the defendant, Noah Patterson?”
“I did indeed. A fine young man.”
“Mr. Sanderson, where were you on the morning of June twenty-second, the morning Marion Everton was murdered?”
“I was out on the bay in my boat,” he says. “Looking for a Lazuli Bunting. It’s a rare bird,” he explains to the jury. “Not seen in Long Island for years and years. I was hoping to catch a glimpse. I’m an avid birder. ”
“And what method were you using to capture the sighting of this bird?”
“I had my video camera with me,” Mr. Sanderson says jovially. “I record all my birding excursions.”
I hold up the USB drive. “Your honor, I would like to enter this video recording into evidence.”
“Objection, your honor,” Wilbur says, leaping to his feet. “How do we know this video is authentic?”
“Mr. Sanderson himself is here to authenticate it,” I say. “But if you would like to have someone from your office examine it, we’ve made copies and are happy to turn over the original as well.”
I hand him another USB drive.
“I—well,” Wilbur stammers.
The judge shifts in his seat as the jury’s eyes ping back and forth among the three of us. There’s nothing more compelling than video and I can sense the judge knows that denying the entry of this evidence is a bridge too far, even for someone with his level of bias. It would get overturned on appeal and even lead to a censure. Not a good look for someone running for reelection.
“Objection overruled,” he says.
I hand the original drive to Grayson and he plugs it into his computer so that it projects onto the screen for the jury to see.
“Mr. Sanderson, is this the video you took the morning of June twenty-second?”
“It is,” he says confidently. “You can see the time and date stamp there at the bottom.”
I nod at Grayson. The video starts. When Noah appears on the screen, there’s a collective gasp from everyone in the courtroom. The judge bangs his gavel for silence.
“Mr. Sanderson,” I continue, my pulse kicking up a notch. There’s nothing like this feeling, the adrenaline of victory. “What does the timestamp say at this moment in the video?”
“Six twenty-two am,” he declares .
“And to your knowledge, at what time was my mother was shot?” I ask. I told him last night, and the time of death has already been presented to the jury by the coroner.
“I have been told it was at six twenty-four am.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, then I turn to the judge. “Your honor, I move for an immediate dismissal of all charges. There is simply no possible way my client could have committed the crime of which he was accused. Unless he has somehow developed the ability to time travel, he could not have been in the Everton backyard at six twenty-four am to shoot my mother when he was on his own dock, a seven-minute drive away, only two minutes prior.”
I can feel the courtroom holding its breath. The judge is looking at the video in consternation. He glances at Wilbur, who is utterly nonplussed. I see Wilbur briefly look behind him and meet eyes with Sheriff Briggs. The sheriff’s face is slack with shock.
“Mr. Jenkins?” the judge says. “Have you any objection to raise?”
“I…I…” Wilbur struggles for a moment. He knows he’s beaten. He has no valid objections, so his choices are go to verdict—which he’ll lose—or attempt to salvage this situation on cross. Which he can’t. A video doesn’t lie.
He gives up. “No, your honor.”
Judge Warner seems to chew on this for a moment. I know he’s also weighing the options. But his choices are the same as Wilbur’s. And even if he were to somehow try and strongarm a guilty verdict, I’d win on appeal in a heartbeat, and he would lose all credibility. I hold my breath, my heart in my throat.
“In light of this new evidence, the court approves the defense’s motion,” the judge says coldly. “The case against Noah Patterson is dismissed!”
He bangs the gavel down with unnecessary force and then hurries out of the courtroom as the gallery erupts in cheers. Before I know it, we’re swarmed. Caden is thumping Noah on the back as Daisy lets out a sob and throws her arms around him. Isla’s eyes glisten with tears as she hugs me and Charlotte comes running up to us shouting, “You fucking did it!”
The one person I want to hold right now is being pulled farther and farther away—Noah is engulfed by friends and family, his grandfather openly sobbing as Mrs. Greerson hands him a tissue and pats his arm, Jake and Linda May and Cody all congratulating him. Mr. Sanderson is in enthusiastic conversation with Dev and Reggie, as Dev wipes tears from his eyes. I steal a glance at the sheriff, crowded with some other deputies around Wilbur, all talking in hushed tones with angry faces. Wilbur catches my eye and gives me a tight nod. The sheriff barks at his son as Cody slinks away from the celebrations with flushed cheeks. Mike Cochran glares at Noah from the gallery, so I guess that grudge is still alive and well.
Cameras click as reporters shout questions at us. I see Everly Harris, looking dumbfounded. Noah pushes his way through the crowd, his face alight with joy and relief. The flecks of gold in his brown eyes sparkle as he reaches me, his smile stretching so wide it threatens to break his cheeks.
“It’s over,” he says breathlessly. “You did it.”
“ We did it,” I correct him.
His hair fall across his forehead, his chest heaving and my whole body aches for him. For this incredible man who always believed in me, who has been through so much and yet never lost his faith or his kindness or his compassion. Whose name I have actually cleared. People jostle around us and I feel such a rush of love for Noah, and a wild recklessness, to be who I really am, like Grayson said. I don’t need Phillips, Brace, and Horowitz anymore. I don’t need to be beholden to the life I thought I was meant to be living. I get to choose.
And I choose Noah.
I grab him by the lapels of his handmade Italian gray suit, that fits his frame so perfectly, and pull him toward me .
Our mouths crash against each other as Noah wraps his arms around me. A sudden cry of wolf whistles and “ooohs!” come from our well-wishers and cameras flash more intensely as reporters gasp at this public display.
When we pull apart, Noah is flushed and somehow smiling even wider.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” he murmurs in my ear.
“I’m tired of hiding,” I murmur back.
“Me too,” he says. Then his eyes widen. “But…Von, what about your job?”
“Fuck that job,” I say, grinning at him. “I’ve got a new plan.” Another idea strikes me. “And there’s something I want to run by you.” I glance behind him, at Caden, who is looking like he’s just been hit over the head with a two by four. “But we’ll talk later,” I say. “I think right now, Caden might need CPR.”
Noah whirls around. Isla is beaming.
“I knew it,” she says. “I knew there was something going on between you two!”
“You did?” Caden asks, dazed. “Noah, you…and Von…you…you two are…”
“I wanted to tell you,” Noah explains. “We couldn’t, with the trial going on.”
“W—when?” Caden stammers. “ How? I don’t…You don’t even like each other!”
“He’ll get used to it,” Isla reassures me quietly. “I think he just needs a second.”
My father comes up to us and extends his hand. “Congratulations, young man.”
“Thank you, sir,” Noah says. “Thank you so much for the support.”
Dad turns to me. He takes a deep breath, then embraces me. I can’t remember the last time my father gave me a hug. “You were exceptional,” he whispers in my ear. “Your mother would have been so proud.” My throat tightens and he releases me. “I’m proud too,” he says.
“Thanks, Dad,” I say.
“Come on, guys,” Charlotte says, rushing over. “Jake’s throwing a party at the Screw. Drinks on the house. Let’s celebrate! And you two can tell me the whole story about when this,” she gestures up and down in our direction, “happened.” Her jaw drops. “Wait, is this why you looked so upset when you thought Noah and I were together?”
I laugh. “Maybe.”
Noah slips his hand into mine. “Ready?” he asks.
I beam. “Let’s go.”
We leave the courtroom, ignoring the reporters, encased in a bubble of friends and family, and I’ve never felt more a part of anything in my life.
I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
And I know just what I’m going to do next.