Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
NOAH
Forty minutes later, I find myself outside the house, flanked by Alistair and Pop. Von stands in front of us, in a newly donned, paw-print-free skirt, with Grayson at her shoulder.
The cluster of reporters wait breathlessly, cameras and microphones pointed in our direction. Alistair gathered them around, cracked some well-placed jokes, and introduced Von. He seems completely at ease in front of the cameras. I wish I had that gift. I try to keep my face neutral. When I told Von I could look friendly and non-threatening, I thought she was going to slap me.
“You will be a blank slate,” she snapped. “Friendly comes across as creepy. Non-threatening will look like you don’t care about the stakes here. What will you be?”
“A blank slate,” I grumbled.
So here I am. Blank.
Even as my pulse pounds at the back of my throat.
“Good morning,” Von says. “As many of you know, I’m Siobhan Everton and this is my associate, Grayson Ling. We will be representing Noah Patterson in the murder of Marion Everton. Yes, Marion was my mother. And yes, I believe Noah is innocent of this crime. However, there have been tawdry and downright inappropriate rumors circulating about a possible romantic relationship between Noah and my younger sister, Daisy. Let me state right here and now, these rumors are categorically and unequivocally false. Noah is a close family friend, and Daisy was at the arraignment purely to show her support. My family and I look forward to resolving this matter quickly and proving Noah’s innocence so that the police can focus on finding the real murderer. Every day this charade continues is another day the true killer is at large.”
“Siobhan! Siobhan!” the voices shout at her.
“What evidence do you have that leads you to believe Noah is innocent?”
“I’m not going to discuss defense strategy at this time,” Von says. “But the prosecution’s case is weak and circumstantial.”
“What about the fingerprint?”
“One fingerprint on a shell casing that should have been found five years ago is not compelling if you ask me,” Von says disdainfully. “And the technology used to lift that print is relatively new and highly controversial.”
Is it? I didn’t know that. I trust the labs. I wonder what Von has found out about it. My spirits lift—that print is the only piece of hard evidence in this case.
I quickly dull that thought because Von will eviscerate me if I she finds out I’m looking hopeful right now.
“Have you spoken to the prosecutor about a plea?”
Von’s eyes flash. “As I said, Noah is innocent. Innocent men do not make deals.”
“When will the judge set a trial date?”
“We are still waiting for him to make a decision on that, but?—”
Suddenly, three police cars pull up to the house, fronting my lawn and boxing the reporters in. Grayson and Von exchange the barest of surprised glances as the reporters swivel their attention toward the sheriff, storming through the crowd toward us.
“Sheriff Briggs! Sheriff Briggs!”
“Have you found more evidence?”
The sheriff ignores them and thrusts a piece of paper at Von. I know what it is before he says it.
“Search warrant,” Sheriff Briggs announces. Von glances at it then passes it to Grayson.
“Have at it,” she says, gesturing back to the house. “My client has nothing to hide.”
Sheriff Briggs nods to his men—my former colleagues, my former friends. Falco won’t even look at me as he hurries past. Cindy Watson gives me a suspicious glance. Only Derek looks uneasy at being assigned to tear apart my house.
Even though Von is right—I don’t have anything to hide—this makes me nervous. I don’t like the thought of them invading my privacy. Looking through my room. Looking through Pop’s things. I feel exposed.
“Oh, and by the way,” the sheriff adds, “Judge Warner requests your presence. He’s ready to set a court date.”
Grayson’s eyes shoot up his forehead but Von keeps her cool. “Thank you, Sheriff,” is all she says. As soon as he’s gone inside, she leans in and hisses to Grayson, “Stay here and keep an eye on things.”
Grayson nods.
“We need to go,” she says to me.
“What about the search?” I ask. “What about Pop?”
Forget trying to be a blank slate—I can’t leave my grandfather here on his own.
“I’ll be here with him,” Grayson says. “Don’t worry.”
But that’s all I am right now. One giant ball of worry. I should have known a search warrant was coming. But it’s like seeing my job through the looking glass. Everything is distorted. It all feels unreal.
Von turns back to the reporters. “That will be all for today. Thank you.”
Reporters shout questions at us as Von shuttles me toward the town car, Alistair trailing in our wake. I get in the backseat with Von as Alistair takes the front.
“The courthouse, Alex,” Von says tartly.
The press surrounds us as we pull out of the drive, then I turn to see about half of them jump in their vans or cars.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Von is shaking her head. “This is highly unusual. And I mean highly .”
“Can someone please explain to those of us who didn’t go to law school?” Alistair says.
“Using the sheriff to summon us to court? In front of the press, no less? What’s this judge playing at?”
A knot begins to form in the pit of my stomach. “Judge Warner loves attention,” I say.
Von’s head snaps toward me. “You said he hated showboating.”
“From lawyers,” I tell her. “But he’s the type who loves to see his picture in the society pages of the Bee or give press interviews.” My palms start to sweat. “I bet he’ll allow cameras in the courtroom.”
“We’ll file a motion,” Von says.
I’m shaking my head. I’ve never had a bad interaction with Judge Warner. We’ve always been professional with each other. But I’ve never been a defendant in front of him. I guess he just can’t resist the thought of all this publicity.
“We’re heading into an election year,” I say morosely. What better way to make a splash than by locking up the murderer of Marion Everton. It’s Magnolia Bay’s most famous cold case. My heart sprints in my chest. This isn’t the way things are meant to go. A defendant is meant to get a fair shot. That’s what I’ve always believed.
“Goddammit,” Von mutters.
Thankfully we reach the courthouse before the press can catch us. When we get inside, the judge’s clerk is waiting for us.
“Judge Warner will see you in his chambers,” she says. “This way.”
We follow her down a different hall, to an office just off the courtroom. There are diplomas on the wall and family photos on his desk, along with a photograph of him and Sheriff Briggs shaking hands and smiling. The judge is sitting behind the desk, a pair of bifocals perched on his nose. Wilbur is already here.
“Good afternoon,” the judge says.
“Good afternoon, your honor,” Von replies.
“Let’s get to it, shall we,” Judge Warner says without preamble. “You know Wilbur Jenkins.” Wilbur stands and shakes Von’s hand. He’s wearing a navy cardigan and boat shoes, which gives him a country-club-Mr. Rogers vibe. They both take their seats in the chairs opposite the desk, leaving me to hover against the wall. The judge glances at me once, and I feel a chill run down my spine.
“In the matter of the People v. Noah Patterson,” Judge Warner says, “a trial date is set for December fifteenth.”
Von nods. “Let me just check my calendar for next year.”
“You misunderstand me, young lady,” Judge Warner says sternly. “I mean, December fifteenth of this year.”
There’s a shocked silence from the two of us on the defense side. This year? This year? Wilbur, I notice, looks unsurprised. Almost like he knew this was going to be the judge’s decision.
“But…your honor…” For the first time probably ever, Von looks unnerved. “That’s only a little under four months away.”
The judge peers down at her through his glasses. “I would imagine, given your family’s resources and your firm’s reputation, that this timetable would not pose an issue. ”
Not pose an issue? Is he insane? I’ve never seen a trial date set so quickly and certainly never in a case as serious as murder.
Von recovers quickly. “Your honor, I would like to make a motion for a change of venue.”
“You may file all the motions you wish,” Judge Warner says, looking at his calendar. “You have three weeks. I will review all the motions by September twenty-third. After that, we will proceed to trial in a timely fashion.”
“New York state law allows forty-five days to file pretrial motions,” Von points out.
He takes off his glasses and folds his hands together on the desk. “Are you saying you will not be prepared to file your motions by September the twenty-third? I was under the impression you were a competent lawyer. But perhaps the standards have been lowered at Phillips, Brace, and Horowitz since last I checked.”
Von’s gaze burns hot enough to melt metal as she stares down the judge.
“The people have no issue with this timeline,” Wilbur says. “We will be ready with all our motions by the date your honor has set.” I always thought of Wilbur as steadfast, if a bit full of bluster. Now, he seems like a pompous ass, sitting there with a smug little smile. Like this is some kind of game.
Von’s jaw tics. “I would not wish for any verdict to be overturned on appeal due to lack of proper defense. Or judicial bias.”
Judge Warner’s face goes cold. Even Wilbur shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Von, however, holds her own without flinching. Her features are delicate, high cheekbones, full lips, narrow chin. But beneath that radiates something aggressive, something powerful, almost hungry for a challenge. I feel that same tightening in my stomach again.
“Very well.” Judge Warner leans back in his chair and glowers. “I would not want to give even the appearance of bias.” Yeah, right. “You have your forty-five days, Ms. Everton. I will see you back here in October.”