Chapter 49
Jackson County Superior Court
The courtroom was already a pressure cooker. She felt the heat of a hundred stares on her back, but kept her gaze fixed on the mahogany.
She didn’t look at Reid.
She couldn’t afford to see if he looked the same.
David Mercer didn’t offer his usual nod. He sat rigid beside her, arms folded, a crumpled printout clenched in one hand.
She caught the headline before he shoved it toward her.
COLLUSION IN COLD BLOOD?
“David,” she said quietly. “Put that away.”
His eyes were hard. “They’re saying you gave Calloway the fill-dirt logs.”
Eleanor went still.
“That’s a lie.”
“Is it?” His voice dropped. “Because from where I’m sitting, my lawyer is sleeping with the man trying to put me in prison.”
The words hit, but she didn’t flinch.
“I am the only thing standing between you and a conviction,” she said, voice cold enough to cut. “If you want to fire me, do it now. Otherwise, sit up, look at the jury, and let me work.”
David stared at her for a long beat.
Then he crushed the paper in his fist and dropped it beside his chair.
“Just win,” he muttered.
His eyes held hers a second longer.
“Because if I go down for this… I’m not going down alone.”
The gavel cracked.
Eleanor stood, spine straight, face calm.
But for the first time, she understood the damage wasn’t just outside the courtroom anymore.
It was sitting beside her.
Across the aisle, Reid was already standing.
He’d removed his jacket. His shirtsleeves were rolled once at the cuffs, legal pad open in front of him, pen aligned precisely along the top edge. From a distance, he looked exactly as he always did in trial: composed, focused, contained.
Except a muscle ticked once in his jaw, a tiny betrayal of strain.
And when the clerk called the case back to order, and Judge Harlan settled behind the bench, Reid didn’t look at her.
Not once.
“All rise.”
They stood.
Sat.
Judge Harlan glanced toward the State’s table.
“Mr. Calloway, you may call your next witness.”
Reid straightened.
“The State calls Katie Martin, Your Honor.”
Her stomach dipped.
Of course, it would be Katie next. As if the morning hadn’t drawn enough blood.
A murmur flickered through the gallery.
Beside Eleanor, David Mercer sat up a little straighter.
The back door opened.
Katie Martin walked down the center aisle, each step stiff with effort. Late twenties, dark hair pulled into a tight ponytail, blouse too light for the air conditioning. She kept her eyes straight ahead as she approached the witness stand.
“Raise your right hand, please,” the clerk said.
Katie did.
“Do you solemnly swear or affirm that the testimony you give in this matter will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”
“I do.”
She sat.
Reid walked to the lectern, yellow pad in hand. When he spoke, his voice was steady—no trace of the alley argument, no hint of photographs or podcast headlines.
“Ms. Martin,” he said, “would you please state your name for the record?”
“Katie Martin.”
“Ms. Martin, you used to live here in Jackson County, correct?”
“Yes. About three years.”
“And you live in Asheville now?”
“Yes.”
Reid nodded once, as if ticking off a box in his mind.
“Ms. Martin, did you have a relationship with the defendant?”
“Yes.”
“During that relationship, did you argue about Caroline Simms and their son?”
Katie’s throat worked.
“All the time. I told him Caroline had a right to leave if she wanted to. He hated that. He’d get quiet. Mean. Start saying nobody was taking his boy away from him.”
“Did he ever threaten you?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Her eyes flicked toward David, then away.
“He said if I kept pushing him, he’d do to me what he did to her.”
A rustle moved through the gallery.
“And when you asked what he meant?”
Katie’s voice roughened.
“He said, ‘I buried her.’”
Silence settled like dust across the room.
Reid let it hang for a beat, then stepped back half a pace.
“Ms. Martin,” he said, “why are you here today?”
She looked at the jurors, then down at her hands.
“Because I should’ve told someone a long time ago,” she said. “Because if I’d done the right thing back then, maybe… maybe this wouldn’t have gone on so long.”
Her throat worked.
“I can’t change what I didn’t do,” she said quietly. “But I can tell the truth now.”
Reid nodded once.
“No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”
He returned to the State’s table, face composed. His gaze brushed past Eleanor’s side of the room without lingering.
Judge Harlan looked toward the defense table.
“Ms. Harper?”
Eleanor rose, tightening her grip on her pen. Her knees felt looser than they should have. She walked to the lectern, every step measured.
Katie watched her with a wary, almost defiant look.
“Ms. Martin,” Eleanor began, her voice calm, “you and I have never met before today. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And you understand that my job is to ask you questions about your testimony.”
Katie nodded once.
“I get it.”
“Good.”
Eleanor folded her hands loosely on the lectern.
“You told the jury that your relationship with Mr. Mercer lasted about eight months.”
“Yes.”
“And that relationship ended… how long ago?”
“About six years ago.”
“So you waited roughly six years before telling anyone in law enforcement about what you say he told you.”
“Yes.”
“You said you’re here today because you ‘should’ve told someone a long time ago.’”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
Katie shifted and smoothed her skirt.
“I was scared,” she said. “And I was stupid.”
“You were also angry,” Eleanor said softly. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Angry at Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“Angry at how the relationship ended?”
Katie’s eyes flashed.
“It wasn’t a good ending,” she said. “No.”
“Angry enough,” Eleanor continued, “that when a certain podcast started talking about David Mercer and Caroline Simms, you reached out to its host.”
A flicker moved across Katie’s face.
“Yes,” she said finally.
“So instead of going to the police, you took your six-year-old secret straight to Lila Grant and Vanished in the Valley. Is that right?”
Katie’s fingers tightened on the edge of the witness stand. “I thought it would be safer,” she said. “And… I wanted people to know what he’d said.”
“People,” Eleanor repeated quietly. “Not the police. Not the district attorney. Not the sheriff. The listeners.”
“That was my mistake,” Katie shot back. “I’m trying to fix it now.”
Eleanor let that sit for a moment.
“I don’t doubt you were afraid, Ms. Martin,” she said. “But emotions can twist a memory, can’t they?”
Reid sat very still at the State’s table, eyes fixed on the witness.
From where she stood, Eleanor could see the tense line of his shoulders, the white edge of his knuckles where his hand rested on the table.
She kept her eyes on the witness anyway.
She did not look at him directly.
“Objection,” Reid said, his voice controlled. “Argumentative.”
The word hit her like ice water. It was the first thing he’d said to her since the alley, and there was nothing in it but distance.
“Overruled,” Judge Harlan said. “You may answer, Ms. Martin.”
Katie’s gaze hardened.
“I remember what he said,” she replied. “Word for word. I hear it every time I try to sleep. That doesn’t change because I was mad or scared.”
Eleanor held her eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
She turned and walked back to the defense table, pulse a steady drum in her ears.
As she passed the State’s table, she felt rather than saw Reid’s head turn the slightest fraction in her direction.
In the gallery, Lila Grant was leaning forward, eyes moving between them with bright, predatory interest.
“She wasn’t watching the witness anymore. She was watching the crack.”
Neither of them spoke.
As she sat, David leaned toward her, keeping his voice low.
“You okay?” he asked, frowning. “What happened out there? You haven’t been the same since you came back in.”
Eleanor kept her eyes on her legal pad.
“I’m fine,” she said.
It was the cleanest lie she’d told all day.
Judge Harlan’s eyes flickered between the two tables, a subtle frown creasing his brow. He’d seen Calloway and Harper spar before, but the air usually crackled with competitive fire.
Today, it just felt like something had already broken.
And it wasn’t finished.