Chapter 53
Jackson County Superior Court
Thursday Afternoon
“All rise.”
The jurors filed back in, eyes skimming the room the way they always did after a break—taking the temperature, checking the tables.
Eleanor stood as they settled, hands resting lightly on the defense table.
Judge Harlan looked toward her.
“Ms. Harper,” he said, “you may call your first witness.”
She pushed back from the table and stood, shoulders squared.
“The defense calls Mark Ellison, Your Honor.”
A faint ripple went through the gallery. Across the aisle, Reid’s pen stilled above his legal pad.
A man in his late thirties stood from the back row and made his way down the center aisle. Work boots, clean jeans, a collared shirt that didn’t quite know what to do with a tie. He kept his eyes on the floor until he reached the witness stand.
“Raise your right hand, please,” the clerk said.
He 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.”
He sat, shifting once in the chair.
Eleanor stepped to the lectern.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Ellison.”
“Afternoon,” he said.
“Would you please state your name for the record?”
“Mark Ellison.”
“Mr. Ellison, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a framer. Construction.”
“Did you at one time work for Mercer Construction?”
He swallowed.
“Yeah.”
“For how long?”
“Off and on… five years, I guess.”
“And who owned Mercer Construction?”
“David,” Ellison said. “David Mercer.”
Eleanor nodded once.
“Mr. Ellison, earlier in this trial you testified for the State. Do you remember that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You told this jury that back when Caroline Simms was missing, you saw David Mercer taking down missing-person posters. Correct?”
His fingers tightened on the armrest.
“Yes.”
She let the word sit for a beat.
“Mr. Ellison,” she said more quietly, “was that true?”
A flush crept up his neck.
He glanced, once, toward the gallery where a couple of his current coworkers sat, then looked back at the jury.
“No,” he said finally. “Not the way I made it sound.”
Across the aisle, Reid’s jaw tightened once.
Then his expression went blank again.
“Help us understand,” Eleanor said. “What did you actually see?”
“There was a bulletin board at the hardware store,” he said. “They’d put those flyers up with her picture. I saw somebody there, late one night, pullin’ a handful of ’em down and stuffin’ ’em in a bag.”
“Did you see that person’s face?”
“No.”
“Did you see that person’s truck?”
He hesitated.
“There was a white pickup parked out front,” he said. “Mercer Construction decal on the door.”
“Did you see who got out of that truck?”
“No,” Ellison admitted. “Just saw it there.”
Eleanor nodded slowly.
“Mr. Ellison,” she said, “when you talked to the podcast host, and later to law enforcement, did you tell them you actually saw David Mercer’s face taking those posters down?”
He stared at the rail in front of him.
“I… yeah,” he said. “I said it was him.”
“Why?”
He let out a breath that sounded more like a sigh than an exhale.
“I was mad at him,” he said. “And once people started listenin’… I didn’t back off like I should’ve.”
“Mr. Ellison,” Eleanor said, “when the podcast came calling, did you tell them more than you actually knew?”
His shoulders slumped.
“Yes.”
“What you really saw was a person at a bulletin board and a white company truck. What you told people was, ‘I saw David Mercer taking those posters down.’”
“Yes.”
“Because you were angry.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve never seen David Mercer harm, Caroline Simms.”
“No.”
“You’ve never seen him lay a hand on her.”
“No.”
“You never went to the sheriff’s office back then and said, ‘I saw him take those down.’”
“No,” he said. “Didn’t say nothin’ ’til the podcast.”
Eleanor let the jury look at him for a moment—at the slumped shoulders, the shame.
“Mr. Ellison,” she said, “was it fair to tell this jury what you told them the first time?”
His face went red.
“No, ma’am,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
“Nothing further,” Eleanor said.
She stepped back.
Reid rose, walked to the lectern, and kept his questions short.
“Mr. Ellison,” he said, “did anyone from the district attorney’s office tell you to lie?”
“No.”
“Did anyone from law enforcement suggest you say you saw David’s face?”
“No.”
“You told them what you told them on your own.”
“Yes.”
He nodded once.
“No further questions.”
“Mr. Ellison, you may step down,” Judge Harlan said.
The witness left the stand, shoulders hunched, and slipped back into the gallery.
Judge Harlan turned to the defense table.
“Ms. Harper?”
Eleanor rose again.
“The defense calls Margaret Mercer, Your Honor.”
A stir moved through the back rows as Margaret pushed herself up from the pew. She smoothed her skirt with hands that trembled enough to notice before she walked to the stand.
She raised her right hand, was sworn in, and sat gingerly, fingers curling around the edge of the witness chair.
Eleanor stepped closer, softening her voice.
“Mrs. Mercer, would you please state your name for the record?”
“Margaret Ann Mercer,” she said. “Folks call me Margaret. Or MiMi.”
“And how are you related to the defendant, David Mercer?”
“He’s my son.”
She glanced toward the defense table, then back at the jury.
“Mrs. Mercer,” Eleanor said, “I want to talk to you about the time after Caroline Simms disappeared. Is that okay?”
Margaret’s throat worked.
“I’ll try,” she said.
“When Caroline went missing,” Eleanor continued, “did you see missing-person posters around town?”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “At the grocery store. The hardware. Church bulletin board. Everywhere.”
“Did that upset you?”
Tears glimmered at the corners of her eyes.
“It… it broke my heart,” she said. “Seein’ her face everywhere. Knowin’ my grandson was gonna keep seein’ it too. And people lookin’ at us like…” She trailed off, pressing her lips together.
“Like what?” Eleanor asked gently.
“Like we did somethin’ to her,” Margaret whispered. “Like my boy did.”
A hush fell over the room.
“Mrs. Mercer,” Eleanor said, “those posters came down at some point. The jury has heard testimony suggesting that David took them down. Did he?”
Margaret shook her head. “No.”
“Did you ever see who did?”
Margaret hesitated. Her fingers twisted together in her lap.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
She looked down at her hands.
“I did,” she whispered.
A murmur moved through the gallery.
Judge Harlan rapped his gavel once. “Order.”
Eleanor held Margaret’s gaze.
“Who?”
Margaret drew in a shaky breath.
“Me,” she said.
“Would you tell the jury about that?”
“I was at the Food Lion one mornin’,” she said. “There was a flyer right by the entrance. Caroline’s picture. Davie was still a baby, but he knew faces. He pointed at it and said, ‘Mama.’”
Her voice wavered.
“I just… reached up and yanked it off that board,” she said. “Folded it so fast I tore the corner clean through her smile. Stuck it in my purse like that would fix somethin’.”
She blinked hard.
“He was too little to understand where she’d gone, but he knew her face,” she said. “And I thought… if he keeps seein’ that, if everybody keeps seein’ that, he’s never gonna be ‘Davie’ to them. He’s always gonna be ‘that poor boy whose mama disappeared.’”
“More than one?”
“At first,” she said. “But then I saw another. At the pharmacy. At the bulletin board at the hardware. I started takin’ those too. Only the ones in places we went all the time. Where Davie’d see ’em. Where David had to walk in and feel everyone lookin’ at him.”
“Did you tell David you were doing that?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I knew he’d fuss at me. Tell me to put ’em back. He… he wanted answers. I wanted… a little peace. For him. For the boy.”
“Did you take down every missing-person poster for Caroline in Jackson County?”
She shook her head.
“No. Just some. Felt like there were always more. But if I saw one where I knew Davie’d be…” She shrugged helplessly. “I couldn’t stand it.”
“Mrs. Mercer,” Eleanor said, “did anyone from law enforcement ever ask you, back then, whether you’d taken those posters down?”
“No.”
“Did you ever volunteer that information to the sheriff’s office?”
“No,” she whispered. “I thought it’d just make things worse. Thought they’d say I was hinderin’ somethin’. I was just… I was tryin’ to protect my family.”
“Did David ever tell you to interfere with the search for Caroline in any way?”
“No.”
“Did he ever tell you he wanted the posters gone?”
“No. Never.”
Eleanor let the jurors see Margaret’s face for a long heartbeat—grief and shame and fierce, misguided love all tangled together.
“Mrs. Mercer,” she said finally, “looking back now, do you regret taking those posters down?”
“Yes,” Margaret said, voice breaking. “If they think it means my boy did somethin’—yes. I’d put ’em all back if I could. I… I couldn’t bear seein’ her face and knowin’ we’d lost her, and seein’ the way folks treated him. And Davie.”
She wiped at her cheek with the edge of her knuckle.
“But he didn’t take ’em down,” she said. “That was me.”
Eleanor nodded once.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
She returned to the defense table.
Reid rose slowly, walked to the lectern. His questions were precise, his tone controlled.
“Mrs. Mercer,” he said, “no one forced you to take those posters down, did they?”
“No.”
“You did that on your own.”
“Yes.”
“And you knew, even then, that people might see that as interfering with efforts to find Caroline.”
“I… I didn’t think it through,” she said. “But I guess so, yes.”
“You never told Mr. Mercer’s lawyers until now.”
“No.”
He nodded slightly.
“But to be very clear”—he paused, letting his gaze sweep the jury—“David never asked you to take them down.”
“No,” she said. “He didn’t.”
“And you’ve never seen him harm Caroline Simms.”
“Never,” she said firmly, some steel under the tears now. “He loved that girl. They fought, but he loved her. And he loves that boy.”
Reid held her eyes for a second, then turned back toward the bench.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Mrs. Mercer, you may step down,” Judge Harlan said.
Margaret rose carefully from the chair, cast one quick look toward her son at the defense table, then made her way back to the gallery.
Eleanor slid the next file from the stack and looked across the aisle for the first time all afternoon.
Reid was already watching her.
Looking at her the way he always had in a courtroom—
like she was the most dangerous thing in it.
And maybe she was.
For the first time since opening statements, the State’s case no longer felt inevitable.
Eleanor Harper was only getting started.