Chapter 54
Jackson County Superior Court
Friday Afternoon
By the time Alan Perez took the stand, the jurors had already heard “Riverbend” so many times it might as well have been a character.
Eleanor needed to change the way they saw it.
Perez was in his late forties, hairline creeping back, a neat ring of keys clipped to his belt. He wore a button-down with the Riverbend HOA logo stitched over the pocket and the expression of a man who would very much rather be anywhere else.
“Mr. Perez,” Eleanor said, “what is your position with the Riverbend Homeowners’ Association?”
“Grounds and maintenance manager,” he said. “I handle common areas—walking trail, playgrounds, that kind of thing.”
“How long have you had that role?”
“Six years.”
“And before that?”
He shifted slightly.
“I was on the maintenance crew,” he said. “Hired on when the first houses started goin’ up. That was… ’09? ’10?”
“So you’ve been working at Riverbend in one capacity or another since shortly after the subdivision began,” Eleanor said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She stepped a little closer to the rail.
“Can you describe the walking trail for the jury?”
Perez nodded.
“It runs along the greenway,” he said. “Starts up by the main entrance, curves behind the houses, then cuts down toward the dog park. Paved the whole way. Like a bike path.”
“Is it open to the public?”
“Yes, ma’am. HOA maintains it, but anybody can use it. Folks walk their dogs, kids ride bikes. We get runners from town, too, ’cause it hooks into the bigger trail system.”
“Over the years you’ve worked there,” Eleanor said, “about how many people would you estimate use that trail in a given week?”
“Hundreds,” he said. “Nice days, you see folks on it all the time. Mornin’ walkers, after-work joggers. Weekend it’s busier.”
Eleanor nodded.
“From your perspective as the person in charge of maintaining that greenway,” she said, “do you have any way to tell this jury who, specifically, left that paved path and went into the tree line over the past eight years?”
“No, ma’am,” Perez said. “There’s no cameras out there, no sign-in. Anyone usin’ the path could’ve stepped off into those trees.”
“Does anyone patrol that trail?”
“Sheriff’s deputies drive through the neighborhood,” he said. “But the trail itself? No, ma’am. We just keep it mowed and clear.”
“Have you ever had to clear trash or items from the wooded area between the trail and the back fences of the houses?”
“Sure,” he said. “Kids throw drink cans, folks drop water bottles. We’ve pulled out old lawn chairs, a busted cooler, even a bike once.”
“Anything to keep people out?”
“No, ma’am,” he said. “It’s just woods. Folks cut through where they want. Some of the dog walkers let their dogs run in there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Perez,” Eleanor said. “No further questions.”
She sat.
Reid rose.
“Mr. Perez,” he said, “you testified that anyone using the path could’ve stepped off into those trees.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You also testified that the HOA maintains the common areas.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you at any point, in your role with the HOA, know there was a body buried behind that trail?”
“No, sir.”
“If you had known,” Reid asked, “would you have called law enforcement?”
“’Course I would,” Perez said. “I’ve got kids. I wouldn’t want—” He stopped, swallowing. “Yeah. I’d have called.”
“Thank you,” Reid said. “No further questions.”
Perez stepped down, looking relieved to escape.
Eleanor watched the jurors as he left. Some of them had their heads slightly tilted, the way people did when a picture in their mind shifted.
Riverbend was still a burial site.
But now it sat in the jury’s mind as something else too: open ground. A place hundreds of people had crossed for years.
That was all she’d needed from Perez.
Next up was Jenna Collins.
Eleanor had debated calling her at all. Jenna’s statement was simple and dangerous: David Mercer loved his son. Not perfectly. Not without temper or mistakes. But truly.
The State had spent two days turning him into a headline. Eleanor needed the jury to remember he was still a father.
Jenna was in her early sixties, hair pulled into a low knot. She wore a simple navy dress.
“Ms. Collins,” Eleanor said gently, “how do you know David Mercer?”
“I worked at Davie’s preschool,” Jenna said. Her voice was soft but clear. “I was his teacher.”
“For how long?”
“Two years,” she said. “From the time he was three ’til he went off to kindergarten.”
“Did you see Mr. Mercer with his son during that time?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jenna said. “Pick-up and drop-off, school events. He came to the little concerts we did. The Thanksgiving program. Things like that.”
Eleanor nodded.
“How would you describe his interactions with Davie?”
Jenna’s mouth trembled, but her voice stayed steady.
“He loved that boy,” she said. “You could tell. He wasn’t always on time—he worked construction—but when he was there he was gentle with him. Helped him with his coat, tied his shoes. Got down on his level when he talked to him.”
“Did you ever see Mr. Mercer strike Davie?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Yell at him? Scare him?”
“No, ma’am,” she said. “Not once. If Davie was upset, he’d pick him up and talk soft to him ’til he calmed down.”
“Did you ever see Mr. Mercer come to the school under the influence of drugs or alcohol?”
“Never,” Jenna said firmly.
“Did you ever have concerns that Davie was unsafe with his father?”
She shook her head.
“No, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Ms. Collins,” Eleanor said. “No further questions.”
Reid rose.
“Ms. Collins,” he said, “you cared about Davie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You still do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You also knew his mother, Caroline.”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever express fear of Mr. Mercer to you?”
Jenna hesitated.
“She said he could be… intense,” she replied. “She worried about his temper when it came to Davie. She didn’t want him growing up around shouting and slammed doors.”
“Did she ever tell you she planned to move away?”
“Yes,” Jenna said softly. “She told me she was looking at rental places in Knoxville. Said she thought it’d be better for Davie to have a fresh start.”
“Did she say why?”
“Because of the fighting,” Jenna said. “She said she and David couldn’t seem to stop.”
“Thank you,” Reid said. “No further questions.”
Jenna stepped down, pausing only long enough to look at David like she was still trying to reconcile the man she remembered with the one sitting at the defense table.
Eleanor watched the jurors again.
They had heard one more version of the same story: a man who loved his son, a woman who feared what his anger might become.
Two things could be true at once.
David Mercer could be difficult. Proud. Furious. Impossible to live with.
And still not be a murderer.
Across the aisle, Reid was watching her.
He knew exactly what she was doing now.
Not trying to prove David innocent.
Trying to make certainty impossible.
Monday, they would do this all over again.
And Eleanor Harper was nowhere near finished.