workers in cold blood would be out in three years. It sucked. He glanced up at the jury door as it opened and the first juror entered the courtroom.
Anderson had wanted him to deal this case down too. The Samson jury had been out too long and the boss didn’t believe they’d be delivering a guilty verdict.
Grayson was betting on the jury. I guess in a few minutes we’ll know who was right .
‘Dammit. I’m sorry.’ Daphne pursed her lips. ‘Did you tell Bashears about Elena?’
He nodded. ‘They’re trying to find out who else she talked to about her husband.’
‘Did you call your mother?’
He grimaced. ‘Crap.’
‘Grayson,’ she scolded.
‘I’ve been busy.’ He’d been going over his files on the Muñoz case, when he really should have been doing other things. Like calling his mother. ‘I’ll call her when we’re done. Ah, finally,’ he added as the last of the jurors filed in. ‘Cross your fingers.’
‘And toes,’ Daphne muttered. ‘Defense is looking damn smug.’
The judge entered, the tension in the courtroom palpable. ‘Does the jury have a verdict?’ the judge asked.
Grayson held his breath. Having to deal a murderer down still stung. Grayson didn’t want another loss on his conscience. Elena’s murder is a tragedy, but not your fault . Except he’d been telling himself that all morning and it wasn’t helping. Rereading the file had left him with the uncomfortable feeling that he’d missed something.
‘On the charge of murder in the first degree, we the jury find the defendant guilty.’
‘ Yes ,’ Grayson breathed, indulging in a single hammer of his fist against the table.
Chatter broke out through the courtroom, celebration from the victim’s family and devastation from the defendant’s. An anguished scream had Grayson twisting left to where Donald Samson’s mother had thrown her arms around her son.
Ramon Muñoz’s mother had done the same. As had his wife.
But of course, every con in the joint had a mother or wife who swore six ways to Tuesday that they were innocent. Muñoz had been as guilty. There was DNA on the weapon found in his closet. And there was no alibi. So put it out of your head .
Grayson gave a nod to Daphne. She’d worked hard on this case. They both had. He turned to shake the hands of the victim’s family seated behind him.
Then froze. It was her. Her . The woman from the video. She stood on the back row, watching. Me. She’s watching me. Why? What’s she doing here?
His heart began to race as he stared back. She was even more stunning in person than she’d been on the television screen, taller than he’d expected, her black hair longer. Her face was no longer stark white with shock, but a beautiful bronze, whether left over from a summer tan or a result of her parents’ genetics he couldn’t tell.
She was dressed in a way that was both professional and sensual all at once. The tailored black trousers couldn’t hide the fact that her legs were long, her hips curvy. The black sweater was one of those that draped at the neck, clinging to well-endowed breasts without actually showing a damn thing.
Her eyes were just as black as he’d remembered. And piercing in their careful scrutiny. She was watching him, all right. Why, he had no clue.
‘Thank you, Mr Smith.’ The quavering voice jerked Grayson’s focus away from the woman and into the face of the elderly woman who’d taken his hand. She was the grandmother of the newly convicted murderer’s victim. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she shook his hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said quietly. He covered her hand with his. ‘Are you all right?’
Her chin lifted. ‘Yes. My granddaughter can rest now. So can I.’
The other family members gathered. This was closure. While he could never bring their lost one back, he could give them this. When the last hand was shaken, he looked up. The woman was still there, still watching him, a red coat
Anderson had wanted him to deal this case down too. The Samson jury had been out too long and the boss didn’t believe they’d be delivering a guilty verdict.
Grayson was betting on the jury. I guess in a few minutes we’ll know who was right .
‘Dammit. I’m sorry.’ Daphne pursed her lips. ‘Did you tell Bashears about Elena?’
He nodded. ‘They’re trying to find out who else she talked to about her husband.’
‘Did you call your mother?’
He grimaced. ‘Crap.’
‘Grayson,’ she scolded.
‘I’ve been busy.’ He’d been going over his files on the Muñoz case, when he really should have been doing other things. Like calling his mother. ‘I’ll call her when we’re done. Ah, finally,’ he added as the last of the jurors filed in. ‘Cross your fingers.’
‘And toes,’ Daphne muttered. ‘Defense is looking damn smug.’
The judge entered, the tension in the courtroom palpable. ‘Does the jury have a verdict?’ the judge asked.
Grayson held his breath. Having to deal a murderer down still stung. Grayson didn’t want another loss on his conscience. Elena’s murder is a tragedy, but not your fault . Except he’d been telling himself that all morning and it wasn’t helping. Rereading the file had left him with the uncomfortable feeling that he’d missed something.
‘On the charge of murder in the first degree, we the jury find the defendant guilty.’
‘ Yes ,’ Grayson breathed, indulging in a single hammer of his fist against the table.
Chatter broke out through the courtroom, celebration from the victim’s family and devastation from the defendant’s. An anguished scream had Grayson twisting left to where Donald Samson’s mother had thrown her arms around her son.
Ramon Muñoz’s mother had done the same. As had his wife.
But of course, every con in the joint had a mother or wife who swore six ways to Tuesday that they were innocent. Muñoz had been as guilty. There was DNA on the weapon found in his closet. And there was no alibi. So put it out of your head .
Grayson gave a nod to Daphne. She’d worked hard on this case. They both had. He turned to shake the hands of the victim’s family seated behind him.
Then froze. It was her. Her . The woman from the video. She stood on the back row, watching. Me. She’s watching me. Why? What’s she doing here?
His heart began to race as he stared back. She was even more stunning in person than she’d been on the television screen, taller than he’d expected, her black hair longer. Her face was no longer stark white with shock, but a beautiful bronze, whether left over from a summer tan or a result of her parents’ genetics he couldn’t tell.
She was dressed in a way that was both professional and sensual all at once. The tailored black trousers couldn’t hide the fact that her legs were long, her hips curvy. The black sweater was one of those that draped at the neck, clinging to well-endowed breasts without actually showing a damn thing.
Her eyes were just as black as he’d remembered. And piercing in their careful scrutiny. She was watching him, all right. Why, he had no clue.
‘Thank you, Mr Smith.’ The quavering voice jerked Grayson’s focus away from the woman and into the face of the elderly woman who’d taken his hand. She was the grandmother of the newly convicted murderer’s victim. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she shook his hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.
‘You’re welcome,’ he said quietly. He covered her hand with his. ‘Are you all right?’
Her chin lifted. ‘Yes. My granddaughter can rest now. So can I.’
The other family members gathered. This was closure. While he could never bring their lost one back, he could give them this. When the last hand was shaken, he looked up. The woman was still there, still watching him, a red coat
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