23

I wasn’t sure who was more excited today was D-Day. Well, no, that wasn’t accurate. Dwayne was the most excited out of all of us. For a very good reason.

Today, we were in court to appeal his case.

Dwayne was still in an orange jumpsuit, nothing to be done there, but Craig looked snazzy dressed up in a new navy pin-striped suit, hair slicked back with gel. He also had three boxes of evidence and such with him, which I had helped carry in, so this man was super prepared.

Also with us were Grant, Francesca, Dwayne’s parents, Nina, and the Gonzalezes. They’d swung back this direction specifically for the case. I was so glad to see Marc because an FBI agent’s word had more weight in some ways.

Solomon was also in the audience, and I really hoped he took the stand. Just so Craig could tear him apart. Petty Crocker, that was me.

Jon was also in the witness section, ready to be called in. He wasn’t sure how much weight his words would have, but I recognized the judge. The Honorable Yvonna Kauffman liked Jon very much and trusted him, so in this case? There would be a lot of weight.

Gonzalez slid in next to me, the wooden chairs not exactly comfortable, but they were what we had to work with. He leaned in and whispered, “Marc thinks he’s got a lead on our perp.”

Couldn’t jump out of my chair, couldn’t—but dammit, I just about did, I was so excited. “Oh my god, is he sure?”

“If he’s not our perp, he’s a perp for sure. The guy’s basically a whole parade of red flags by himself. We’re in the process of tracking him down but swung by here first. Marc’s now chomping at the bit to get Dwayne free. Says it’s such an injustice, he can’t sleep at night.”

“I know quite a few people who say the same.”

The bailiff stepped forward and said loudly, “All rise! The Honorable Yvonna Kauffman is presiding.”

We rose. Poor Dwayne looked nervous as hell. I wanted to give him a hug. We got you, dude. We’ve all got you.

For an appeal trial, there was no jury. The main point of an appeal was to somehow prove either the law had failed, the procedure of the trial itself hadn’t been adhered to, or there was something wrong with the evidence. We were the plaintiff, and the DA’s office was the defense, as it was their screwup they had to defend. Craig was choosing to focus on the evidence issues. It was the clearest way to free Dwayne, and right now, that was all we cared about.

Going after Solomon’s ass came later.

“All may be seated,” the bailiff intoned.

Yvonna Kauffman was a very pretty woman, perhaps late thirties, and her olive skin and straight dark hair gave her a distinctly Mediterranean appearance. She had always been very fair in the cases we’d been part of, and I could tell she took note of me and Jon in the audience. Then she spotted Grant next to Jon and just about did a double take. Her eyes narrowed in a shrewd way, and I could tell she was already putting the pieces together.

God, I loved this judge.

“Start recording,” she said. “We are here to hear the appeal of State versus Evans . For the record, Mr. Evans, who is your counselor?”

“My attorney is Craig Moore, Your Honor.” Dwayne’s voice didn’t betray his nerves.

“Plaintiff, would you make your opening statement?”

“I would love to, Your Honor.” Craig stood to address her. “I’ll keep this brief. Your Honor, our goal here today is to prove that the case against my client should never have ended in a conviction. The evidence against him in the original hearing was shaky at best, highly circumstantial, and outright ignored witness testimony and security footage putting my client on the other side of the city during the supposed murder of his sister.”

Kauffman lifted a hand to stay him. “I don’t normally interrupt opening statements, but I must in this case. You say supposed? Do you not believe this woman is dead?”

“We highly suspect she wasn’t killed, Your Honor. For one thing, there is no corpus delicti.”

Abby sat on the other side of me and whispered, “What does that mean?”

“Body of the crime,” Gonzalez answered, barely shifting his head. “It can be figurative and not literal, but your dad’s saying there’s no proof of a body.”

Kauffman’s bright pink lips pursed. “Is that why Grant Walker is one of your witnesses?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Ho. Well, this case just got a lot more interesting. Continue, Counselor.”

“It’s actually our argument in a nutshell, Your Honor. We have many witnesses and proof that the evidence isn’t what it appears. We argue that my client was wrongfully convicted and ask his case be dismissed and he be compensated for wrongful incarceration.”

“I see.” Kauffman nodded approvingly—she hated the long-winded idiots. “Defense?”

The defense attorney was a young one, not someone I recognized, but he looked like he’d just passed the bar last week. Even his leather shoes were extra new and shiny. He stood to answer.

“The state maintains that the evidence produced in the original trial speaks for itself, Your Honor. Defense rests.”

Then he sat back down.

We all kind of just stared. Uhh…was that it? Brevity was all well and good but… Say something , man, and make it seem like you mean it. Unless he hated Solomon too and this was revenge? Because it was a beautiful way to do it.

Kauffman stared at him another second before clearing her throat. “Well. All right. Counselor, you may call your first witness.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Craig stood again, and even though the man’s back was to me, I could feel his grin. Oh no. Here we go. “We would like to call Jonathan Bane to the stand.”

Jon went up, was sworn in, then took his seat in the witness box. He was a veteran, having many cases where he’d been an official witness, so he wasn’t nervous.

“Mr. Bane, for the record, you are a very powerful psychic Reader, are you not?”

“I am.”

“You’ve testified in many, many cases as to what you read from people. Is that also correct?”

“Also correct.”

“On the day of your meeting with Mr. Evans, can you tell me what happened?”

“I was at the prison assisting with parole hearings with my apprentice when we first saw Mr. Evans.”

“Who’s your apprentice?” Craig had to ask this to get it on public record.

“Abigail Moore.”

Kauffman interrupted again. “Sorry, sorry, this is the first I’m hearing of this. Jon? You have an apprentice?”

He turned to answer her. “I do! She’s in the audience now, actually. Wave, Abby.”

Abby waved, a little shyly.

“She’s as capable of reading people as I am. She’ll be apprenticed to me until she finishes high school, and then look out, world. In fact, it was she who spotted Dwayne Evans first and brought him to my attention. She was very confused because his aura is so pure, so bright, she couldn’t see any hint of a crime in his history. Certainly nothing that would explain why he was in a max security prison to begin with.”

Kauffman’s eyes narrowed. “Moore. Mr. Moore, any relation?”

“My daughter,” Craig admitted freely. “I took this case for her sake after she told me what she saw. I have no doubt in either her eyes or Jon’s.”

“Ah-ha. The case is becoming clearer. Continue, Counselor.”

“Yes, ma’am. Jon, you said you looked at Mr. Evans after she brought him to your attention. What followed?”

“We arranged an immediate interview with him to hear his side of the story. I detected no lies when he explained what happened. In fact, his aura is so pure, I’m not actually sure he’s even had thoughts of revenge. I know for a fact this man didn’t murder anyone.”

I heard some murmuring from the crowd. With this having been a nationally televised case, the appeal was getting just as much attention, and it was standing room only for some of the reporters. It was why I had saved Gonzalez a seat to begin with. I loved having all these people here for many reasons, but one of them was these guys were old hats at reporting on cases like these. They all knew Jon. When he said this man was innocent, that meant golden headlines for them.

“Thank you, Mr. Bane. Plaintiff rests.”

“Defense?” Kauffman prompted.

The young attorney stood and approached the witness box. “Mr. Bane, I’m aware of your reputation, but I’ve never met you before today. I must ask. Are you ever wrong?”

Jon knew precisely how to deal with that question. Lawyers in a courtroom loved to ask it.

He looked squarely at this man and rattled off, “Twenty-eight years old, from farther down south, likely the Florida area. Engaged, child on the way, stressed about money with both wedding and child in the near future. One of four children, the second to youngest, and smart enough to pass the bar on the first try. Had a cheeseburger for lunch that’s not entirely sitting well and the Tums haven’t kicked in yet. Someone as lactose intolerant as you are really should lay off the cheese. Well, sir? Did I get anything wrong?”

For a long second, the attorney just stared at him. Then sighed. “What can I say, cheese is my weakness. Defense rests.”

I didn’t think this man actually wanted this appeal to fail. Going out on a limb, here.

“Mr. Bane, you may return,” Kauffman commanded. “Counselor?”

“My next witness is Grantland Walker.”

A stir from the crowd behind me again. Grant was another household name; everyone was aware of what he could do and the fact he basically didn’t have much of a limit in range.

Grant stepped up, got sworn in. He was also in a suit today and looked damn sharp in all black. I could tell Alan had a hard time keeping his eyes off Grant, and really, who could blame him?

“Mr. Walker, we all know what you can do and how far away you’ve found kidnapping victims.” Craig gave him a smile. “But can you give us a quick refresher course on how your ability works?”

“I’m basically a Dreamwalker, in a sense. If I hold something that belongs to the victim, I can connect to them on another plane, and I can not only tell their location but get a sense of what they’re thinking and feeling.”

“I see. Can you connect with a dead person?”

“No. I can’t even enter the dream plane. It’s like trying to take a nap but there’s a child poking you in the side. No way that’s happening. I can only connect to and find the living.”

“All right, thank you. Now, that said, you were called in by Jonathan Bane to try and locate Tylesia Evans, correct?”

“Correct. He had a hunch she wasn’t actually dead and wanted me to prove it in some way.”

“When Tylesia Evans first went missing, were you asked to look for her by anyone else?”

“I was not.”

“So the first person to make this request was Jonathan Bane?”

“Correct. I was actually close to his office when he made the request, so I swung by that day. He had clothes the victim supposedly wore on the day she went missing, and I used them to try for a connection. For the record, I think Jon’s right. I don’t think she’s dead.”

Now that really got the crowd going. People were talking over each other.

Kauffman banged her gavel sharply three times. “Order! Don’t make me throw you out.”

Craig looked very satisfied with this reaction. Even Kauffman was looking miffed at this news. As she should. This cast reasonable doubt on the very foundation of the case itself.

“Here’s the thing. I was able to enter the dream plane. I wasn’t able to locate her—there’s something blocking me from doing so—but I know for a fact she’s not dead. She can’t be.”

“What can stop you from finding someone? Say, a coma?”

Grant shook his head. “Not even a coma would do it. I’d still be able to find them. I’m not just saying that. I’ve worked three cases where that was the scenario. No, this felt more like she was under some kind of barrier. A prison’s barrier system, or the personal ones you can put up around meditation rooms, those are able to block me like this. I’m assuming it’s one or the other, but the last part’s speculation on my end.”

“I understand. Her being alive is not speculation for you?”

“No. No, it is not.”

“Plaintiff rests, Your Honor.”

Kauffman nodded, accepting this, her eyes locked on Grant. “Defense?”

The poor defense attorney stared at Grant for a second before shaking his head. “Your Honor, I don’t know how to even begin arguing with Grant Walker , of all people. Defense has nothing to say.”

I mean, fair. In his shoes, I wouldn’t try it either. Grant was on the level of superheroes in this state. He’d saved more kids than a hospital full of doctors. Attacking him was almost like attacking Dolly Parton. Only a fool would do it.

“Then you may return, Mr. Walker.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Grant got up and went to his original seat.

“Plaintiff calls their next witness, FBI Special Agent Marc Gonzalez.”

Marc got up, then he was sworn in and ushered to his chair at the witness box. He’d chosen to wear his FBI badge and windbreaker. Likely to visually reinforce just who he was. Smart. Then again, Marc was always smart.

“Agent Gonzalez, it’s my understanding that after Grant Walker tried to find the victim, you were called in. Why is that?”

“Well, Jonathan Bane and I go way back. He’s helped me on several of my cases, and frankly, I’d walk through fire if that man asked. I owe him a lot. So when he asked if I could try to trace the owner of a murder weapon, I said sure without asking too many questions. I am a licensed Tracer, he knows this, so he wanted to see what I could find from the weapon itself.”

“I see. And what did you find?”

“It’s fake.” Marc shrugged, but I knew he was playing to the crowd. The judge was as invested as all the reporters. “The weapon itself wasn’t made in a factory, or by someone’s hands. It was materialized.”

“Can you tell me more about materialization?”

“It’s an especially rare ability. We have only a dozen people in the whole United States who can do it. Basically, they are able to materialize anything they can properly envision. Depending on how strong they are, they can make some pretty large or complex things.”

“And you’re sure the murder weapon was materialized?”

“Without a doubt. It didn’t lead to anywhere—an origin—or anyone. It just poof —existed. Also, a Materializer’s energy was all over this thing. It wasn’t even just the weapon. I checked all the other evidence and it was materialized as well.”

“When you say the other evidence, what do you mean?”

“The blood found in the drain, the GPS history on the phone, the electronic searches and orders, even the cleaning supplies. The only evidence not made up was the victim’s clothes. And let’s face it, people change midday for all sorts of reasons, so the victim could very well have voluntarily taken those off and the true perpetrator of the crime just took advantage of the situation.”

“I see. So there isn’t any evidence—except for the clothes—that can be accepted at face value?”

“Not a one.”

“Thank you. Plaintiff rests.” Craig went and sat back down.

The poor defense attorney didn’t seem to know how to refute this, but he gamely stood anyway.

“Agent, you say that you can trace something back to the person who made it. But in this case, wouldn’t the psychic who materialized these things be the creator? Why can’t you trace them down?”

“I tried.” There was a tic in Marc’s jaw. “Trust me, I’ve been trying. He’s under the same kind of shield or barrier his victim is in, we think. I’m having the same trouble Grant Walker is—he’s there, but I can’t make a connection long enough to locate him. But this I can testify to with absolute certainty: It’s not Dwayne Evans who did this. I’d have locked onto him immediately, if that were the case.”

“But he’s been in the psychic ward of a max security prison.”

“Not for over two weeks, he hasn’t. He was moved from max security when Jonathan Bane vouched for his character. I started searching for the real perp after he was moved. I would have connected to him if it was his doing.”

“I see. Don’t you think this sounds far-fetched?”

“Like a freakin’ daytime soap opera,” Marc said in agreement, surprising me. “I’m losing sleep, that’s how frustrating it is. But honestly? Jon’s famous for the crazy cases, so while I agree with you, I’m also not surprised.”

Again, fair. Jon complained about his reputation, but it was also accurate. His cases were nuttier than most. A certain exploding casino leapt to mind.

Attorney gave up again. “Defense rests.”

Craig popped up again. “Plaintiff calls Francesca Harlington to the stand.”

Francesca was in a blue jean dress with her makeup perfectly applied. She looked good without looking overdressed, and I had a feeling it was a calculated move on her part. She was sworn in before sitting down, but she did look a little uneasy being up there. This was likely the first time she’d been in a courtroom.

“Ms. Harlington, you are a Materializer, correct?”

“Correct. I’m licensed and work as a prosthesis maker in a veterinary hospital.”

“Wow! So you’re making things all day long. Tell me, what’s your limit?”

“Well, I’m a mid-tier Materializer, and I can make around twenty things a day.”

Craig turned to the evidence table and picked up the axe. “Is this something you can make?”

“Sure. It’s only two layers.”

“Explain that to me.”

“There’s the metal itself of the axe, then the plastic grip of the handle. Exactly two layers of material. I can make up to ten layers.”

“What about the blood found?”

She waved this off. “Easy.”

“The cleaning supplies?”

“Yup, still easy.”

“Is there any evidence on this table that would be hard to make?”

“Honestly? Fabricating the purchase orders online. There’s a trick to that; you have to know what you’re doing. I was taught how to do it by my mentor so I would know what to look for in case of a scam. But it takes experience to know how to replicate it. Whoever did this, he knew precisely what he was doing.”

“Good to know. One final question for you. Is it possible for you to block another psychic from finding you?”

Francesca immediately shook her head. “No way in hell. Our ability just doesn’t work that way. Now, I can fabricate all the pieces necessary to build a machine, but I can’t just manifest it in one go. It’s too complicated of a machine. The generator to power it alone is too complicated.”

“I understand. Thank you. Plaintiff rests.”

Defense popped back up for the cross-examination. “Ms. Harlington, you said creating the axe and the blood would be very easy for you. Just how easy?”

She looked at him for a second. Sighed like he’d asked a stupid question, but she was being nice and not pointing that out. Then she looked straight at the axe, held out a hand, and poof , an axe appeared like it had always been there. The whole room jumped, even me, as I hadn’t realized it was that instant of a manifestation. Damn. She’d make an amazing stage magician.

“Does that answer your question, sir?” Francesca drawled.

Sheepishly, he accepted the axe. “Uh, yes. Your Honor, I’ll just, uh, put this on the evidence table.”

“Might as well, it’s evidence of a different sort now.” Yvonna seemed bemused by this turn of events. “Is there anything else you want to ask?”

“I, uh.” He looked like he desperately wanted to somehow turn this around but had no idea how. Then he deflated. “No, Your Honor. Defense rests.”

Yvonna tapped her finger to her chin for a moment. “Now. What I’m hearing is that none of this evidence is viable except the clothes. Grant Walker’s telling me this woman is likely still alive, just missing. I’ve got an FBI agent telling me the perp can’t be Mr. Evans, as he’s an entirely different psychic type, and the evidence doesn’t trace back to him at all. This case was grossly mishandled from the get-go, in my opinion. Some sort of Tracer should have been called in to find the body. And from my reading of the case last night, that didn’t happen. Defense, can you come up with a good argument as to why I should still treat this like a murder case?”

He shook his head helplessly. “To be perfectly honest, Your Honor, I was horrified by the sheer incompetency of the last trial. I can’t find a good argument to keep this man behind bars. It’s my belief he doesn’t deserve to be there.”

Now that was sad. When even the defense couldn’t find a pinky toe to stand on, you knew you done screwed up. Forgive an evil chuckle.

“Then I don’t see any reason for us to continue the trial,” Yvonna stated factually. “From what I can see, there’s not a single soul in this whole room who believes Mr. Evans guilty. I certainly don’t. Mr. Evans, I overturn your previous conviction and declare you innocent of all charges. This judgment is made with prejudice. You are entitled to compensation, which will be settled at a later date and outside of this court. Case dismissed.”

With prejudice? Oh hell yeah! It meant no one could appeal the case again. Dwayne was forever a free man and couldn’t be retried for this, no matter what people said.

The poor man burst into tears, probably from sheer relief. I would have in his shoes. I heard his family shout out in jubilation on the end of the row, which brought a smile to my face. I was sitting right behind him, so I stood and wrapped him up in a bear hug.

“You’re free, man,” I whispered against his head. “You’re free.”