33

Nothing about the law was fast. Anyone who worked in law would tell you that it could and had moved slower than cold molasses rolling uphill. So imagine my shock when Solomon went to trial one month after he tried to kill me.

I knew before this that I had a lot of friends in the judicial system. I didn’t know how mad those friends were until I saw Solomon’s court date. In fact, the civil case against him had been forcibly moved past the criminal date, as the judge wanted to try the criminal case first. Not an uncommon occurrence, and Craig was happy to wait. Solomon had shot himself in the foot here. He’d have been fired and fined for what happened to Dwayne, but it would have been hard to get him any jail time. But trying to kill me? Oh, he’d done fucked up good.

Today was the last day of the trial. The defense attorney had been good, no fault on him, and it was clear the mayor had paid for the best he could find. But there was too much evidence. Between Skylar’s video (god above, I loved my niece for her quick thinking), the witnesses, the sloppy way Solomon had attacked me—there was just nothing to defend. They’d gone for a temporary insanity plea because what else could they do? But their argument had been beyond weak. Trying to blame all the events on me, and justifying Solomon attacking me, didn’t work when there was plenty of evidence other people also had it out for Solomon. Captain Olivia was quite happy to take the stand and testify she had been building a case against Solomon for almost a year.

Solomon had a Pikachu face over that one, like it had never occurred to him someone would be gathering evidence to get him fired. It made me wonder—did he truly think I was the sole one out to get him? Was he that oblivious?

Obviously, the answer was yes.

To make matters better (for us), we had Judge Agatha McClain presiding over this case. The more she’d heard, the more unhappy she’d gotten. Right now, she was bouncing between glaring daggers at Solomon and smiling at the jury. Message was pretty clear: Bury the bastard .

“Defense, you may make your closing argument,” Judge McClain said.

I was pretty sure the poor man had gotten the short end of the stick in the office because he looked quite unhappy to have to stand up and say anything. I could see from his lines he didn’t like Solomon and didn’t want to defend him, but he had a job to do. So he stood, straightened out his suit coat, and spoke.

“People of the jury, you’ve heard all the evidence. There is no doubt my client was in the wrong. But I plead with you to give him some grace. This is a man who was on the brink of losing a career he loved. One he’d invested decades into. Anyone faced with that kind of heartbreak and stress would go a little crazy. He’s entirely remorseful for making the decision he did. But this man needs help, not a jail sentence.”

Anyone would agree Solomon needed help. A lead injection to the cranium would be my suggestion.

“People of the jury, please show some compassion today and give your verdict accordingly. Defense rests.”

Said a lot that the man couldn’t come up with a better closing argument.

“Counselor?”

The prosecuting attorney stood. Now, I’d known Mike Halward for as long as I’d been working, and he was a salt of the earth man. What made him brilliant at his job was his bulldog attitude when taking on tough cases and his charisma when speaking to an audience. I saw that charisma on full display today.

“People of the jury, I think we’ve all been in high-stress situations in our lives.” Mike walked up to stand in front of the jury, and he addressed them like he would a friend. He had that kind of tone to his words. “I mean, we’ve all been in danger of losing a job. Right? All worried about finding another one, being able to pay bills. We’ve all been in trouble with a boss at some point in our lives. Now, show of hands—how many of you thought to pick up a gun and point it at your scapegoat? What, none of you? Well, I think that pretty much says it all right there, doesn’t it? That’s the quality of man Detective Solomon is. He’d rather shoot an innocent man and threaten two teenage girls than own up to his mistakes. Now, the question I pose to you is: Do you want a man like this out there? Possibly hired on as a detective again? Are you going to let him get by with trying to murder people when he’s having a bad day? I certainly wouldn’t trust this man. I hope you see the wisdom of throwing him in prison. I can’t imagine any of you wanting him out free, considering how bad his judgment is. That’s all I have to say on the matter. Prosecution rests.”

“Jury, you have heard the closing arguments. You may retire to the other room and deliberate.”

Abby leaned in close to me. She was adamant about being here for the trial, and since it was a good learning experience for her, I had no problem with it. Besides, she deserved to see Solomon locked up. Skylar was on her other side, downright gloating.

“How long does a jury deliberate?”

“Totally depends on the case and the jury.” I shrugged. “I’ve seen them deliberate for hours. I’ve seen them do it for minutes.”

“What are they even doing? Just talking?”

“Talking to each other, looking over the evidence again, that kind of thing. They get to make up their own minds without hearing a lawyer trying to spin it.”

“Huh. I wonder how long they’ll take in this case?”

“Guess we’re about to find out. Usually the judge dismisses all of us if they’re going to take more than five minutes.”

The bailiff came back in and whispered something to Judge McClain, who smiled. There were some interesting things going on in her lines. I saw a lot of banked anger in the form of a light red, all mixed in with the bright yellow of pleasure. Uh? What had he just told her?

The jury marched back out and resumed their seats. Oh my god, are you kidding me?

Donovan, on my other side, whistled soft and long. “Wow. I don’t think they were in there even three minutes.”

He was right. Holy shit. If they only took three minutes, then Solomon was toast.

I quickly read through all the jurors’ lines and inner me cackled like a loon. Yeah, Solomon didn’t have a prayer.

“Jury,” Judge McClain drawled while looking them over, “that was a very short deliberation. Have you reached a verdict?”

The spokesman of the group stood to address her. “We have, Your Honor.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“We find the defendant guilty on all counts. We do not think there should be any leniency.”

“I understand, thank you.”

The foreman sat back down, looking quite satisfied with himself.

Judge McClain turned and pointed at Solomon. “Please stand to hear your sentencing.”

He stood, looking nervous as hell. As he should. Solomon’s life would never be the same after this. I, for one, was glad for it.

“This court finds you guilty on all charges. Your peers do not judge that you are due any leniency, and frankly, I agree with them. You cannot be trusted with any measure of power, not even the basic freedoms this country holds as self-evident. I am, sadly, restricted on how much prison time I can give you. Under TCA Title 39 and 40, I must give you one step below the maximum sentence. With that said, I sentence you to forty years in prison without the possibility of parole. This sentencing is done with prejudice.” She picked up her gavel and struck it sharply. “Dismissed.”

I didn’t do a happy dance, but damn, I wanted to. I’d known Solomon would get jail time. But Judge McClain was apparently done with his shit.

The bailiff called out, “All rise!”

We rose, and the judge left her chair and went into her private office, disappearing from sight.

I expected screaming from Solomon. Instead, I found him sitting slumped over the table. He was shell-shocked, for sure. In denial, like he couldn’t understand what just happened or wrap his head around it. In fact, he was probably disassociating hard because all of his lines were very muted. He felt anger and a deep grief on some level, but he wasn’t actively in touch with those emotions.

I felt no pity for him. He’d done this entirely to himself. Maybe, one day, he’d realize it, but I doubted that. He didn’t have the self-analytical ability to realize it. And frankly? He’d done so many people wrong who were now behind bars, it wasn’t likely he’d ever leave prison alive. Factor in his age and his horrible eating habits and vices, and he wouldn’t make it to eighty years old. This man absolutely would die in prison, one way or another, and I was relieved he wouldn’t pose a danger again.

Dwayne and Tylesia had sat behind us, and Dwayne leaned in to put a hand on my shoulder.

“You won. Congrats.”

I half turned in my chair, ignoring all the other people rising and hurrying for the door. This case had also gotten a lot of media coverage, and the reporters were flocking for their offices.

Dwayne looked pretty happy. Then again, this case had been as much his as it had been mine, in a sense. Solomon had done us both dirty.

“I think we all won with this one. You won’t continue with your trial.” The decision was obvious in his lines.

He grinned. “No point. Can’t do anything worse to this man than forty years in prison can. I’ve already been compensated by the state. What more can I do? Except torture him in a courtroom a little more.”

Tylesia snorted. “I’d torture him some more.”

Tye was apparently still feeling vindictive. I did not blame her.

“Not worth the money to drag his ass back to court.” Dwayne shrugged. “I’d rather move on from the whole experience.”

That was a very Dwayne answer.

Tylesia seemed to be much better since I’d seen her a month ago. Some therapy and being away from that lunatic had definitely helped. I still felt like she had a long road ahead of her to travel, but she was safe and with her family again, so she’d be fine. Dwayne was much the same. I’d encouraged both of them to share their story with Alan, partially for his ever-growing encyclopedia. Also in part because we’d learned through this ordeal that an anchor bond would feel “dead” if a strong enough shield separated psychic and anchor. People who operated those machines clearly knew it, hence why they didn’t use the highest setting, but they should have shared the info for the rest of us. Law enforcement especially needed to know, in case something like this situation happened again. It shouldn’t be taken at face value someone was dead if a bond was broken. It could very well mean a person was held captive. They also needed to know they can’t search for someone past a shield. Lots of info to pass along here.

Tylesia leaned sideways and addressed Abby. “You two good? School figured out?”

“Yeah, I stay with her during the week”—Abby indicated Skylar—“and we stay with my dad on the weekend. It’ll work out great. We’ve already done it this past month to test things out and it went fine. We’re juniors, so unfortunately we have to have the full schedule, but once we’re seniors, we can choose a fifth period elective of internship. So basically we’ll only be in school until lunch, then we’ll get out and go train with Jon and Donovan. We just have to get through this year first.”

“Smart. I look forward to seeing your names online in the future.”

“We’ll totally beat Jon’s record.”

I winced. “Dammit, Abby, knock on wood. I’m known for the crazy cases, after all.”

She laughed, not a care in the world.

Donovan silently urged us up with a hand under my elbow. It was true, another case was on the docket after this, so we shouldn’t linger. I popped up with him.

“At least the next exciting thing isn’t going to be a case,” Donovan observed. “You two are coming to our wedding, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dwayne promised.

“Good.”

It was going to be one hell of a party. Honestly, though? Being married to this man was what I looked forward to most.