40

On a cloudy Wednesday at the gym, Piper thought about the case.

There were still missing pieces, like how Owen Whittaker had managed to get into the house without being noticed. Sophie hadn’t known someone was living there, but her brother had once said he thought the house was haunted because of strange noises at night. Now that comment felt eerily important.

The two weeks to Owen Whittaker’s scheduling conference grinded along slowly.

When the day came, Piper dressed in a simple black suit and put on silver earrings that matched her necklace.

It was in court that Piper saw the assigned prosecutor and public defender for the first time. The prosecutor she recognized, a short man with light-red hair and a round, cherubic face named Kyle Lounger. The surname was fitting because he had a habit of leaning way back in his chair, almost like he was ready to take a nap.

At the defense table was a woman Piper had seen a couple of times but never spoken with. She sat straight in her chair with her hands folded neatly over one knee. Her suit was immaculate, her nails clean and shiny, her long hair came down behind her and cascaded past the chair and nearly to the floor.

The assigned judge on the case was Grant Billings, a man Piper knew little about.

“All rise,” the bailiff bellowed as Judge Billings walked in. He was pudgy and looked like he was angry.

“Please be seated. Bailiff, bring out the defendant.”

Owen emerged in an orange jumpsuit with his gaze to the floor.

Judge Billings booted up his computer and coughed, taking time to pour some water into a mug and take a sip. Then he swallowed and said, “We are here for the matter of Owen Alistair Whittaker, case number CR-2371897, for a scheduling conference. Counsel will state their appearances.”

Lounger rose and said, “Kyle Lounger for the State.”

The woman at the defense table stood gracefully, in stark contrast to Lounger’s lumbering movements.

“Russo Bianchi for Mr. Whittaker.”

“And what are we doing today, Counselor?”

“We’ll be filing a motion challenging competency to stand trial, Your Honor.”

She took three documents out of her satchel and held one out for Lounger, who was forced to go get it because she didn’t walk over to hand it to him, and instead of asking the judge’s permission to approach, she held the third copy out to the bailiff, who took it and handed it to the judge. It was apparent she was in command of the room.

The judge said, “Then we will have Mr. Whittaker evaluated for competency. Ms. Bianchi, I’m assuming you have your own experts in mind?”

“I do, Judge.”

“Mr. Lounger, I assume the State will want their own experts for evaluation?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Then let’s set this out and get those evaluations done.”

The dates were set before the judge asked if there was anything else and then thanked the lawyers and called the next case. Piper watched the way Russo interacted with Owen Whittaker. She held no fear of him. Maybe some revulsion—how could she not—but she didn’t show it.

Russo put her hand on his shoulder as she whispered something in his ear and he nodded, and then was taken back to the holding cells.

Lounger turned around from the prosecution table.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said.

“Been around,” Piper said.

He glanced at Russo, who left the courtroom without acknowledging him.

Lounger said, “Just another day, another psycho with mommy issues, right?”

“Suppose so,” she said with a forced grin before she rose.

She went back to the Dungeon because she needed to be somewhere without a lot of people right now.

Seeing Owen Whittaker had unnerved her.

The room was dark, and she flipped on the light and saw Lazarus sitting at his desk with his feet up, his fingers steepled on his stomach as he stared at a transparent evidence bag. The case number and other information were written on a sticker across the front. Inside was a long screwdriver with a thick handle.

She said, “Is this what you do when I’m not around?”

“He put this in Ava Mitchell’s neck eleven times,” Lazarus drawled. “All the way through. Small guy like that. How you figure that is, Danes?”

She didn’t respond.

“You know where the word panic comes from? The old god Pan. He would scream in the forests, and his scream would drive the animals insane with lust and rage. Lust and rage ...”

He looked at her now.

“Did you see him in court?” he said.

“Yes.”

“What did he look like? Happy, sad, angry?”

“Happy? No, not happy. More like it didn’t matter where he was and court was as good a place as any.”

He nodded as though he knew exactly what she was talking about. “You gonna be there every hearing?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because Sophie would be if she could.”

He turned his eyes back to the screwdriver. “I asked him why he let Sophie live. There’s no reason to leave a witness alive.”

“There’s no reason for any of this,” she said, reclining in her chair and propping one foot up against the edge of the desk. “What do you know about his lawyer?”

“Russo? She’s the director of the PD’s office. She’s much smarter than Lounger, and he’s not a great trial lawyer to start with.”

“You sound like you have experience with him.”

“I’d collared a man that attacked his friend with a machete. Tried to really chop him up. Lounger was the prosecutor and got several facts, simple facts like time of day, wrong, because he hadn’t reviewed the reports recently. The jury acquitted.”

“You can always talk to the DA about assigning someone else.”

He shook his head. “They don’t care what I have to say.” He looked at her. “They might care what you have to say.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my fight. I’m not with the prosecution or the defense. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Appropriate,” he muttered.

She let out a long breath and decided she should go home. It seemed like Lazarus wanted to be alone.

“I’m tired,” she said, rising. “You look pretty beat, too. When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know,” he said with his gaze fixed on the screwdriver.

She could tell the conversation was over and began to leave when he said, “Danes? It’s not sittin’ right. Watch your back.”