CHAPTER 19

The weeks passed quickly and without further violence.

Hennessy spent much of his time in the office, studying the witness statements line by line, tracking every number in the financial analysis of the accounting, and picking apart every fraudulent invoice.

Berkley hadn’t come good on his promise to help. It didn’t surprise Hennessy. He expected Berkley wanted to distance himself from Palin, and Hennessy didn’t blame him.

On the last Monday before the trial, Hennessy walked to his office, wandering through the streets of Charleston, a to-go coffee in his hand. The morning sun streamed through the thin clouds, and the shine reflected off the beautiful buildings.

Hennessy loved his home city of Charleston. The beauty was everywhere in downtown, presenting a city full of grace and grit, opulence and affluence, a seamless blend of its terrible history and weathered resilience. Grand antebellum homes lined the streets, their facades cracked and chipped by centuries of hurricanes and humidity, alleys paved in cobblestones whispered secrets of merchants and smugglers, and pastel row houses with steep gabled roofs hugged one another tightly. The streets were a testament to Charleston’s enduring character—a city haunted by the past yet proud of its heritage.

As he walked, he took in the delights of his home city. Old sports cars were parked outside large colonial-styled buildings, gardeners were busy pruning back the ever-growing trees, and locals greeted each other loudly with handshakes for men, and kisses on the cheek for women.

Embracing the gentle breeze, his thoughts turned to Palin’s case.

The trial was due to start in a week, and Tilly and Fisher still hadn’t been found. It was a problem for both the prosecution and the defense. Hennessy’s entire case was focused on using them as his third-party culpability targets, and the prosecution’s case was angling toward them as their major witnesses. Their testimonies pointed the finger at Palin. For the prosecution, they were the crucial link that unified the overwhelming array of evidence.

Nobody had heard from them. Not the spouses nor their friends. Both sets of children refused to talk to the police. Were they killed and their bodies dumped somewhere, or did they run off together, escaping the pressure of the trial and their failing marriages? Would they return for the trial? Would they surprise everyone with an appearance?

Hennessy didn’t know. The uncertainty gnawed at him, leaving him with headaches he couldn’t shake. Advil didn’t help. Neither did shoulder massages. A glass of whiskey seemed to be the best remedy.

He had spent weeks preparing for the trial, staring at the evidence, trawling through information on Palin and his corrupt behavior. If one thing was clear, it was that Palin didn’t have many friends left.

The prosecution had dropped two charges—Tax Fraud and Money Laundering. They never had much of a chance at winning those, but the charges had been included to pressure Palin into a plea. It hadn’t worked.

Hennessy had spent time investigating Maxine Summers and Melissa Stevenson. They were both squeaky clean. They volunteered at their respective churches, never had as much as a speeding ticket, and both had many people willing to testify about their good characters. Melissa Stevenson may have had a cold personality but was good to people. Maxine appeared to be a saint. Hennessy crossed them off the list of potential targets for third-party culpability.

The remaining redacted witnesses were an issue. He would get them a week before the trial, but he had a good idea of who they could be.

Witness One knew a lot of inside information about Palin’s business and was likely another employee. As the person who provided the initial tip-off, Witness One was one of the strongest witnesses for the prosecution. Hennessy requested a deposition, and Judge Clayton approved it being conducted via email. The deposition revealed some details but left much unanswered.

Witness One’s statement testified that Palin had told them about his activities, how he was about to move to Costa Rica, and how much money he had stolen. Palin denied everything, but if Witness One appeared reliable on the stand, it would be a serious problem.

Lockett had searched the details of all the other employees, checking every lead, scanning every document, and investigating every idea. Lockett had searched through a mountain of paperwork and listened to a long list of interviews and depositions. There wasn’t much to go on. Apart from Tilly and Fisher, the other employees were squeaky-clean accountants who had never strayed beyond the confines of balance sheets and tax codes.

Witness Four was likely to be another business owner Palin had defrauded, and Witness Five seemed like another employee. The redacted statements from Witness Five offered little to the case, and Hennessy suspected they were a distraction.

The remaining prosecution witnesses were mostly experts in their respective fields. From data analysts to financial accountants to money specialists, they could all talk the talk.

Palin’s appearance was going to be a problem in court. There was nothing about him that appeared likable or trustworthy. Even in his best suit, he still looked like a creep. The jury would see that. They would see his shifty eyes, the snarl on his face, and sense his lack of morals from across the room.

Palin hadn’t been easy to deal with. Hennessy dreaded every phone call, every meeting, and every email. Palin had made it clear that Hennessy was working for him, and he tried to drain every minute of his time. Hennessy didn’t trust him, and doubted anyone could. But the more he investigated, the less convinced he was that Palin had transferred the funds.

Did Palin set up the accounts in preparation for an escape? Or was it the affair couple who were looking to the future? Hennessy didn’t know the answer but knew Palin was guilty of so much more. He had a history of crime and a history of inappropriate behavior. Life, karma, and perhaps even justice had caught up to him.

Jacinta’s knock on his office door caught him by surprise. “Assistant Solicitor Aaron Garrett is here for his ten o’clock.”

She stepped in the door of Hennessy’s office. She looked over her shoulder and stepped further into the room, gently shutting the door behind her. When she approached the desk, she whispered, “And a heads up, he looks nervous.”