“I suppose that’s Erin Luke’s problem, not ours.”
“It’s like he’s gaslighted that whole family for two decades,” I said. “I need to understand the power he has over them. Simmons did more than collect a box of souvenirs from that murder, Sam. He’s collected Erin Luke’s whole family.”
Sam’s phone buzzed. He looked at the screen.
“It’s Gus,” he said. “Bennett Cutler called him an hour ago and said he’s bringing Simmons in right after that circus in front of their house. The arrest warrant has been signed.”
“And Cutler is setting up the photo op as we speak,” I said. I couldn’t watch anymore. I clicked off the television and tossed the remote on my desk. “Well, at least his strategy won’t come as a surprise. Cutler wants to taint the jury pool as much as he can.”
“I’d like to shake him,” Sam said. “He’s using that poor family as pawns. It doesn’t matter what George Luke actually said. Just the optic of him standing beside Simmons’s defense attorney is going to make it look like they’re supporting that bastard.”
“Give it time,” I said. “We really don’t know what Simmons has been telling him or telling Bennett Cutler. My bigger concern is Hayden. If Cutler gets to her, he could poison this whole thing. The Lukes need to understand what happened. Where are we on BCI and the analysis of that earring and the other bits from Simmons’s box?”
“They’ve moved it all to the front of the queue,” Sam said. “I expect some preliminary findings in the next couple of days. I don’t expect any DNA. But if they can definitely match those earrings, at least.”
“And the underwear,” I said. “If the Lukes can’t yet bring themselves to believe they’ve been harboring their daughter’s murderer all these years, they can at least start believing what an absolute creep he is. I’m really worried about Hayden. If they all turn against her …”
“I know,” Sam said. “She’s the key to this in a lot of ways. We need her solid.”
“Mara.” Caro poked her head in. “I’m sorry to interrupt you. But there’s someone out here asking for you.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Sam said.
“You’ll be there when they bring Simmons in?” I asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Actually, no,” Caro said. “I really am sorry. We tried to get him to leave. He won’t. He’s here looking for you, Sam.”
“Where is he?” We heard a shout from out in the hallway. “I know he’s back there. I have a right to speak to the sheriff. I have a right to punch his damn lights out for what’s been done to me.”
Sam went rigid, drawing his shoulders back.
“Sam,” I said. “Whoever …”
Sam ignored me, walking out of my office in two short strides. Caro shot me a look that seemed to say, “You better follow him and make sure he doesn’t make things worse.”
I stepped around my desk and followed Sam out into the hallway.
“You have to wait in the lobby!” Justine, one of our new interns, raced after a tall, muscular, middle-aged man wearing a blue flannel shirt, jeans, and work boots. He had thinning brown hair and a permanent scowl on his face.
“Hold on there,” Sam said, his voice booming with authority. “I’m going to need you to take a step back, turn around, and walk out that door. If you’re looking for me, this isn’t where we’re going to have our conversation.”
The man stopped short. Sam had a couple of inches on him, but it looked like it might be a fair fight if it came to it.
“We’ll have our conversation right here,” the man said. “I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of being jerked around and having my name dragged through the mud. I want some answers. Now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Would you like to tell us who you are?”
“You’re the prosecutor?” he asked.
“I’m Mara Brent, yes,” I said. I put a light hand on Sam’s arm. His bicep was hard as granite. His right hand played at the handle of his holstered sidearm.
“You don’t know who I am?” he asked.
“Right now, I don’t care who you are. I care about you taking a few steps back,” Sam said. This time, the authority in his voice seemed to have an impact. The man blinked and dropped his shoulders.
“I just want to talk,” he said. “I deserve to know what’s happening.”
