“I saw that you had visited Connor Maddox in prison,” I lie again. I haven't seen the visitor log yet, but Connor all but confirmed it.
His eyes narrow, his mustache twitching against his nostrils. How is he not sneezing?
“How do you know that?” he snaps.
“Visitor log confirmed it.” I shrug.
“I went to convince him to end this madness and confess.”
And this is how I know he’s lying. The colonel doesn’t have to answer to me. He’s in charge ofevery person on this base, and yet he still felt the need to justify why he’d gone to the prison that day. If it wasn’t for something untoward, he would never explain it. But this...this is how I know he has something to do with what’s been going on. But why? Why has he had a stick lodged up his ass about this particular crime? Sure, it’s a murder, but this doesn’t reflect on the military. Last year, when the soldier, Adam Taylor, was being investigated forThe Posercase, there wasn’t a rumble from him.
“Convince him to admit to a crime he didn’t commit?”
“How stupid are you? The bodies were found at his house. He’s on CCTV committing a murder. What more evidence do you need?” he bristles.
“The DNA evidence, the one that got destroyed. That would be a good start, sir.” I should keep my mouth shut until I’m sure. Instead of a transfer, he could very well dishonorably discharge me.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” He rises to his feet, his clenched fists taking his weight as he leans across his desk. He looks like a gorilla readying himself to charge.
“You’ve been adamant that Maddox was guilty from day one. Why is that?”
“Because there was clear evidence he’d done it.”
“Not straight away, there wasn’t.”
“His clothes, the CCTV, the fact that heconveniently has no memory of the events.”
The memory loss...why would the colonel look so ashen when I mentioned the toxicology report, unless the colonel is well aware that Connor would have had something in his system that night? Could Connor have been drugged and doesn't know what’s going on?
But why would the colonel give a shit about that?
I say nothing. I just stare the colonel down in the most disrespectful way I can muster, given that he’s my superior and I could be leaving immediately rather than at the end of the month.
“Your time is up, Jones. Get out of my office and get packing.”
Katie
“I’d like to bring something into evidence, Your Honor: Miss Murphy’s phone records and search history,” Thomas Vale’s lawyer, Evan Samuels, states with a smug expression on his face. His slicked-back hair practically shines with the amount of product he has in it, as Thomas sits to his left, stoic, a small smile playing at his lips. I try to avoid his eyes, but as if my body responds to him, I can’t help myself. It’s been nearly a year since I last saw him, and he’s much the same. Sharp blue eyes, straight blond hair that has grown out. Sharp cheekbones. He’s a little thinner, perhaps, still looks horrendous in orange,but is enjoying the fanfare of his day in court, nonetheless.
“Your Honor, this is most unorthodox. Mr. Samuels has had plenty of time to submit this evidence to us, so we had time to prepare,” the prosecuting attorney protests, standing from her chair so fast that the chair scrapes against the floor in an ear-piercing screech.
“I assure you, Your Honor, we have only just received the phone records, and they are intrinsic to why Miss Murphy is not capable of giving sound judgment on this case.”
“Mr. Samuels, if you’d like me to take you seriously, I’d suggest you start usingDr. Murphy’s proper title.”
Thomas’s lawyer’s grin is back, and he almost bows to the judge. I glance at Jonesy in the public gallery, and he rolls his eyes in support. I give him a small, strained smile, and once I glance back at Thomas, I see him sneer.
“Yes, Your Honor. Apologies,Dr. Murphy.”
“I’m sure it’s not easy, Mr. Samuels. You have an awful lot of names to remember in this case.” I smile politely. Yeah, a hell of a lot of victims' names. Twenty-three, to be precise.
“I’ll allow the evidence to come to light, if only to see this appeal through quickly,” the judge notes.
I’d barely noted Thomas on my personal phone, so God knows what he seems to think is so damaging to my character.
The lawyer stalks toward me, handing me a few pieces of paper with a series of messages. He passes another to the state prosecutor and another to the judge.
Oh God.
