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I don’t know what I was looking for. What had been in that garbage someone had so hastily disposed of?

But there was nothing. Just the normal things we threw away. Empty food cartons. Styrofoam. All the things we couldn’t recycle.

This was ludicrous. What had I hoped to accomplish? As best I could, I stuffed the trash back into the cans. I was filthy now. The rain washed away some of it as I walked back up to the garage with the speed and gait of a zombie.

I closed the door behind me. Rage poured through me and I kicked the empty garbage can across the floor.

Then I saw it. It had rolled to its side underneath the workbench Lock built along the far wall. Surely he hadn’t left it there. It should be in the utility shed in its proper space on the proper shelf.

But it wasn’t. Slowly, I walked over to the bench, stooped down, and picked up the paint can.

It was empty, the lid stuck shut with dried paint. But when I turned it over and read the small sticker on the top, my stomach twisted. Cerise Afterglow. The same color used to paint my car.

I felt a drumbeat between my ears. The air tasted like metal. I dropped the can and walked into the house.

My phone rang on the kitchen counter.

Lock’s ringtone.

I picked up my phone as it rang again, Lock’s contact photo filling the screen. It was one of my favorites. I’d taken it a few months ago when he wasn’t aware. He sat on a deck chair overlooking the water. The wind blew his hair straight back. His eyes shone with mirth. I’d said something that made him laugh.

I hovered my index finger over the screen. Then I did something I’d never done in the two years and five months since I’d known him.

I declined the call.

TWENTY-EIGHT

“Counselor?”

I stared at my phone screen as it flashed Lock’s picture with the incoming text.

“Ms. Sobel!”

I snapped my head up. “Your rebuttal?” Judge Clarke said.

Lock’s short text displayed on my home screen.

Call me. I need to hear from you. I know something’s wrong.

“My apologies, Your Honor,” I said. I clicked my phone into silent mode and flipped it face down. “Uh… As I stated in my argument, Mr. Cummings had no right of privacy regarding the laptop. His daughter’s consent was more than sufficient without a warrant. People v. Bowen is dispositive in this case.”

“Bowen?” Judge Clarke peered at me over the top of her copy of my brief. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Um. I mean Bower. Wait. Brown. I just misspoke.”

“Your Honor. Counsel for the State can’t even keep her own research straight.” Vic Jaffe peered down his nose at me, thinking he was winning a gotcha game.

I picked up my notes and leafed through them. “People v. Brown is the controlling law.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“All right,” the judge said. “I’ll take everything under advisement. You’ll have my decision by next week. That is all. And Mr. Jaffe, these piecemeal motions from you aren’t winning you any points. There will be no more stalling in this case. Do you understand?”

My phone buzzed again. Judge Clarke glared at me. I quickly gathered my things and shoved them into my briefcase. My head was everywhere and nowhere, and everyone in that courtroom knew it. As I turned to leave, Mark Gilchrist stood against the back wall by the doors. Arms firmly crossed, he glowered at me.

“Not now,” I said as I tried to rush past him.