“I got out my phone and called 911.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Marek.” Conlon looked at Brynn. “Your witness.”
Brynn stepped up to the lectern and gave the woman a gentle smile. She was walking a fine line here. Lisa Marek was a mother in her forties, which gave her something in common with many of the jurors. Brynn couldn’t appear combative, even though the woman’s testimony was potentially a knockout blow to Justin. Through a photo array, Marek had identified Justin as the person behind the wheel of a blue Chevy Malibu in the parking lot of Tony’s Pizza House, and Justin had a blue Chevy Malibu registered to his name.
“Mrs. Marek, you testified that you never saw Justin Sebring before the night of March fifth, when the murder took place, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“And you never saw his picture in the newspaper or on television?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you watch the news?”
“Not usually. Just the Weather Channel.”
“So after the traumatic events of March fifth, you didn’t turn on the news to see if the murder you’d witnessed was being covered?”
She glanced at the jury. “Oh, well, yes. I watched the next day. Becky and I were glued to the television.”
“And what about the following day?”
“I watched it some.”
“And the day after that? March eighth, the day Justin Sebring was arrested in connection with the crime?”
“I didn’t see that. Like I said, I don’t normally watch news.”
“So even though all four local networks covered the story and ran a photo of Justin Sebring, you’re sure you didn’t see his picture on TV that night?”
“Yes.”
“What about any other time after that? Any other media source?”
“I’m sure.”
Brynn lifted an eyebrow at this bold statement. “Okay, so when police showed you the photo array and you identified Justin as the man driving the Malibu, that was based solely on what you witnessed at the pizza restaurant and nothing you’d seen in the media, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
Brynn stepped out from behind the lectern. “Mrs. Marek, let me direct your attention to the photograph of the parking lot in front of Tony’s Pizza House.” She turned to face the jumbo screen where Conlon had displayed a photo of the parking lot. Conlon’s investigator had been on the stand earlier with a tedious explanation of how the shot was taken from the same booth where Lisa Marek had been sitting, at exactly the same time and under the same lighting and weather conditions as the night of the murder.
“You testified that this is the view you had of the crime scene while you were having dinner at Tony’s Pizza House with your daughter, at ten twenty p.m. on March fifth, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a little late for dinner. Do you and your daughter typically have dinner at ten twenty?”
“We were on our way home from a school play.”
“And was this your first time to eat at Tony’s Pizza House?”
“No, we go there a lot. It’s in the neighborhood.”
“I see. Would you say you’re regulars there?”
She shrugged. “We go maybe twice a month.”
“Do you know the staff ?”
“We know some of the servers, and we know the owner, Tony. We’ve been going there for years.”
“And do you always sit at this booth facing the parking lot?”
“Sometimes. We like to get a booth when they’re not busy.”
“Mrs. Marek, you testified that the booth where you were sitting gave you a clear and unobstructed view of the blue Chevy Malibu that Seth Moore was standing beside when he was shot, is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“The same view shown here in this photograph.” Brynn picked up a laser pointer and aimed it at the screen. “And do you see a blue Chevy Malibu in this photo?”
“No.”
“Because it’s not an actual crime-scene photo, right? It only shows the view of the parking lot from your booth, correct?”
“Objection,” Conlon said. “Asked and answered.”
“Sustained.” Judge Linden looked at Brynn.
“Mrs. Marek, do you see Justin Sebring in this picture?”
“No.”
“Do you see anyone you recognize in this picture?”
She looked confused. “Well . . . no.”
“Do you recognize the person here?” Brynn used the laser pointer. “This person standing in this shadowy corner of the parking lot here?”
“No.”
“What about this man here?” Brynn moved the pointer. “Looks like he’s getting into his car as the picture is taken. Do you recognize him?”
“No.”
“You don’t recognize Tony Martelli, the owner of the pizza restaurant you’ve been going to for years, whom you said you knew personally?”
“Objection.” Conlon was on his feet. “Your Honor, the state objects to this visual stunt. The defense is manipulating this exhibit to confuse the witness.”
“Your Honor, this is the state’s own exhibit. How can they object to it?”
“Judge, the defense is referencing facts not in evidence. Ms. Holloran hasn’t established who the person in the picture is. How can we know if it’s Mr. Martelli?”
“Sustained.” Linden gave Brynn a sharp look. “Rephrase the question, Ms. Holloran.”
Conlon sat down.
“Mrs. Marek, can you positively identify the person”—Brynn aimed the pointer—“seen here getting into this car at the edge of the parking lot?”
The witness no longer looked tearful. She was a deer in the headlights. “I’m not sure. I mean, I can’t see anything, really. It’s all shadowy.”
At the word “shadowy,” Conlon winced. It was only slight, but Brynn caught it. She hoped the jury did, too.
“Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Conlon?” The judge arched an eyebrow.
Conlon started to get to his feet, then changed his mind. “Nothing further, Your Honor.”
Linden smacked his gavel and announced the lunch break. The jury filed out, and Brynn took a deep breath as she gathered her files.
“That was beautiful,” Ross said as he packed his briefcase. “You nailed it. Conlon was pissed.”
“Don’t get cocky, Ross.”
“Why the hell not? You had his own witness saying it was too dark to see shit.”
Spectators and reporters vacated the gallery, and Brynn stood back to wait.
“We need to brace for this afternoon,” she said. “He’s calling the forensics guys.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he’s out of eyewitnesses. He’s bringing out the big guns next, so we have to be prepared.”
Ross shook his head. “This is so you, Brynn. Celebrate for a nanosecond. Can’t you just be happy we crushed their best eyewitness?”
“No.”
Glancing at the exit, she spotted Erik. His gaze locked with hers over the crowd. The bottleneck cleared, and she and Ross finally reached the door.
“We need to meet with you two,” Erik said.
“Who’s ‘we’?” Brynn asked.
“This way.”
Keith appeared on the other side of Ross, and Brynn let the two bodyguards guide them down the hallway bustling with lunchtime traffic.
“Where’s Jeremy?” Ross asked. “He didn’t mention any meeting to me this morning. I have a lunch date.”
“Cancel it,” Erik said, stopping beside a gray door.
Erik led them into a narrow corridor, passing a series of conference rooms designated for attorney-client meetings. It was the place where many plea bargains happened, known by lawyers as Hail Mary Hall.
Erik opened one of the closed doors. He made eye contact with Brynn as he ushered everyone inside.
Liam
Wolfe sat at the head of the table. He got to his feet as Brynn entered the room. Dressed in business casual with a sidearm under his jacket, he looked like a police detective visiting the courthouse to testify. Brynn glanced around at the other faces. Jeremy, Skyler, Trent. Almost the entire team was here.
“Ms. Holloran.” Liam shook her hand. “Good to see you again.”
“You, too,” she said, maybe a little too sarcastically, as she took in the situation. Someone had taken the time to reserve this room. And order sandwiches. This meeting would clearly take the bulk of the lunch break.
The door opened, and Reggie stepped into the room. He nodded hello and set his briefcase on the table beside Liam. Then he shed his suit jacket, clearly expecting to be here a while.
“Why didn’t you tell us about this?” Brynn asked him. “I was planning to have a working lunch.”
“I didn’t know, either, until an hour ago.” Reggie looked at Liam. “I’m told this is important.”
“What exactly—”
“Have a seat. We’ll explain,” Liam said, pulling out the chair beside him.
Brynn sat down, fuming. She didn’t like being ambushed. Erik took the empty chair on her other side.
“Well, at least you’re feeding us,” Ross said, grabbing a seat near the sandwiches.
Skyler passed the sandwich tray around. Brynn declined the food and grabbed a water.
“Thought we’d catch you here at the courthouse,” Liam said. “Easier to round everyone up.”
The door opened again, and Lindsey Leary walked in, followed by a man Brynn didn’t recognize. Liam stood, and Brynn’s heart gave a lurch when she saw Liam and the stranger side by side. Their resemblance was uncanny.
“I’m Mark Wolfe,” the man said, nodding at Brynn.
“I’m . . . Brynn Holloran. And this is—”
“Reggie Gunn.” Reggie stood and shook the man’s hand.
Ross introduced himself and did the same.
“Did you say Wolfe?” Brynn asked. “As in . . . ?”
He looked her directly in the eye, confirming what she’d known at a glance, that he had to be Liam’s brother.
“My brother is a criminal profiler,” Liam told her. “He offered to give us some help with our analysis.”
“Analysis?” she asked.
“The letter you gave us.”
Brynn shot a look at Erik.
“Mark works in the Cyber Crimes Unit at the Delphi Center crime lab,” Liam said. “Before that, he was with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit, known as BAU.”
“We’re still conducting some forensic tests on the samples,” Mark said, “but I wanted to relay what I have so far.”
“I’m sorry, samples?” Brynn looked at Mark. “As in, more than one?”
“We recovered two similar notes from Judge Ballard’s desk,” Lindsey said.
“Two?”
Lindsey nodded. “Both were anonymous but contained similar wording to the one you received.” She opened the folder in front of her and passed over two sheets, both photocopies of a note on lined paper. Brynn’s stomach knotted as she recognized the block handwriting: I HAVE EYES ON YOU. The second note said, YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME.
She glanced at Mark, who was watching her closely. His eyes were brown, but he had the same piercing stare as his brother.
Unsettled, she turned to Lindsey. “These were in Jen’s desk?”
“At her office, yes.”
“When did she get these?” Reggie demanded.
“We don’t know,” Lindsey said. “Her clerk wasn’t aware of them. Said she’d never seen them before. They were stashed in an unmarked manila folder in a drawer filled with office supplies.”
Brynn passed the notes to Ross. “Did you ever get any—”
“No,” he said tersely. “I answered this before. I haven’t gotten anything.”
He glared at Liam, as if the security specialist had somehow conjured up the notes.
“I understand yours was placed on your windshield,” Lindsey said to Brynn. “Based on that, we’re thinking something similar happened to Jennifer Ballard, maybe on the way to work, and she collected the note and stashed it in a folder when she got to her office.”
“But she never told anyone about these notes,” Brynn stated.
“Not that we’ve been able to find,” Lindsey said.
“So we don’t know when she got them. And they’re anonymous. I assume you fingerprinted them?”
“No prints except the judge’s,” Lindsey said. “And no DNA.”
“What about Mick McGowan? Did he get any of these notes?”
“Not that we’ve found.”
Brynn looked at all the faces around the table, ending with Erik, who sat calmly beside her, watching her reaction.
She turned to Liam and smiled. “I’m sorry, but . . . what am I missing here?”
“Ma’am?”
“I must be missing something.” She folded her hands in front of her on the table. “Almost the entire team is assembled here for this meeting. Everyone’s tension level is through the roof. And you’ve brought a criminal profiler up here all the way from the Delphi Center”—she turned to Mark—“which is four hours away in San Marcos, if I’m not mistaken?”
He nodded.
“And on a Friday, no less. All so we can talk about three little slips of paper that aren’t even signed?” She zeroed in on Liam. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Liam watched her for a long moment. Then he looked at his brother. “Why don’t you start with the notes?”
Mark nodded. “As Detective Leary mentioned, we have only the recipient’s prints and no DNA on the samples recovered from Judge Ballard. We had the same results with your sample. However, we were able to trace the paper.” He paused. “It comes from a four-by-six notebook with perforated sheets. This particular type of notepad is carried in the prison commissary at the Stiles Unit in Beaumont, and James Corby purchased four such notepads over the course of his incarceration.”
Brynn stared at him. “That’s it? That’s the basis for this whole panic?”
Liam’s brow furrowed. “No one is panicking.”
“What we are doing,” Mark said, “is viewing this as a potential communication between James Corby and his victim.”
“Based on paper?” Brynn shook her head. “That doesn’t prove anything. Thousands of inmates had access to that same type of notepad, not to mention all the other places those notepads are sold. It’s not direct proof of anything.”
Everyone was watching her, and she realized she sounded like a defense attorney. She looked to Reggie for support, but he was uncharacteristically silent.
Mark leaned forward. “Ms. Holloran—”
“Call me Brynn.”
“This is not a trial, Brynn. We are not here to prove that Corby did something beyond a reasonable doubt. We are here to assess the threat to your safety”—he turned to Ross—“and yours. And after analyzing these communications, I can tell both of you with confidence that I believe these messages came from James Corby and were somehow smuggled out or mailed out and delivered to you and Judge Ballard on carefully selected dates. And I believe they are yet another example of Corby communicating with not just you but also the public.”
“The public?” Ross asked.
“Yes. That’s all part of this.” He paused. “You may recall during the trial how the lead detective in the case, Michael McGowan, testified that they’d uncovered a stash of media clips Corby had collected. He’d been following his case closely and saving everything he could. He kept all of it in a box under his bed. Corby was obsessed with his own publicity.”
Brynn’s stomach tightened. She not only remembered the testimony, but she also remembered seeing the box itself in the evidence room when she’d been preparing for trial. The box had contained a thick stack of news clippings about Corby’s gruesome killings.
“Corby grew up a loner,” Mark continued. “He was starved f
or attention. From a psychological standpoint, he fed on all that media excitement while he committed the murders and even through his arrest and trial. Then he went away to prison, and all the interest disappeared, except for a few crumbs here and there.”
“So . . . you’re saying he’s hungry for attention again?” Brynn asked. “That’s what this is about?”
“A big part of it, yes.”
“I thought it was about revenge,” Reggie said impatiently. “Which is it?”
“Both. But revenge might be too simplistic,” Mark said. “At the core of Corby’s self-image is his belief that he’s smarter than everyone. He outsmarted his victims, the police, his fellow inmates who played chess with him, then his prison guards. His ego was greatly inflated by the attention he received while committing these murders and evading the police for so long. But then the police apprehended him. The prosecution outmaneuvered him. Everyone bested him in a very public way, which he certainly found humiliating. He went away to prison defeated and deprived of the spotlight he’d been enjoying. But now he’s reemerged.”
“You’re saying this whole thing—his escape, killing Jen and Mick—you’re saying it’s like a comeback,” Brynn concluded.
“You could call it that. He’s proving, once again, that he’s smarter than everyone. He escaped from prison. He hunted down the lead detective and the prosecutor who put him away. He managed to kill them and evade police, and he’s proud of what he’s accomplished. He’s feeding on the attention again.”
Brynn felt a headache coming. She looked around the room at all the faces focused on her. Except for Ross, who was staring down at the table, his skin a sickly shade of white.
She huffed out a breath. “So . . . back to the notes. You really believe they’re from him?”
“Yes.” Mark was adamant. “I also believe they are communicating something dangerous.”
“What? That even from behind bars, he can get someone to smuggle some notes out and stick them on people’s cars?”
“That he can reach you whenever he wants,” Liam said. “He wants you to know he’s watching you, that you aren’t safe anywhere.”
She looked at the criminal profiler, who’d once worked for the FBI and now worked for one of the nation’s top crime labs. “And you think this is his mission now?” she asked.
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