Mitchell looked up.
Their eyes met.
For the first time, Mitchell noticed something he had never paid attention to before. Reed did not look curious when discussing Gavin Cole. He looked irritated.
As if the problem was not uncertainty.
As if the problem was interruption.
After the meeting, Reed lingered.
“Robert,” he said, using the familiarity of old colleagues, “you all right?”
“Why?”
“You seem worn thin.”
Mitchell closed his folder. “Long week.”
“That girl really got under your skin, didn’t she?”
Mitchell’s pulse stayed steady by force. “A child came forward with information.”
“A child who was three years old when the crime happened.”
“Four.”
Reed smiled faintly. “Right. Four.”
The correction landed softly, but Mitchell felt its edge.
Reed stepped closer. “I’m only saying be careful. Lawyers love a story. Reporters love tears. But stories and tears don’t change blood evidence.”
“No,” Mitchell said. “They don’t. But missing evidence does.”
