She had represented Gavin for only eighteen months, long after the trial mistakes had hardened into legal stone. She was young enough that some judges still mistook her for an assistant, and stubborn enough that most stopped making the mistake twice.
She stepped into Mitchell’s office, breathless.
“Where is she?”
Mitchell stood behind his desk. “The child?”
“Yes.”
“She’s with her social worker. I’m not letting anyone pressure her.”
“I don’t want to pressure her.” Amelia dropped her folders onto a chair. “I want to protect whatever she remembers before the state dismisses it as coached.”
Mitchell studied her. “Do you think it’s enough?”
“I think enough is a word people use when they don’t want to look closer.” She opened one folder and pulled out a photograph. “This is Martin Keller.”
Mitchell glanced down.
The victim was a middle-aged accountant with tired eyes and a neat gray beard. The photo had been taken at a charity picnic two years before his death. He looked ordinary. The kind of man whose murder would never have become famous if the accused killer had not been sentenced to die.
