Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 150(@200wpm)___ 120(@250wpm)___ 100(@300wpm)
But someone must’ve shut it.
And those same someones connected my father’s old gun, his old, worn boots that left bloody prints down to the basement, and the overalls I’d stuffed into the corner to him instead of me.
And my life—and my relationship with justice—has been fucked ever since.
FRUIT OF THE POISONOUS TREE (N.)
IN CRIMINAL LAW, THE DOCTRINE THAT EVIDENCE DISCOVERED DUE TO INFORMATION FOUND THROUGH ILLEGAL SEARCH OR OTHER UNCONSTITUTIONAL MEANS (SUCH AS A FORCED CONFESSION) MAY NOT BE INTRODUCED BY A PROSECUTOR.
SCARLETT
My mother squeals like a fangirl as we walk into the special post-show for Peter Hansel’s biggest fans.
The room is filled with massive screens featuring his book covers and headlines from cases he won. Above us, the words “Justice is served” swirl across the ceiling in bright lights.
So far, we’ve received a bag of signed books and swag, and now we’re waiting in line for a special seven-minute session with him.
“You can have my session, Scarlett,” my mom says suddenly as we get close to the front.
“What?” I arch a brow. “Don’t you have a list of questions?”
“Yeah, but…” She sighs. “I always back out of these things at the last minute.”
“Why?”
“Never meet your heroes.” She shrugs. “That’s a thing, you know?”
“No.” I shake my head. “You should ask him your questions.”
“My first one is ‘Are you single’?”
“Okay, so you shouldn’t ask him questions.”
She smiles and hands me her pass. “I’ll stick to the group Q&A that’s right after. Besides, I already got my picture, and that’s far more than I hoped for when I started reading him.”
“He’s not a God, Mom.”
“No, but one of my other questions is if he fucks like one, so…”
I lift the velvet rope for her, and she laughs as she slips underneath.
She grabs my book bag from my shoulder. “I’ll get us a table, okay?”
“Okay.” I smile at her.
“Oh, and—I’m looking forward to the day you can tell me about your boyfriend.”
“I’ve already mentioned Cole to you.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “The guy you were on the phone with the other night for hours.”
“Oh.” My cheeks flush. “Well, that’s complicated.”
“Um hmmm.” She winks. “One day.”
“Next reader, please!” A woman dressed in all-black calls out from behind the VIP curtain.
I let out a breath and brace myself for what I hope will be a good performance.
“Well, hello there!” Peter Hansel smiles at me from behind a table. “I would greet you by name, but you’re not wearing your name tag.”
“You can call me Rachel,” I say.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He beckons me closer. “Thank you for reading my books.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” I step in front of him and grab five things from the VIP shelf for him to sign.
“Any questions you have for me?” he asks. “I’m all yours for seven minutes.”
“Fourteen.” I place my mother’s pass on the table next to mine. “My friend was too starstruck.”
“Ah, yes. Well, my characters tend to have that effect on people, Rachel. Which characters are your favorite?”
“None.”
“Excuse me?”
“Is there any chance the jury got the Jameson Tate murder verdict wrong?” I try to keep my voice firm. “Like, any chance you might’ve been wrong?”
“I was the defense attorney, Rachel,” he says. “My job was to make him look innocent.”
“Did you?”
“It’s pretty hard to do when it comes to an open-and-shut first-degree murder.” He shakes his head. “The evidence at that trial spoke loud and clear for itself.”
The look on my face must give him pause because he lets out a deep sigh.
“Mr. Tate’s DNA was all over the scene,” he says. “It was on the murder weapon, the clothes he attempted to stash away, and the boots.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?” He arches a brow. “Where I’m from, they call that type of evidence a ‘slam fucking dunk.’”
“So, Mr. Tate just woke up one day and decided to murder his next-door neighbor?” I ask. “You believe he just magically transformed into a murderer?”
“Well, committing one murder automatically earns you that title, Miss,” he says. “So, yes. Mr. Tate might’ve been triggered by something Mr. Raider said and just lost his temper.”
“What if it was a crime of passion?” I ask. “Or a crime committed to prevent more crimes from happening?”
“Well, maybe you should’ve been his attorney.” He laughs. “I could’ve used those suggestions back then.”
“His son tried to give them to you.”
Silence.
“He wrote and called you every week.”
“He was a child, Rachel.”
“What if Mr. Tate really didn’t do it, though?” I ask, glancing at my remaining time. “What if someone else did?”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those social media conspiracy crime people.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Just—someone who enjoys looking up old cases. Plus, uh, you literally mention this case at the back of your first twenty novels.”
“Ah, you must have the early editions.” He laughs. “My new publisher sucked all that away in favor of snippets from new books and photos. Would you like to see?”