She hung up. Tears welled in her eyes. She stared at the young girl in the mall, Laura. The girl with her sister’s name. She tried to make herself smile again, watching this sweet teenager who was in love and learning about sex and reading about boy wizards. What a great life.

‘Verdict,’ someone said.

Cindy looked up. There was a buzz around her. People were talking. They were crowding toward an electronics store with televisions in the window.

She heard it again.

‘There’s a verdict.’

*

Stride and Maggie walked shoulder to shoulder through the narrow underground tunnel that led from City Hall to the County Courthouse building. The concrete block walls were painted bright white, and so was the ceiling, which was lit with fluorescent tubes. Utility cables ran in a twisted knot beside them.

Maggie’s short legs worked double-time to keep up with Stride. ‘That was quick,’ she said. ‘I didn’t expect a decision so soon.’

‘It was an easy case,’ he replied. ‘Archie blew smoke, but that wasn’t enough. The jury saw through it.’

‘So you think it’s guilty?’

‘I do.’

They emerged through the door into the courthouse basement. They took the steps to the lobby, where reporters crowded into the corridor. It looked like election night. Stride hung back, not wanting to give interviews. He saw Dan Erickson deflecting questions, too, as he squeezed through the sea of people. Politicians knew not to brag until it was a done deal.

Archie Gale kept reporters away from Janine. His face was sober. He knew he’d lost. Janine didn’t look at the floor the way so many defendants did, about to learn their fate. She looked straight ahead into the cameras that flashed in her face, and when she spotted Stride near the head of the steps, her head tilted in an almost imperceptible salute. She was under no illusions.

‘She’s a cool one,’ Maggie murmured.

‘Yes, she is.’

He’d been in this situation many times before. Most of the time, justice won out. Even so, he took no pleasure in it. Every murder had many victims. He had sympathy for Janine Snow and the pressure cooker of her life and the systematic way that her husband had made it worse. She’d snapped. Even smart, beautiful people snapped.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get up to the courtroom.’

‘Hang on,’ Maggie replied.

Her phone was ringing.

She answered and tried to listen above the din. He watched her face and grew concerned. She grabbed his arm, tugging him back to the stairs. When they were out of view of the reporters in the lobby, she waved him urgently downward, and they both jogged to the basement. At the tunnel door, she shoved her phone in her pocket.

‘Gunfire,’ she said. ‘We need to get out there.’

‘Where?’

‘Dickson Street, boss. In Gary. Neighbors report multiple shots.’

‘Is it—?’