There was something niggling at him as Stanton led him back through the rabbit warren—something on the edge of his mind that he couldn’t quite get a handle on. Something important.

Stanton deposited him back in the entrance hall without a word, and he nodded his thanks.

“Mr. Ferringham,” boomed a somewhat-familiar voice.

He looked up to see a small, thin, mousy man in a terra-cotta-colored suit coming toward him with his hand outstretched. Robin took it without thinking.

“I’m Terrance Loamfield, Matthew’s defense. We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes. Yes. Of course.”

“You warmed him up for me?”

“What?”

“You saw Matthew just now, yes?” Loamfield was squirrelly. He looked like a man who would run away if you so much as glanced at him aggressively—not a solid candidate for a defense lawyer. “Never seen a boy so deluded in my life.”

“If you think he did it, why are you representing him?” Robin said.

Loamfield’s face stretched into something horrible and he laughed. “You kidding? Case like this is going to be big. Doesn’t matter what side of the battlefield you’re on—you still make the history books.”

“Nice,” Robin said, wondering why he’d even bothered asking.

“I assumed that’s why you were here too,” Loamfield said, and Robin’s stomach turned just at the insinuation.

“That’s my business,” Robin said.

“Hey.” Loamfield held up his hands, including the one carrying a black briefcase. “I don’t get paid to ask questions.”

Actually you do, Robin thought, but said instead, “You were appointed as Matthew’s representative?”

“Yes,” Loamfield said. “Matthew didn’t have an attorney. And he didn’t find one himself. So, they appointed me.”

Robin watched him. A man in his natural habitat. “They? Who are they?”

Loamfield smiled. “I’m afraid I have an appointment to keep.” Loamfield gave Robin a wide berth as though he might catch some humanity.

Robin quickly turned. “Mr. Loamfield.” He looked back. “You said Matthew had no chance in hell of getting bail on Friday. What would change that?”

Loamfield chuckled. “By Friday? You’re an optimist. Optimism doesn’t get you far in this part of the world.”

Robin shrugged. He’d had more than enough of this man. He just wanted an answer to his question.

And he finally got it. “Do something the police haven’t,” Loamfield said. “Find someone else who could have done it.”

Loamfield grinned and turned away, nodding to Stanton, who was still hovering about. Robin turned the other way, a bad taste in his mouth.

As he made his way back to the main entrance, he found his eyes drifting over to the waiting area. There were a few people waiting—an old couple looking out of place, a father with a teenage boy and a young woman. Their eyes met.