“Listen,” says Dow, putting down the photo. “I’m going to grant you a twenty-four-hour continuance. But I agree with Mr. Bastinelli. If the picture’s for real, I’m inclined to allow it.”

The deputy attorney general feels like hugging the judge right there in his chambers. But he keeps a poker face. “The People appreciate it, Your Honor.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Dow points first at Bastinelli and then at Hardy. “I’m warning you both. If I see this picture show up anywhere in the papers, on TV, or online before I make my ruling, I’ll be inclined to change my mind.”

CHAPTER
114

Kingston, New Hampshire

Doug Lambert stands in the doorway of Cole Wright’s suite at the inn. “Tess Hardy here to see you, sir.”

“Already?”

Tess called earlier to tell him that court would be in recess for the day but she needed to speak with him in person. That was just twenty minutes ago.

Since then, Cole’s been distracting himself by reviewing the new home page of the fitness program’s website. He notes his list of changes on a pad of inn stationery.

Lambert barely has time to step aside before Hardy barges in. She tosses an envelope down on the table. “What is this?”

“Good morning to you too,” says Cole. When he opens the envelope and sees what it contains, his mood instantly shifts. “Oh, shit,” he mutters. “This is not good.”

Hardy leans over until she’s right in his face. “What the hell is going on there?” She points to the photo. “Is that really you?”

“Yeah,” says Cole. “It’s me. Where did you find this? I never knew it was out there.”

“I didn’t find it. The prosecution did. And Dow is thinking about allowing it into evidence.”

“That’s nuts,” says Cole. “This doesn’t mean anything. I remember exactly what happened. The picture was taken in our training room in Foxborough after practice the night before we traveled for a Sunday game against the Atlanta Falcons.”

“Cole. Do I need to remind you that you’re being accused of strangling a cheerleader to death? And now I’m looking at a picture of you with your hands on a cheerleader’s throat!” Hardy taps the image. “Cole, who is this girl? Please, please, please tell me it’s not Suzanne Bonanno.”

Cole looks up. “Tess, take a breath. This isn’t what you think it is.”

CHAPTER
115

Seabrook, New Hampshire

I pull the Subaru into a spot at Seabrook’s Harborside Park, a thirty-minute drive from my hotel.

I’m not sure why the trial got delayed for a day, but that meant I was free when I got the call from Teresa Bonanno saying she needed to talk to me. This morning. Somewhere safe. She suggested this park. So here I am.