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Back The Hallows Save as PDF
Chapters (89)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. COPYRIGHT PAGE
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CONTENTS
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. 74
  79. 75
  80. 76
  81. 77
  82. 78
  83. 79
  84. 80
  85. 81
  86. 82
  87. 83
  88. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  89. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

“He is not innocent. He broke that window himself, and there is no way any jewelry and cash are missing and some mysterious man in a mask just happened to run out of the house when he came home. You’re blinded on this one because you want so badly for him to be innocent.”

I turned to her. “Sarah, I’ve done this a long time, defended thousands of clients, and I can count on one hand the number who were innocent. Trust me, I know when it happens. It’s like lightning striking. Marcus didn’t kill that poor girl, and if he serves the rest of his life in prison for something he didn’t do, you’re going to have to live with that . . . and so am I.”

I wiped my face with a paper towel. “Lunch?”

“Lunch? You can eat at a time like this?”

“What? I’m hungry.”

“Fine. You buy. I’m sure you can afford it, given how much you probably got from that piece of shit in there.”

2

2

No sooner were we seated at Elevate, the top seafood place in South Beach, than Sarah and I both got the call: the jury was back with a verdict. Five-day murder trial, sixty hours of testimony, and they had returned a verdict in a little over an hour.

I insisted we at least eat an appetizer: the jury could tolerate one more hour. We had some sort of crab-and-spinach dip, and Sarah said she was sorry she’d cheated on me. That it just happened.

“No,” I said. “Train accidents just happen. Letting your partner have sex with you in your own bed every weekend for months doesn’t just happen.”

“He decided to stay with his wife,” she said, ignoring what I had just said.

“You cops are so predictable. You two will hook up again at some point, and then he’ll ‘choose’ to stay with his wife again, and you’ll be alone again. What’s with you and these damaged guys? Find someone nice and settle down.”

She shook her head. “It didn’t even hurt you a little, did it? When you found out, I thought you would throw something at me, break something, have some sort of reaction.”

“Sorry, emotions aren’t something I can afford to have. The Art of Jury Trial as War, chapter three: ‘Never, ever let your emotions cloud your judgment. If they do, you’ve already lost.’”

“If it wasn’t so pathetic, it would almost be funny that you use your legal tactics in your relationships.”

“Love is war, just like jury trials. Lawyers started as mercenaries battling to the death to settle disputes between the people that hired us. We’re a guild of assassins, and assassins that feel emotions don’t get very far in life. You gonna eat your roll?”