I lean back in my chair. A waitress interrupts us, setting down a basket of chips with a sandwich and a black coffee in front of Josh. Her cheeks flush as she smiles at him. I can tell he has that effect on ladies and why wouldn’t he? He’s a good-looking man. Maybe that’s the angle to play here. He tells her thank you. The waitress lingers for a moment, then steps away not before looking back at him twice.

“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” He gestures to his food.

“Oh, there’s plenty of things I want.” I deliver this in my most flirtatious voice. Either he doesn’t pick up on my signal, or he ignores it. He shrugs and dives right into his sandwich.

In between bites he warns me, “When I’m finished with this, I’m finished with this conversation. So, you might want to spit it out. I’m not playing any more of your games.”

I let out a huff. “Fine, what do you know about the third set of DNA?”

“Nothing.” He takes a sip of coffee.

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“I don’t need that third set of DNA for a conviction,” he says matter-of-factly.

“But—”

“But you need it,” he interrupts.

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You know as well as I do. A jury will look at the third set of unknown DNA as circumstantial. I mean it’s one of three. The victim slept around, that much is true. If you knew who it was, you could build the case around it. Prove reasonable doubt. Prove that other person had more motive than Adam. I know how this works, Sarah. You’re between a rock and a hard place. You might want to start coming to terms with the fact that you’re not winning this case,” he says coldly.

“There’s always Scott.”

“There is.” He doesn’t let anything else on.

“Think he did it?” I ask.

“Who?”

“Scott.”

“Honestly, I don’t know who did it. Scott, Adam, that unknown DNA. All I know is Adam is a slam dunk.”

“And you wouldn’t care that you’re potentially putting away an innocent man?”

“That’s for the jury to decide.” He wipes his face with a napkin, stands up, and buttons his suit coat.

“What about the connection between Bob and the victim? What do you make of that?” I ask.

“Circumstantial.”

“Then the whole fucking case is circumstantial,” I say through gritted teeth.

“The dead body found in your husband’s… or should I say the bed you shared with your husband negates that. See you in court, Sarah.” He holds his head up high and walks out of the café.