When he’d finished, he looked at himself in the mirror. The bald head made a huge difference, and although it would take a few hours for the chemicals to darken his skin, he could imagine the effect. What else could he do?

He touched his eyebrows with his pinky finger. He could darken those with eyeliner, and maybe draw them a little closer together to make his nose look thinner. And he could put rings under his eyes, provided that he straddled the line between thick enough to make a difference and light enough that no one would be able to tell that it was makeup.

He decided to buy a few items on the drive home and test them out in the mirror. He would have time to spare as he waited for the police to arrive.

Chapter 14

At ten o’clock that same morning, Lila Nash sat in the back of a small courtroom, the Donald Gray file on her lap. Andi Fitch sat behind a stack of files at the counsel table, alongside another prosecutor.

Hearings were set to begin at eleven, and as was the practice, attorneys used the time before to negotiate deals. Defense attorneys approached the two prosecutors in a steady stream, their conversations starting with smiles but usually devolving into scowls. Sometimes their arms would wave around in animation, or a finger might jab the air, but Andi remained impassive, her features carved in stone.

On the elevator ride down to court, Andi had given Lila a short, terse lecture on plea negotiations. “Know your strengths and weaknesses before you make an offer, and once the offer’s on the table, hold firm. You don’t want to get the reputation of being someone who’ll cave at the last minute. Only sweeten the deal if your case goes south somehow. If the evidence doesn’t change, the offer shouldn’t either.”

“Oscar said to start high and meet in the middle.”

“Oscar hasn’t had a trial all year. Defense attorneys know he’ll give away the store if they wait. Give them a reasonable offer out of the gate, and if they don’t like it, go to trial. In time they’ll learn to take you seriously, and your cases will settle faster. We have too much volume to pussyfoot around.”

The elevator dinged to announce their arrival. Andi led the way to the courtroom.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Lila said. “How many trials do you have a year?”

“I don’t keep track—maybe ten or so.” Then Fitch stopped and turned to Lila. “And for God’s sake, don’t be one of those fools who keeps track of wins and losses. When someone tells me they have a ninety-eight percent conviction rate, what I hear them say is that they’re scared to take a close case to trial. You can’t be afraid to lose. This isn’t about you or your percentages; it’s about victims. It’s about getting bad people off the streets.”

When I grow up, I want to be like her, Lila thought.