I had no idea what to say to that. I loved this town. I always had. When Harvey read the will, when I realized what I’d have to do, I hadn’t had a question. Not just because it was Griffen. Because it was Sawyers Bend.
It never occurred to me that the town might love me back.
Knuckles rapped on the door, saving me from coming up with a response. West called out, “What is it?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hope
The door swung open to reveal a tall, lean man with short dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses. With his expensive suit and shiny shoes, blue eyes and square jaw, he looked like a model in an upscale menswear ad. Except for the shadows in his eyes.
Cole Haywood had always been a top-notch defense attorney, but since his wife died in childbirth, he’d become a different man, burying himself in his work. I didn’t know him well, but I did know he used to smile. It had been a while since anyone had seen Cole Haywood smile.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “I can wait if you aren’t done. I saw Griffen’s car and thought I’d catch you here. We can ride together to county.”
Griffen stood to shake Cole’s hand. “How did you know it was my car?”
“Not many Maseratis in Sawyers Bend.”
“Probably true,” Griffen agreed.
The walk out to Cole’s Mercedes sedan was awkward, to say the least. His cool blue eyes rested on Griffen and myself for only moments, but they left me with the sense that he saw all the way to the bone.
West was sharp and didn’t miss a detail, but underneath it, I always felt like he was on my side. On Griffen’s side. Not so with Cole Haywood. Cole was on Ford’s side. As he should be, considering he was Ford’s defense attorney. I guess I’d expected him to be comforting. He was anything but.
We were pulling out of town when he spoke. “Harvey wouldn’t let me see all of Prentice’s will. He claimed aspects of it are confidential.” In the rearview, his glance landed on me before moving to Griffen. Again, I had the feeling he knew more than he should. More than anyone should.
“Harvey was Prentice’s lawyer, not mine,” Griffen said, evenly. “But I can confirm that Prentice had written Ford out of the will.”
“That’s what Harvey said. Only a few weeks before he was killed.”
“You think he did it? Ford?” Griffen asked. I hated the tone in his voice. Distant. Cold. I couldn’t help remembering that he and Ford had once been like twins. The best of friends.
“It’s not my job to decide if he did it. My job is to convince a jury that he didn’t.”
“Do you think you can do that?” Griffen asked, and now his voice wasn’t cold. It was dangerous. For all his anger at his brother, Griffen believed wholeheartedly that Ford was innocent of killing Prentice.
Cole shot a frustrated glance at Griffen before shaking his head. “I’m not a magician. West reviewed the evidence with you?”
“He did.”
“Then you know what we’re dealing with. Telling a jury that Ford is too smart to have hidden the murder weapon in his closet along with the shoes the murderer was wearing—that doesn’t sound like much, considering the prosecutor is going to bring up the fights, Ford being disinherited, and your father’s general assholery.”
“And isn’t that your job?” Griffen asked tightly. “To make them believe it?”
“Do you want to risk your brother’s life on that?”
“Ford didn’t kill our father,” Griffen said.
“You don’t know that,” Cole countered, annoyance breaking through his cool veneer. “Neither do I. And if we can’t know it, I can’t promise you that I can make a jury believe it. Not with the evidence stacked against him.”
Griffen’s jaw tightened. He stared out the window in silence before saying, “Then what’s your plan? Are you just going to give up?”
“Of course not. Not that it should matter, but I consider Ford a friend. I don’t want him rotting in prison for a crime I’m pretty sure he didn’t commit. But sometimes it’s not about innocent or guilty. Not when innocence looks like guilt. Not when insisting on that innocence could land him in prison for the rest of his life. Or worse, with a needle in his arm. My job is to look out for my client’s best interests.”
“And those are?” The dangerous tone was back in Griffen’s voice. He didn’t like what Cole was saying any more than I did. Right and wrong, black and white, guilt or innocence. On paper, it seemed so clear-cut.
Quietly, Cole said, “The prosecution is open to a plea.”
“No fucking way. If he pleads guilty to murder it’ll follow him for the rest of his life.”
“If he pleads innocent and he loses, the rest of his life will be spent behind bars. If he’s lucky and he has a rest of his life. The prosecutor is suggesting she’ll ask for the death penalty.”