“My notes. I give the transcripts to the judge, but I keep the original steno ones.”
She ran one finger down the page and then looked up at him triumphantly, her eyes shining. She looked like a goddess.
“Bruce wasn’t in the courtroom the entire time the protesters were there. I always record the attendance of all the officers of the court and the lawyers—everyone on our side of the courtroom, basically. I remembered because at first I’d expected him to be there, but then he got smug about how he wouldn’t have to sit through it. He said he’d be in the judge’s chambers.”
“Doing what?”
“No idea. I don’t even know if he was really there, but we can at least use this as proof that he wasn’t anywhere the protesters might have seen him.”
“No Bruce,” Martin said, letting that sink in.
Tiffani slid the papers back into her satchel and closed the flap with a definitive smack.
“One hundred percent sure. No Bruce.”
Chapter Eighteen: Tiffani
If they gave out official US Marshal Service commendations for patience in the line of duty, Tiffani thought, Martin would have one before the day was out.
The two of them had been sequestered with Judge McMillan for twenty minutes now. He was still refusing to hear a single thing Martin was saying.
She and Martin agreed that Bruce was definitely their number one suspect, but Tiffani had still balked at sharing that suspicion with McMillan. Martin was right: that could wreck Bruce’s job and maybe even his entire life. If he turned out to be innocent, she didn’t want that on her head.
Still, she thought they had more than enough ammunition to convince McMillan that he should be hyper-vigilant about anything unusual happening in his courtroom. They shouldn’t have had to tell him who might be responsible for it. But McMillan was refusing to be convinced.
“I will not stand idly by while you make a three-ring circus out of this trial, Powell!”
“Your Honor, once again, that’s not my intention. All I’m asking is that you allow an additional Marshal to stand on duty with me in the courtroom and that you keep an eye out for anything strange.”
McMillan scoffed. “Anything strange. This whole trial is strange.”
“That’s right,” Martin said. “It’s already a three-ring circus. It’s a breeding ground for bizarre incidents. No one will be happier than me if it turns out that that’s all this is.”
“I’ll be happier,” McMillan said.
Martin was silent a moment. Tiffani wondered if he was counting to ten inside his head.
“Fine. You would be happier. No one cares about this trial as much as you do. No one knows as much about this trial as you do. That’s why I need your help in looking out for anything that doesn’t belong—you’re the one who knows what fits.”
“And you have the best view,” Tiffani said, unable to resist.
McMillan looked at her sharply, but her little blackmail maneuver yesterday still held. She didn’t know if it was fear or lingering gratitude that made him ignore her snarky input, but she was glad to have gotten away with it. It felt good, she thought, to make jokes.
Especially when she knew Martin thought she was funny.
“I will be alert,” McMillan said at last, his voice very begrudging. “But no extra Marshals.”
“Your Honor, be reasonable. Remember how concerned you were about security the day we got the bomb threat.”
Two days ago. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since then. Enough time for McMillan to have changed his mind. Enough time for her to have fallen in love.
McMillan pressed his thin lips together. Tiffani entertained herself by thinking about what kind of shifter he would be—though she doubted he was that interesting.
A turtle, maybe, all bald head and glower. Or a snake... though that might have been too obvious.
Two days ago, McMillan had thought the biggest threat to his courtroom was a possible mad bomber. Now, he thought the biggest thread was a cloud of confusion and concern getting the trial booted down the road. He wouldn’t budge.
In his heart, Tiffani suspected that if he’d had the choice between him losing control of the trial and someone at the trial dying, he would have chosen to let someone die.