Evan Rowe was taken not to jail, because he had just been acquitted, but to a courthouse holding room after deputies restrained him for the disturbance. His lawyer was taken to another room to “cool down,” as one deputy put it, though nobody in that courthouse truly believed Grant Mercer needed emotional support. He needed containment.
Grant demanded to leave.
The deputies told him detectives were on the way.
He smiled coldly.
“Am I under arrest?”
“No, sir.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
A deputy blocked the door without touching him.
“Detective Vance wants to speak with you.”
Grant’s smile thinned.
“I’m sure she does.”
“You can wait.”
Grant looked at the deputy’s nameplate.
“Deputy Harris, if you unlawfully detain me, I will own your pension.”
The deputy did not move.
“Then I’ll wait with you, sir.”
Across the hall, Evan sat alone at a metal table, still in the navy suit he had worn for the verdict. His tie was loose. His hair was damp at the temples. The rage from the steps had drained out of him, leaving something flatter and more dangerous.
When Nora entered, he looked up.
“Detective,” he said.
She closed the door behind her.
For fourteen months, she had imagined interviewing him after a conviction. She had imagined him cornered, angry, bargaining because prison had become real. She had not imagined this: Evan legally free, fresh off acquittal, asking to talk because his own lawyer had become his enemy.
Nora sat across from him.
“You understand what happened today?”
“I walked.”
“You grabbed your attorney in front of the press.”
“I stopped him from walking.”
“Same thing legally, depending who charges it.”
Evan smiled faintly.
“Are you here about that, or are you here because I said Mia’s phone?”
Nora did not answer.
Evan leaned back.
“That’s what I thought.”
She placed her recorder on the table.
“I’m recording.”
“Good.”
“You have the right to stop talking.”
“I know my rights. I just spent seven weeks listening to the best defense lawyer in California explain them to twelve people.”
“Then you also know anything you say can expose you to new charges.”
Evan looked away.
“For murder?”
“No. You were acquitted of that charge.”
“Then what?”
“Obstruction. Evidence concealment. Conspiracy. Perjury. Accessory after the fact. Depends what you tell me.”
He looked at her again.
“So you want me to confess before you offer anything.”
“I want the truth.”
“No, Detective. You want Mia’s killer. And I can give him to you.”
Nora let silence sit between them.
Evan’s fingers tapped once on the table, then stopped.
“I didn’t kill Mia,” he said.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to listen.”
“I listened for fourteen months.”
“No,” Evan said. “You watched me lie for fourteen months. That’s different.”
It was the first honest thing he had said to her.
Nora kept her face still.
“Start with the phone.”
Evan took a long breath.
“Mia had it when she met Grant.”
There it was.
Not when she met me.
When she met Grant.
Nora said nothing.
Evan continued.