Chapter 3 - Natalie’s Last RecordingBy midnight, the courthouse had become a crime scene.
“Stop!”
A man in a gray suit had reached the rear courtroom doors.
He froze for half a second.
Then he ran.
The gallery exploded into shouting.
Two deputies rushed after him as spectators stood and twisted around in their seats.
Judge Whitaker slammed his gavel.
“Order!”
Nobody listened.
The man shoved through the door.
Jensen followed.
A second deputy disappeared into the hallway.
Marcus stood beside the defense table, hands cuffed in front of him, staring at Maya as if he had forgotten how to breathe.
Elena Price grabbed his sleeve.
“Who is he?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Dr. Raymond Voss.”
“Who?”
“Former research director at Riverton.”
The prosecutor’s face turned white.
Elena saw it.
So did Judge Whitaker.
“Mr. Hale,” Whitaker said sharply, “do you know that man?”
Andrew Hale hesitated.
That hesitation was enough.
“I’ve met him.”
“Recently?”
Hale glanced toward the door.
“Your Honor—”
“Answer.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Approximately three weeks ago.”
The courtroom murmured.
Elena stepped forward.
“In connection with this prosecution?”
Hale stiffened.
“That conversation is privileged work product.”
Judge Whitaker’s eyes hardened.
“You may want to reconsider your answer.”
Before Hale could respond, shouting came from the hall.
A minute later, Deputy Jensen returned.
Alone.
“He made it down the emergency stairs,” he said. “Security is searching the building.”
Judge Whitaker looked at Maya.
The little girl remained beside the railing.
All confidence had disappeared from her face.
She suddenly looked exactly what she was.
Eight years old.
Scared.
Marcus spoke softly.
“Your Honor, please let my daughter leave.”
Whitaker nodded.
“Elena.”
The defense attorney walked to Maya and crouched.
“Come with me.”
Maya shook her head.
“I want my dad.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
Under ordinary rules, a defendant charged with murder did not get to comfort his daughter in the middle of trial.
Judge Whitaker looked toward the bailiff.
Then he made a decision.
“Remove Mr. Brooks’s restraints.”
The prosecutor jumped up.
“Your Honor!”
Whitaker turned.
“Sit down, Mr. Hale.”
The bailiff hesitated only briefly before unlocking Marcus’s cuffs.
Marcus crossed the short distance between them.
Maya ran into him.
He dropped to his knees and wrapped both arms around her.
“I told you not to open that box.”
“You told me you didn’t kill anybody.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then why were you hiding it?”
Marcus leaned back.
His eyes were wet.
“Because your mother died because of what was inside.”
Judge Whitaker heard him.
“So you knew about the recordings?”
Marcus stood slowly, keeping one hand on Maya’s shoulder.
“Not everything.”
“Explain.”
Elena whispered, “Marcus, be careful.”
He shook his head.
“I’m done being careful.”
That sentence changed something inside the courtroom.
For months, Marcus had followed every instruction.
He had trusted detectives.
Trusted prosecutors.
Trusted the legal system.
And each time he did, someone seemed to discover another piece of evidence proving his guilt.
He looked at Judge Whitaker.
“Natalie gave me that box two weeks before she died.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That people at Riverton were falsifying clinical research.”
“Which people?”
“She wouldn’t say.”
“Why?”
“Because she was terrified.”
Marcus looked toward Maya.
“She made me promise that if anything happened, I would take Maya and disappear.”
Elena frowned.
“You never told me this.”
“I thought the recordings were destroyed.”
“But they weren’t.”
“No.”
Judge Whitaker looked at the flash drive.
“Has anyone reviewed its contents besides Maya?”
Marcus shook his head.
“I didn’t even know it existed.”
Maya wiped her cheeks.
“Mom hid it inside her music box.”
Marcus stared at her.
“What?”
“The blue box was empty.”
He blinked.
Maya explained.
There had been a wooden music box inside the cardboard container.
Her mother had once used it to store jewelry.
After Marcus’s arrest, Maya had been staying with her grandmother, but three nights earlier she returned home with Elena’s permission to collect school clothes.
She found the box.
The music box no longer played correctly.
When Maya removed the bottom panel, she discovered the flash drive taped inside.
“I plugged it into Grandma’s laptop.”
Marcus looked horrified.
“You shouldn’t have—”
“I wanted to know why you were scared.”
That silenced him.
Judge Whitaker addressed Elena.
“Counsel, I am suspending proceedings until this evidence can be authenticated.”
Hale stood.
“Your Honor, this is outrageous. We don’t know whether that drive contains fabricated material, edited audio, or even—”
Elena rounded on him.
“A man connected to your prosecution just ran out of the courtroom after an eight-year-old mentioned falsified medical records.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves he owns expensive running shoes.”
A few people laughed nervously.
Whitaker did not.
“No one leaves the building,” he ordered. “The drive will be placed into court custody. Both sides will receive forensic copies.”
Maya suddenly tugged her father’s sleeve.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“There’s more.”
Everyone looked at her.
Maya lowered her voice.
“The computer asked for a password.”
Marcus frowned.
“But you said you watched it.”
“I guessed the password.”
“What was it?”
She looked toward Judge Whitaker.
“Samuel.”
The judge stopped breathing.
Marcus stared.
“Samuel?”
Maya nodded.
“There were folders.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
“What were they called?”
She began counting on her fingers.
“Reese. Voss. Meridian. Trial Seven. Samuel. Accident.”
She hesitated.
“And one called Marcus.”
Her father’s expression collapsed.
“What?”
Maya nodded.
“The Marcus folder had a date.”
Elena stepped closer.
“What date?”
Maya whispered it.
February 19.
The day before Calvin Reese was murdered.
Marcus slowly turned toward Judge Whitaker.
“I had never seen that drive in my life.”
Whitaker looked from Marcus to prosecutor Hale.
Then to the empty doorway through which Dr. Raymond Voss had fled.
“Seal the courthouse.”
The prosecutor protested.
Whitaker ignored him.
“And find Dr. Voss.”
He looked at the flash drive again.
May you like
Because for the first time since Marcus Brooks’s murder trial began, the question was no longer whether the defendant was guilty.
The question was who had decided he needed to look guilty before the murder even happened.
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