Page 104 of Two Kinds of Stranger

‘Withholding truth? You mean he was lying?’

‘Maybe,’ said Deakins, nodding, even smiling a little. Blissfully unaware of the brick wall to which he had been expertly and blindly led.

‘You agree he was probably not telling the truth, Officer Deakins, so it’s entirely possible that he was lying when he said that the attack had been orchestrated by the defendants?’

Suddenly, that wall appeared in front of Officer Bud Deakins.

‘Ehhh. . .’

‘Yes? He was lying to you. You’ve said as much. So, he could have been lying when he said these mysterious, partially invisible men threatened him and told him to stay away from the defendants,while they were breaking his arm?’

‘Ehhh. .. yeah.’

‘Yeah?’ asked Harry. ‘You mean,yes, don’t you, Officer? That’s how you were trained to answer in court, wasn’t it?’

‘I mean, my apologies,yes, sir. The victim could have been lying about the whole thing.’

Harry strode back to this seat and every pair of eyes in that courtroom followed him there like he was PaulgoddamnNewman. Except one pair, belonging to District Attorney Castro.

Kevin leaned over and patted Harry on the arm, a small gesture to say good job.

In a low voice, Harry said, ‘Don’t do that, Kevin. It doesn’t look good. Also, we just won an opening skirmish. Castro has the murder weapon at the crime scene, and it’s registered to you and has Christine’s and your fingerprints all over it. This thing is far from over.’

Castro was on his feet, calling his next witness before Officer Deakins realized he’d been dismissed.

‘The People call Detective Alison Withers,’ said Castro.

Withers was the investigating officer. The jury was about to hear all about the gun and the forensics.

Kate leaned over to Christine and Kevin, said, ‘Buckle up. We’re now on a long, hard road. This case is about to become very difficult.’

40

Logan

Logan found walking the streets of Manhattan, with dying winter winds on his cheeks, a good time for reflection.

The months leading up to Elly Parker’s trial had been the most joyful of Logan’s entire life.

Usually, while he waited for the court case to run its course, and the person he had framed for his crimes to be convicted, Logan felt a little flood of endorphins every time he saw a news article about the case and, when the guilty verdict came in, a wonderful sense of calm.

Order restored.

Then the comedown. His job, his watches, his apartment and possessions looked ever duller with each passing day. And the dullness turned to boredom. And the boredom turned to something like depression. And then anxiety. And longing. A desire to do it all over again.

So sweet.

But not as sweet as Grace.

She had moved into Logan’s apartment a month to the day after their first date. They were moving fast, and Grace sometimes worried about it. She said as much as they lay on the couch, listening to music, sipping hot chocolate, talking, being with one another, because, it seemed, that was all that either of them wanted. It was exactly what Logan wanted.

With Grace, there were no troughs, no dips, no sudden flatlining of his mood. He got to lie in bed with her every night, and wake up with her every morning.

Logan slept little, but he enjoyed watching the moonlight on her skin, how blue it appeared, like a volcanic lake, and the morning sun turning that ice blue into warm yellows and browns, and streaking her hair as if it was starlight breaking the blue sky.

After some months, he came to the realization that he loved her. And he loved that he loved her. This was new. This was good.

He wasn’t alone.