Sean gave a faint smile.
Hellstrom shook his head. “All right, let’s move on to something we can agree on.” His mouth curled into a mischievous smile. “I got a call from Detective Whiteside with the Montgomery County police. Based on your statement and Ryan’s, they got a warrant and searched Sebastian Finkle’s condo and his safe.”
“Did they find the dirt files? Or photos of Brice or the metal bar to prove Finkle was at the football field that night?”
“Nope.”
Sean met eyes with Hellstrom.
“The safe was cleared out. Nothing there.”
“So why are you smiling?”
“Shoes.”
Sean was puzzled.
“Finkle may have cleaned house of any incriminating files, but he didn’t get rid of his size-eleven Prada sneakers. They were able to match them to marks left on Billy Brice’s neck; he died after his throat was stomped on. I guess Finkle didn’t want to throw out his five hundred dollar shoes.”
Sean smiled. “What if he turns over the pole with Ryan’s prints on it?”
“Covered in the immunity agreement. Our only contingency was that you and Ryan had to tell the truth, and you did. And, anyway, the only thing I think Sebastian Finkle will be turning over is his partner in crime.”
“You think he’ll roll over on Mason James?”
“I’ve found that it doesn’t take long inside a cell for guys who wear five-hundred-dollar sneakers and who live in fancy condos to start thinking about how they can get out. And offering up evidence on the chief justice of the United States is probably one of the surest get-out-of-jail-early cards around.”
“But if not?” Sean asked. “We can’t just let James get away with what he’s done.”
That’s when Hellstrom gestured to the papers on the worktable. “No. I have a contingency plan. Something I thought we might work on together.”
Sean scanned the papers. They were motions challenging the conviction of John Chadwick, Mason James’s college roommate.
“We can use the case to look into James’s past.” Hellstrom grinned again. “I doubt he killed those girls, but maybe we can connect James to Chadwick’s beating at the prison or some of his other mischief. I thought we could finish the good work your daughter had started.”
An image of Abby flashed in Sean’s mind for the briefest of moments. She was walking on the beach, hair blowing in the wind, waxing poetic about justice and the law.
“I think Abby would like that,” Sean said. “I think she’d like that a lot.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book opens with a dedication to my children. I did this not only because I’m blessed to have such kind and remarkable kids, but also because the pages of The Advocate’s Daughter are filled with things I’ve appropriated from their lives. It was only natural when writing about the Serrat family to turn to my everyday life for inspiration. But more so, I hope that years from now my children will read the book and understand that I saw them—that I heard them—and that they recognize the joy they brought to my life. From Em’s sunrise escapes, to Jake’s love of Guns N’ Roses, to Aiden’s jokes, to the loyalty they have to one another, my children are the heart of this novel. (My wife would be quick to point out, however, that all crimes and foibles of the Serrat clan are purely the work of their father’s imagination.)
Speaking of my wife, Tracy, I’ve rewritten this part several times, but it still comes out sounding cliché, something all writers hate. But what the hell: Since I was sixteen, home to me has been wherever you are. I owe this novel, and everything else, to you. Everything.
Okay, enough of all that. There are many people I need to thank for their contributions to this book.
I’m fortunate to work with the best publishing team in the business. My literary agent, Lisa Erbach Vance, lived up to her reputation as a “super agent,” providing exceptional representation and sage advice. It is also an honor and a privilege to work with my editors, Jaime Levine and Anne Brewer. Thanks also to Jennifer Letwack, Bill Warhop, and the rest of the St. Martin’s Press team.