Luther, lonely at his table, blinked and sat up straighter, his eyes opening wider.
The assistant DA made an almost identical expression. Beside him, Tania sat staring stonily forward, with her hair combed over her singed ear.
The judge eyed the jury box with weary resignation, and her gaze settled on me.
“What?” I said, and folded my arms. “I believed him.”
She rubbed at her eyes with one hand and said something beneath her breath. I listened closely, which is much closer than most people can, and thought I heard her mutter, “. . . goddamned supernatural assholes . . .”
She lifted her eyes again and spoke in that rote-repetition voice. “That being the case, I have no choice but to find a mistrial. Mister Tremont, the prosecution’s office will need to notify me about whether or not the people mean to continue pursuing this case against the defendant.”
I eyed Tania, smiling.
If the White Court tried to push this trial again, I could produce the girl, Maria, as a witness. Maria was currently being watched by a number of werewolves and wasn’t going to go anywhere. If they continued pushing Luther, I could drag their ugliness out into the light—and if there was anything the White Court hated, it was looking ugly.
Tania gave me a sulking glance. Then she muttered something to Tremont, who blinked at her. They had a brief, heated discussion conducted entirely in whispers. Then Tremont looked back up at them. “Ah, your Honor. The state would like to drop all charges.”
“It would?” the judge asked. Then she rolled her eyes and said, “Of course it would. All right people, justice is served, court is adjourned.” She banged her gavel down half-heartedly and rose. We all stood up as she left the courtroom, and then we began filing out.
Luther sat there dazed as the bailiff approached and removed his handcuffs. Then he was buried by a pair of quietly squealing children who piled onto him, and were shortly joined by a woman with tears in her eyes. I heard him start laughing as he hugged them.
I left, because there was something in my eyes.
Outside, in the parking lot, someone approached me and I felt a tug at my sleeve. It took me a second to recognize the judge in her civilian clothes—a plain pair of slacks and a white shirt.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Someone found the girl.”
“The girl from what’s-his-name’s testimony?” I asked, guilelessly.
“And if the girl had gotten up in front of everyone and answered questions, it would have made things awkward for whoever was behind Black. Am I right?”
I scratched at my nose with one finger and said, “Maybe.”
She snorted and turned to walk away. “Worst jurist ever.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She stopped and looked at me over her shoulder with a faint smile. “You’re welcome.”
I hung around long enough to see Luther leaving the building with his family, a free man.
Maybe Will had been right.
Justice served.