“It’s nothing.
I’m just feeling a little sentimental.” Thomas Quinn pulled his wandering thoughts back and did not elaborate.
Margaret looked at him curiously.
“Sentimental about what?” “The prosecutors and judges in Greenwood City.” Thomas raised an eyebrow, his voice carrying a strange mixture of sympathy and anticipation.
“I have a feeling they’re about to have a very interesting time.” Margaret stared at him in confusion.
She could not imagine what sort of “interesting time” prosecutors and judges were supposed to have, but Thomas clearly had no intention of explaining himself.
There was no need, anyway.
Once the trial began, she would understand what he meant.
Thomas suddenly found that his appetite had improved considerably, so he picked up his breakfast and added, “In any case, we only have to wait another two days.
Then the trial begins.” That same day, November 8th, at 8:00 PM, the Greenwood City Intermediate Prosecutor’s Office had already closed for the night, leaving most of the building dark and silent, but one office window still glowed beneath the cold night sky.
Inside, Henry Walsh leaned back in his chair and rubbed his aching temples, exhaustion clearly visible beneath the warm light of the desk lamp.
“You should go home.
Your health matters more than one extra hour of work.” A cup of hot tea slid across the desk toward him.
Henry opened his eyes and saw Paul Mercer standing nearby with the younger prosecutor Aaron Blake.
Both men looked nearly as exhausted as he did.
Henry said nothing at first and simply lifted the cup to take a sip.
The hot tea warmed his throat and chest, easing some of the chill that had settled into his body after hours of work.
After letting out a long breath, he looked at the two men.
“The evidence chain has already been submitted.
Did the court raise any issues?” Paul pulled out a chair and sat down.
“No.
Our evidence is consistent with the police investigation, and everything was submitted within the pretrial disclosure period, so procedurally there shouldn’t be a problem.” Henry nodded.
He was the lead prosecutor assigned to Martin Hayes’s case, and with the trial only two days away, he naturally wanted to go through everything one final time.
He then looked toward Aaron.
“What about the victim’s family?
Make sure they actually appear when the trial begins.” That might have sounded unnecessary, but Henry had handled enough cases to know that some witnesses and interested parties could behave in remarkably unpredictable ways, particularly when they came from isolated communities with little understanding of court procedure.
Aaron nodded.
“I contacted Derek Vaughn several days ago.
He’ll make sure Walter and Martha Pike appear.” Derek might have been the sort of lawyer Aaron personally disliked, but that did not mean he was incompetent.
Whatever anyone thought of his methods, getting two clients to court on time was hardly beyond him.
Aaron hesitated before adding, “He’s also been in Pine Hollow collecting additional witness statements.” Henry immediately noticed his expression.
“And?” Aaron frowned.
“Those statements are…” Before he could finish, Henry interrupted.
“Are they illegal?” Henry took a cigarette from the pack on the table, lit it, and drew in a slow breath before continuing.
“Or did Derek fabricate evidence?” Aaron went quiet.
After a long pause, he shook his head.
“No.” That was precisely the problem.
Derek had gone to Pine Hollow, where the incident had occurred, and interviewed people who had been present.
From a procedural standpoint, there was nothing inherently improper about that.
But witness statements came from human mouths, and what people said was not always determined by what had actually happened.
Sometimes it was determined by what they wanted others to believe.
An outsider had arrived in Pine Hollow, a violent confrontation had broken out, and Ethan Pike had died.
What were the villagers who had surrounded the police vehicle that day likely to say?
Naturally, many of them would support Walter and Martha.
Worse, a large number of those witnesses had themselves participated in the confrontation.
Their statements could therefore carry significant evidentiary value because they were eyewitnesses, yet those same people had every incentive to minimize their own misconduct while portraying Martin as the aggressor.
They were hardly going to walk into court and announce that Ethan deserved what happened to him or that they themselves had helped obstruct the police.
Even if their accounts distorted reality, those statements could still be admitted and argued over in court.
Henry took another drag from his cigarette before asking, “What about the defense?” Aaron and Paul both paused.
Henry continued, “Martin Hayes has a defense attorney named Adrian Cole, doesn’t he?
Has he submitted anything?” Paul shook his head.
“Nothing.
The court hasn’t received any substantive defense evidence during the disclosure period.” Henry frowned.
No evidence?
That meant Adrian apparently intended to fight the case primarily through cross-examination, legal argument, and what he could extract from the existing record.
“He intends to rely on courtroom argument alone?” Henry looked genuinely surprised.
“What’s this lawyer’s background?” Even experienced criminal attorneys rarely chose to enter a serious homicide trial without presenting any independent evidence if they had another option.
Winning a case almost entirely through argument and reinterpretation of the prosecution’s own material required extraordinary confidence.
Perhaps even too much confidence.
Aaron replied, “There isn’t much of a background to speak of.
He’s young and only finished his internship relatively recently.” Henry’s frown deepened.
A young attorney with almost no criminal-trial record had submitted no new evidence and apparently planned to confront a prosecution case built from police records, physical evidence, and numerous witness statements from Pine Hollow.
On the other side, Derek Vaughn was still collecting additional statements for the victim’s family.
The contrast was difficult to ignore.
After a moment, Henry put out his cigarette and took a deep breath.
The fatigue in his eyes gradually disappeared, replaced by the steady focus of a prosecutor preparing for trial.
“Enough.
We’re the prosecution, not the defense, so there’s no point worrying about what his lawyer is planning.” He looked at the two men.
“We’ve completed the procedures we were required to complete, and we’ve checked the evidence.
Now all that remains is to wait for the trial the day after tomorrow.” Henry was far from the only person thinking about the Pine Hollow case.
November 9th.
At the Greenwood City Intermediate Court, Judge Peter Lawson sat in the office of the First Criminal Division with a newspaper spread across the desk in front of him.
“The defense still hasn’t submitted any substantive evidence, while the prosecution has filed quite a lot before trial.” His expression was unusually solemn.
He glanced down at the newspaper again, which was filled with articles and commentary about the Pine Hollow case, before turning toward the middle-aged man seated nearby.
“Chief Judge Bennett, this case has already attracted too much attention.
Since tomorrow’s hearing is public, there are going to be reporters and members of the public in the gallery.” Chief Judge Harold Bennett sat in his judicial robes with a square, weathered face and an expression that revealed almost nothing.
Peter continued, “If the defense gets completely overwhelmed in court, the reaction outside could become very difficult.” Under the rules governing public trials, ordinary citizens and reporters were permitted to attend so long as seating and court regulations allowed it.
And this was hardly an ordinary case.
A father had searched for his abducted daughter for ten years, finally found her in a village where she had been confined and abused, and then became involved in the confrontation that left the man who had bought her dead.
If that father were now convicted of an extremely serious crime while the public watched from the gallery, the backlash could be enormous.
Peter felt uncomfortable just imagining the scene.
Harold Bennett, however, remained expressionless.
“We conduct the trial normally.” Peter hesitated.
Chief Judge Bennett was the presiding judge in Martin Hayes’s case, and Peter knew exactly what kind of man he was.
Neutral, disciplined, and almost painfully resistant to outside pressure.
Harold rarely allowed public sentiment to affect the way he exercised judicial discretion.
If the evidence supported one conclusion, newspaper headlines would not persuade him to choose another simply because it would make the public happier.
That meant the case would ultimately depend on what the prosecution and defense could establish in court.
And Martin’s attorney had not submitted a single piece of substantive defense evidence.
Harold finished reading the newspaper, folded it neatly, and placed it on the desk.
“Pack everything up and make sure the courtroom is ready.” He stood.
“We prepare for tomorrow’s trial.” Peter watched him leave before releasing a long sigh.
He was only one member of the judicial panel.
He was not the police, not the prosecutor, and not the presiding judge, so there was little he could do except perform his own role properly.
Once he accepted that, the unease in his expression gradually disappeared and he returned to his work.
The rest of that afternoon seemed to pass unusually slowly as every side made its final preparations.
At Creston Law Group, Derek Vaughn reviewed the witness statements and other material he had gathered, and a faintly confident smile appeared on his face as he considered what he intended to present in court.
At the Greenwood City Intermediate Prosecutor’s Office, Henry Walsh and Paul Mercer went through their files repeatedly, checking the evidence and arguments for any omission that could cause trouble during the hearing.
At Blackwood & Reed Law Firm, Adrian Cole finished the last document he had been preparing and looked down at the words on the page with a smile.
Whether Martin walked away with his life intact would depend on what happened tomorrow, and Adrian knew perfectly well that once the hearing began, he might have to stand alone against the prosecutors, the victim’s representatives, their witnesses, and every unfavorable piece of evidence in the case.
Meanwhile, discussion of the Pine Hollow case continued spreading throughout Greenwood City.
Shoppers argued about it in markets, construction workers discussed it over meals, office employees debated it during breaks, and factory workers passed newspapers between one another while reporters prepared their notebooks and finalized plans for the next morning.
Everyone was waiting to see what would happen when the case finally entered the courtroom.
Under that increasingly tense atmosphere, the final hours slipped quietly away until the date everyone had been waiting for finally arrived.
November 10th.
The first-instance trial of the Pine Hollow Case was about to begin.