Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

stare now and mouthed, ‘Vest?’
    Daphne nodded, then her eyes flicked to the door at his right as it opened. The older Millhouse brother had arrived, uncharacteristically out of breath. George had been running, his face red and sweaty. He shot her a cold look before taking his place between his parents.
    ‘Looks like George made it after all,’ Grayson murmured.
    ‘Lucky us,’ Daphne muttered sarcastically. George had been escorted from the courtroom many times for his outbursts. She wasn’t eager to see what he had up his sleeve today. She turned in her seat, facing forward. ‘At least Marina isn’t here.’
    ‘Maybe she finally had that baby,’ Grayson said.
    ‘Lucky us,’ Daphne muttered again. That child didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with a sixteen-year-old KKK groupie for a mother and Reggie Millhouse for a father.
    Normally Daphne felt empathy for teen mothers, having been one herself, but she felt very little for Marina. Daphne clearly remembered what it had been like to find out she was pregnant at fifteen – the fear, the despair, the disappointment that her dreams would never be. But those feelings had quickly taken a backseat to the need to protect her unborn child, to give him the best life she could. It had been one of the greatest challenges in her life.
    Marina – and the Millhouses – seemed to view pregnancy in a far more calculating way, using her baby to manipulate public opinion in their favor. There were some who pitied Marina, believing that the Millhouses controlled her actions, but Daphne had seen the sly gleam in the girl’s eye. Marina not only knew what she was doing, she reveled in it. Daphne worried about that baby, worried at the life the child would lead. If Reggie was acquitted, the baby would be raised to become another Millhouse, racist and violent, but with that shiny veneer of charm that had fooled so many. If Reggie was convicted, his baby, who in utero had already become the symbol of the Millhouses’ ‘hope for a purer America’, would become . . . Daphne shuddered to think about it.
    Marina had been absent the past few days, a welcome relief from her soulful sobs. A pretty girl, she was a media favorite who used those baby blues of hers to influence anyone on the fence.
    Unbelievably, there were people on the fence. Hopefully none were on this jury.
    Daphne sucked in a breath when the door to the jury room opened. Finally . Clearing her mind, she studied the jurors, noting that some were pale. All were grim.
    ‘I’m going back to my seat now,’ Grayson whispered. ‘If things go south, you will not act the hero. You tuck and roll. Got it?’
    ‘Honey, if things go south, I’ll be dusting the floor. Guaranteed.’
    The bailiff entered solemnly. ‘All rise.’
    They did, then sat when the judge had been seated. Daphne held her breath as the judge asked the jury foreman for their verdict. The foreman stood, the paper he held fluttering as his hands shook. But he wasted no time in reading the verdict.
    ‘We the jury, on the charge of murder in the first degree, find the defendant, Reggie Millhouse, guilty.’
    Yes . Daphne closed her eyes as cheers and cries of outrage rose around them.
    ‘No!’
    Twisting in the direction of the shriek, Daphne could only stare. One second Cindy Millhouse was hugging her son over the bar, sobbing, then suddenly she was barreling through the gate.
    ‘Bitch!’ Fingers like claws, face contorted with rage, Cindy lunged, coming for . . .
    Me . Oh my God . She’s coming for me .
    Tuesday, December 3, 10.10 A.M.
    Joseph texted photos of the dead cop’s face to Bo, but didn’t think they’d do much good toward an ID. The pics were too grainy because the alley was too damn dark, the rooftops of the buildings blocking what little natural light there was. The sky was gray and darkening by the hour, the forecasters calling for more snow. Which is all we need .
    He was about to put away his phone when a string of very terse texts came through. Hell . He’d forgotten about his father. Joseph sent a quick answer: Working a case . Victim is not Ford . Will call when I can .
    He aimed his flashlight at the victim’s face and upper torso – all he could see until CSU processed the scene and removed the pile of boxes covering him to his ankles.
    There didn’t seem to be any injuries to the face and head. Nothing but that mawing slice across his throat. The blood that had pooled behind the victim’s neck and