Deirdre managed to regain some semblance of composure, but her bloodshot eyes were still as bellicose as a pair of daggers pointing in the direction of the lawyer and the police. “Why… did… you people… lie?! Why did you lie?! You told me you’d help me build a case!!!”

Her accusation pushed the captain’s buttons. “You don’t build a case without solid evidence, ma’am. And you’ve got none of that! Did you really think you could decide if a year-old case was murder just because you said so? Gimme a break!”

“Enough, please…” Sam exhaled, his hands still pinning her shoulders. This could not continue—he just knew it. Gritting his teeth, he said forcefully, “You have to end this right now, Miss McKinnon! You have to drop all your charges against Mr. Brighthall and just… leave the rest to him, okay? That way, you will leave this station in one piece by the end of the day!”

“Drop the charges?” Deirdre’s hollow eyes were somehow made alive by the grotesque force of hate and resentment in them