Tremlin was an older man, balding but still as sharp and contrite as ever. He was known for being fair but harsh. McCoy had tried more than one case before him and lost, which made it a fortunate luck of the draw for Danielle Melenick, who entered chambers with confidence. There was no defense to argue against her claim, for they had no proof either way. If her client had been out of his mind at the time of the abduction, it did not condone his later actions, the fact that he had kept her a week, hidden, fully aware of the wrongdoing in his response.
"I see no reason why the defense should not be allowed to present EED at trial," Tremlin said after he heard their arguments. He sat behind his desk, comfortable in a suit and tie, hands folded before him on the flat surface.
Jack could not argue with him, for he knew their claims were weak at best, but as they walked down the corridor, turned to Claire and said, "I don't want to go into trial without some idea of what Danielle has up her sleeve. What have the police turned up?"
"So far, nothing conclusive. There's no evidence of former physical or sexual abuse, and the coroner claims the bruises on the body were within the time frame that Grantlund had her. I know that you've been friends with Danielle for a long time, Jack, but is it possible that she's just blowing smoke under your collar?"
Amusement surfaced in his eyes as he turned to look at her. "Danielle would never present any case at court that she was not sure she had a legitimate chance of winning. Tell them to dig deeper, and look into everyone related to the family that comes in and out of the household. If Samantha was previously abused and the defendant has knowledge of it, they could come out in court saying her death being an unfortunate accident and might have a valid hope of getting a hung jury. I don't want to try this case twice."
"His daughter can place him at the train station with a little girl she believes might have been Samantha, hours after the abduction," Claire said as she pushed out the revolving door of the courthouse. "But she doesn't want to testify against him in a capital case. I'm going to take a run at her this afternoon. Do you want to come?"
The wind hit them, a warm breeze from uptown that sent her dark hair flying. She lifted a slender hand to halt it, her fingers entangling in the long strands. Jack looked at her a moment, and she saw that he was tempted, but then the look in his eyes changed slightly and he said, "I can't. I'm taking off early this afternoon, to meet my daughter at the airport. She has a two-day layover."
Claire had never met Jack's daughter, though when he did speak of her it was with affection. He was a very private individual in the office, disinclined to discuss family affairs. It was well known his reputation for dating his assistants, but beyond that few people knew much of him. It had been only recently when she had learned of Alana's existence, and that was a reference in passing. She lived with her mother in Chicago, the product of a fairly amiable divorce. It had been a marriage that worked for a time, and then drifted as its participants became overly involved in their work. His wife had been a prosecutor who then went into private practice, and he had spent long hours at the office. It had been a mutual parting without a violent custody battle.
The hand holding her hair out of her eyes lowered and she smiled. "Have a good weekend, then, Jack," she said. "I'll have something substantial on your desk by Monday."
He gave her one of his amused glances and progressed away from her down the stairs. Claire stood a moment watching him, and then went to catch a taxi.