Justin Timberlake

Veronica Mason

Jeffery Carter

Sean Flannery

Richard Crawford

Anderson Harris

Carla Novak

Timothy Gates

Anna Hill

"That's them?"    

Jeffery Carter heaves a contented sigh and smiles at the younger man beside him. "That's them."

"But they look so... normal."    

Detective Carter shrugs and takes a long gulp of his coffee. "Those two are as far from normal as it gets, trust me kid."    

"So what now? Are we waiting for back up... or should we...." Sean Flannery looks around the semi-full parking lot and frowns. No matter what they do, there's going to be a scene. It's inevitable.     

"We're waiting for them. They know we're here." Carter nods, his eyes never leaving the young couple seated inside the diner. "They've been waiting for this almost as long as I have."    

Flannery eyes his partner carefully, the elation clear as day on the older man's face. He knows he should be just as thrilled. There isn't a cop in the country who hasn't been anxiously awaiting this exact moment.     

Although, he always figured this would go down differently. After nearly a year of following their trail, Flannery fully expected the two of them to go out in a hail of gunfire, that they'd martyr themselves in an attempt to go out as dark and twisted heroes.     

And they'd be arrogant enough to believe that themselves. Four years on the run has done nothing to deflate their already enlarged egos.     

Veronica Mason and Justin Timberlake are a special breed, barely even human, really.     

Movement inside the diner catches Flannery's attention and his eyes dart around the lot, processing the scene around him. There has to be a way to do this with little to no casualties.     

Of course, it would only be natural for these two to take out a few more lives now. No one expects them to go down without a fight.     

"You take her... I want him." Carter nods, a look of fierce determination settling on his face as he steps out of the unmarked car.     

Flannery follows suit, doing his best to match his partner's long, confidant strides as he locks his right hand around the holster of his .357. He winces slightly when the heat of his palm comes into contact with the cold metal. He hadn't noticed before, but his hands shake as he follows Carter through the lot.     

At that moment, a small part of him wishes he'd never made Detective. That he was still running highway patrol on the outskirts of the city. Back then, the most excitement he'd seen were routine traffic stops and small time drug busts.    

When he unwittingly stopped the city's most prominent coke dealer on a traffic violation, the entire department seemed to take notice and there was no going back. The name Flannery suddenly stood for something and that led him here.    

He never expected it to be easy, he knew he'd have to make his bones somehow. Just not like this.     

The couple steps out of the diner, their arms locked around each other protectively, as if they somehow know this is it. Some would even speculate that this is the moment the two of them have been waiting for. Even they have to know just what their capture means.    

"Evenin' boys." The man smiles condescendingly, his eyes as black as the darkness surrounding them.    

"Hands where we can see em prick." Carter calls out, drawing his gun so rapidly, his hands are almost a blur.     

"Name calling... how very mature, Detective Carter." The woman laughs wickedly.    

"Timberlake to the right, Mason to the left." Carter barks.    

The couple sighs in annoyance and separates, not so much as flinching at the sight of guns drawn on them.     

Carter crosses the distance between himself and the man, a sort of maniacal glint in his eyes. Flannery mimics his partner's movements until he's standing behind the woman. He grips her slender wrists in his hands and pulls them behind her back, expertly slapping the handcuffs on her and guiding her to the car.     

She doesn't say a word as she eases into the backseat, an amused smile playing at her lips.     

"Get this piece of shit in the car... I'll call the Captain." Carter spits as he shoves the man in the same direction.     

Flannery nods and silently guides the man into the car beside the woman and slams the door behind him.     

In the distance, he can hear his partner celebrating on the phone and in a sudden rush, it all washes over him.     

It's over.     

The most wanted man and woman in America have been captured and it's just a matter of time before they'll both rot in their cells.

"They've got them." Carla Novak grins triumphantly as she steps into the office, tossing her brief case and coat down onto the nearest desk.     

"So I heard."        

"And you're not the least bit pleased?"    

Anderson shoots her a bored look and leans back in his chair. "I would have been pleased if they'd caught them in Oregon, after the first murder, four fucking years ago. All tonight proves is that ninety percent of the cops in this country are fucking incompetent."     

"They would have gotten off on the first murder and you know it. No prints, no trace... nothing."    

"A little decent police work would have gone a long way. You do realize this is going to be a circus, right?"    

"Trial of the century." Carla mutters as she gathers the proper paperwork. "They should be at the precinct now... you coming?"    

"Why bother? They'll lawyer up in a heartbeat... Carter and Flannery won't get shit."    

"One of them will talk. They're going to turn on each other Anderson... you want to miss it, suit yourself."     

Anderson watches her leave the office and shakes his head. He's seen this far too many times to go running the second after an arrest.     

But then again... he's never seen a pair quite like these two. They're manipulative and as cold blooded as it gets. It's all a game to them and they know how to play it well.    

They won't be talking to anyone, no matter what they're threatened with.

***************    

Justin watches in amusement as the older man enters the small, dimly lit room, slamming the door behind him. He's been in this situation too many times to not see the 'bad cop' routine from a mile away.    

Carter slides into the chair across from him, the intense glare never fading as he tosses Justin the pack of cigarettes he requested.    

He pulls one out quickly, taking full advantage of being free of handcuffs. He lights it and inhales deeply, blowing a thick cloud of smoke directly into Carter's face.    

He knows it's a slightly childish move, but it speaks volumes. He isn't afraid of the Detective or any of his empty threats and he'll do whatever necessary to prove it.    

"Talk." Carter demands, his impatience growing more and more prominent.    

"About?" Justin feigns innocence, taking another long draw from his cigarette.    

"Oh, I don't know... the 27 murders you and your play thing have committed within the last four years might be a good place to start."    

"Pass." Justin sighs irritably. "I could always tell you about my parents, people are always curious about them for some reason."    

"I'm not here to listen to your poor, pitiful me, my rich mommy and daddy didn't pay enough attention to me, bullshit. Nothing anyone has ever done to you, justifies what you've done Timberlake."

"I wasn't aware I'd done anything." Justin smirks.        

Carter rises from his seat suddenly, eyes blazing as he opens the folder in his hands. He slams a photo down on the table and out of the corner of his eye, Justin can easily spot the pools of red surrounding a pale, lifeless body.    

"Jennifer Young. Your first victim. You attacked her as she was leaving work and slit her throat before she even knew what hit her." Carter frowns before producing another gruesome photo. "Michael Edwards.... Veronica drugged him in the bar and led him back to your hotel, where the two of you proceeded to torture him for three hours before you finally put the poor bastard out of his misery."    

Justin eyes the photo disinterestedly before glancing back up at Carter.  

"Thomas Bilson... Elizabeth Masters..." Carter throws photo after photo on the table, reciting every name. "Want me to keep going?"    

"Carter... you've got no proof. I'm going to walk out of here in the morning and you can't do shit about it."    

"Over my dead body will you see fucking daylight again."    

"That could probably be arranged, you know."    

"Is that a threat?"    

"More of an observation, really."    

"I'll tell ya Timberlake... I've dealt with plenty of your kind before. That pseudo-intellectual attitude, the sense of entitlement, the arrogance... it's all bullshit. You're no better than any other common criminal and you're gonna rot in a cell just like the rest of them. This second coming of Clyde Barrow routine is just an act. We both know you're just a scared little boy."    

"Clyde Barrow? Are you fucking serious?" Justin laughs incredulously and shakes his head. "Clyde Barrow was a petty thief with homosexual tendencies. Honestly Carter, the comparison is an insult to my character."    

"Character?" Carter chuckles softly. "Timberlake... you have no character. You're a cold blooded killer. End of story. Just confess and make life easier for everyone. Hell... the DA may even take the death penalty off the table if you cooperate."    

Justin leans forward in his seat and smiles, and that exact moment, Carter is positive that he's nailed him, that he's going to confess.    

"Detective Carter, I have four words for you."    

Carter tenses visibly and takes a deep breath. He's been waiting for this for four years. Four years of combing the streets for this man, always a step behind him. Four years of dealing with grieving families, outraged citizens.     

It's all come to this. And deep down, despite the sadness of it all, it was worth it. All of the hard work, funeral after funeral, infuriating press conferences. All the humiliation Carter, the police department and FBI have endured will be worth this confession.     

"I. Want. My. Lawyer."

*********************    

"Lawyer." Veronica's voice chimes throughout the room and Flannery sighs before easing down across from her.     

"Ms. Mason... if you're innocent, why do you need a lawyer?"    

"Oh please." She scoffs and folds her arms over her chest defensively. "You think I'm going to sit here and let you railroad me? Even a child would ask for a lawyer in this situation. And let's not the forget the fact that you boys are prone to planting evidence. God only knows what you've already fabricated."    

"So you're maintaining your innocence?"    

"Lawyer." She repeats, narrowing her eyes at the detective sitting opposite her.    

"Alright. I'll talk. You listen." Flannery shrugs and leans back in his seat. "I think you didn't want to do any of this. Justin's a charming guy and I think you got a little too wrapped up in that and did whatever he told you to do. It happens to a lot of women Veronica. You could prolly get a good deal if you testify against him."    

"Am I being refused my right to counsel?"    

Before Flannery can respond, the door bursts open and Carter strolls in, looking as smug as ever.     

"Now would be a good time to start talking sweetheart, your boyfriend's in there rolling on you and it's not pretty."    

"Honestly Detective... I don't know what you want from me. And as I just told your partner here, I'd like to speak with my lawyer."    

Carter shrugs and leans against the door casually. "You don't have to say a word, but we've got you... both of you and there isn't a lawyer in the world who can save your ass."    

Veronica sighs heavily, the scenes of her arrest flashing through her mind. She heaves a resigned shrug and nods slowly.     

She knows this is it. She and Justin have both been backed into a corner and the evidence is stacked against them, apart from the first murder anyway.    

Witnesses.    

DNA.    

The trophies... every tiny belonging they took from each victim, all placed neatly in a drawer in her bedroom.    

Carpet fibers.    

The blood in her trunk.     

There's no way out of this. They're going down, much later than either of them expected, but it still came, just as they knew it would.     

Why fight it now?    

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know."    

Carter and Flannery both lean forward, their interests peaked. Both men know exactly what this confession could mean for their careers. They were able to finish the job no one else could. There's no end to the recognition they'll both receive.    

"Like hell you will." A booming voice echoes throughout the room and all three occupants jump slightly, turning to face their new companion. "She requested her lawyer fifteen minutes ago and you two were bound and damned determined to coerce her into a confession. I'll be reporting both of you to IA. Can you even imagine what the DA would say about this?"    

"Crawford." Carter mutters under his breath in disgust.    

He should have known. Of course they'd find themselves the best attorney money can buy, the only man cold and soulless enough to stomach defending them.   

"This interrogation is over. I want my client moved to a cell. I'll see you boys at the bail hearing in the morning." Rich Crawford smirks at the two detectives before exiting just as quickly as he arrived.    

Carter jerks the door open angrily and storms into the hall, not so much as glancing behind him to make sure Flannery is following.    

Another second and they'd have had her.

"Docket ending 2273- State of Massachusetts versus Justin Timberlake and Veronica Mason." The bailiff calls out and immediately, four figures rise from their seats in the back of the courtroom.

Once the four attorney's take their places, a door to the side of the judge's bench opens slowly. An officer steps through the door and turns, beckoning the person behind him forward.

Veronica takes a tentative step into the courtroom, the lights causing her orange jumpsuit to appear brighter than it actually is. She shuffles forward awkwardly, her hands and feet bound together.

Justin follows suit and within minutes, they're standing next to their lawyers.

"Charges?" The judge calls out.

"27 counts of murder in the first degree."

"Mr. Crawford, Ms. Hill... how do your clients plead?"

"Not guilty, your honor." Anna Hill nods slowly, her face nothing but confidant.

"The people ask for remand, your honor." Carla Novak's voice echoes throughout the room, the only sound following it that of Richard Crawford chuckling softly.

"Something to add, Mr. Crawford?"

"Yes, your honor. I'd like to request bail. Ms. Novak doesn't have near enough evidence to hold either of my clients."

"Blood belonging to several different victims was found in both of their homes, as well as the trunk of Ms. Mason's car, and we're still working to complete our investigation. They’re both flight risks. They have numerous passports under different ID's. They could get out of the country before anyone realized they were gone."

"I'll be more than happy to surrender all passports, and both of my clients have agreed to house arrest, your honor."

"Is that enough Ms. Novak?"

Carla narrows her eyes at Richard before turning back to the judge. "It's sufficient."

"Mr. Timberlake and Ms. Mason will surrender all passports and be required to wear monitoring devices until their trial. Bail is set at 50,000, each." The gavel comes down with a loud crack and people begin filing out of the courtroom rapidly.

Veronica and Justin are ushered back through the same door, leaving their lawyers to gloat over their small victory.

"They'll take off Richard... you have to know that." Carla sighs irritably. "Even if they were innocent, they'd still flee."

"That's where you're wrong." Richard smirks. "They are innocent, and they're not going anywhere."

"We'll see." Carla mutters. "See you at trial."

"You'll be seeing us before that." Anna chuckles and shakes her head. "We've got several motions to file, including a dismissal."

"Good luck with that. They're guilty as hell and I'm going to make damn sure the entire world knows it." Carla turns and heads out into the hallway, not bothering to look back.

To her core, she knows they're guilty and she knows that once the investigation is complete, she'll have more than enough to convict both of them.

Unfortunately, all she can do is pray that Carter and Flannery find their smoking gun before Crawford is able to turn things in his favor.

***************

"These just came from a search of Timberlake’s house." Carter announces as he and Flannery enter the office, each of them carrying a large box.

Carla and Anderson exchange curious glances before turning their attention to the two detectives. This has to be something good. It's always been a silent agreement that no cop sets a foot in this office unless they've got a damn good reason to.

"Not as much as we hoped for, but it ties them to at least 15 of our victims." The four of them begin to rifle through the boxes, a slight feeling of disgust and sadness filling the room.

Kristen Wallace's high school ring.

Matthew Hall's wallet.

Jeremy and Beth Porter's wedding rings.

The list could go on for days, and all four of them can match each item to a different victim, from memory alone.

Items that, under normal circumstances, would be utterly meaningless to their new owners. However, in this case, they each stand for something sinister, something so dark and twisted, any normal person would be sick just thinking about it.

Sadly, the four people in the small office are jaded enough to not bat an eye. Sure, they can appreciate the horror behind the crimes, but years of experience have taught them to be objective, to keep their emotions and personal thoughts in check.

It's a pathetic existence, at the end of the day. But, it serves it's purpose.

They've all sacrificed their families, their time, even pieces of themselves and their sanity, but they all firmly believe it's worth it. They help keep the bad guys off the streets, that's gotta count for something, right?

"So, this is it, right? This is all we need?" Flannery asks hopefully.

His youth and inexperience have given him one luxury the other three lost long ago. Optimism.

"Not exactly." Anderson sighs, easing into the chair behind his large oak desk. "A murder weapon would help things along."

"Oh come off of it." Carter scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You honestly think that during a four year murder spree, they used the same damn weapon? We've got a double digit body count Anderson!"

"There is knife work in every case." Carla nods slowly, piecing Anderson's theory together in her head. "I'm sure if we tested it, the wounds would match. I'll put a call into the lab, if they can match at least two of them, we can get another warrant to search the property. I'd suggest you two start rounding up witnesses. We'll be needing them."

The four smile grimly at each other as the detectives turn to leave, the same thought on each of their minds.

Even with the vast amounts of evidence they've gathered, without a murder weapon, it doesn‘t mean a thing.

****************

"Plenty of people match their descriptions. It's a case of mistaken identity, if you ask me." Anna sighs, combing through the stack of paperwork in front of her.

"Too simple." Richard mutters, hunched over his desk. "We're dealing with a corrupt, prejudiced police department."

"How so?"

"Veronica and Justin are both from very wealthy families. They've attended the best schools, driven the nicest cars, had the very best of the best since birth. Carter grew up in squalor with an absent father and junkie mother. Flannery's an army brat. Veronica and Justin have the lives they never had a chance at, and with no leads on any of their cases, they went after the first two innocent people who matched their profile."

"So, it isn't the department... it's the detectives." Anna nods in understanding. "But will the jury buy it?"

"No doubt in my mind." Richard smiles confidently. "All we have to do is put Carter on the stand. He'll put his foot in his own mouth, one way or another."

Anna nods slowly as her male counterpart exit’s the office, leaving her to finish up their paperwork.

She’s done the research, she knows the file front to back, but something about the entire case doesn’t sit well with her.

She’s settled for the desk work, while Richard has spent countless hours interviewing their clients. She can only figure that her unfamiliarity with her clients is what’s left her so anxious.

She’s seen the papers. She knows exactly what the world thinks of them, what they think of her.

When she graduated from Stanford Law, she had dreams of being one of the good guys. She wanted to play for the same team as Novak and Harris, and did for some time. But it all changed when she sent an innocent man to death row.

Suddenly, the lines of justice were blurred, and she vowed to never make the same mistake again. That promise landed her in the office of Richard Crawford, where she swore to defend the lowest of the low.

Murderers, rapists, child molesters, thieves, drug addicts. They’ve all paraded through this office, and she’s forced herself to believe in the innocence of each and every one of them.

It wasn’t hard to do when she looked at the facts. 90 percent of their past cases had plenty of room for reasonable doubt, but this time… it’s different.

This time, there’s plenty of evidence stacked against the accused, and she can’t help feeling as though she’s fighting a losing battle.

Or maybe…. Maybe this time, she and Richard are wrong. Maybe this time, there’s just no possible to way to defend their clients.

Maybe, they really are as guilty as they seem.

z88;

*****************************

“We’re on the news again.” Veronica sighs as she flips channels, enjoying the way the images seem to blur the quicker she goes from station to station. “All four networks.”

The only constant she can see in the flashes of color on the screen are Justin’s face and her own. Photos from the happy and not so happy moments of their lives.

Family photos from their childhoods, prom and senior pictures. The two of them at various events and charities.

She’d never say it out loud, but she misses that existence, where they rubbed elbows with folks of equal wealth and stature. Before they were criminals.

“Anything good?” Justin asks as he eases down on the couch next to her. For a second, her eyes land on the black band wrapped around his ankle and she frowns.

Some days, she has to convince even herself that they weren’t always like this. They were good people, they had every thing they ever could have dreamed of. But somehow, it was never enough.

Justin became obsessed with outshining his father. Sure, he could have done it the respectable way, left college and gone into the family business. He’d always shown a talent for real estate development, just like the elder Timberlake.

However, Justin didn’t want to be another drone in the long line of Timberlake Incorporated. He wanted something bigger and better for himself.

How they ended up here, she still isn’t sure.

The first murder was an accident, really. Completely spontaneous and messy.

Veronica thought the two of them were in Oregon for no particular reason. Just another excuse to blow a little trust fund money, and get away from the hustle and bustle of their day to day routines.

Justin, however, had a specific plan for that trip. He’d gotten a tip from a friend on some land for sale, and had every intention of buying it up, and selling it to a high priced hotel chain. It was supposed to be his first big buy on his own.

She can’t clearly remember exactly why it spiraled so far out of control.

They’d stopped at a bar. Some hole in the wall joint, frequented only by the locals. She was well aware of Justin eyeing the blonde making drinks behind the bar, but refused to make a scene.

After two years with him, she’d learned to bite her tongue at the time. He was going to cheat, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She could beg him to stop, threaten to leave him, but deep down… she knew he never would.

She’d been told far too many times that her obsession with him wasn’t healthy. He’d become the most lethal type of drug to her, and no matter what happened, she couldn’t give him up.

She knew the second they returned to their hotel, he’d be gone in a matter of minutes to meet the blonde. There was no way around it.

She didn’t know the woman, had never seen her before, and probably never would again, but that didn’t stop the intense hatred she felt toward her. She visualized killing the woman a thousand times over.

Slitting her throat. Shooting her. It didn’t matter how, as long as it gave her confidence a boost.

But, it was just her imagination running wild. She never could have dreamed it would have become a reality.

She remembers the blonde grabbing her coat as she stopped to chat with some of the patrons, and that’s when Justin tried to make his move.

To this day, she can’t figure out how she managed to stop him.

Veronica frowns at the memory before glancing at Justin. It wasn’t right, she knows that. But, that’s the day everything in their relationship shifted. That was the day she took control.

And on some sick level, she enjoyed it.

Flannery paces the floor anxiously as Anderson Harris scribbles quickly on the sheet of paper in front of him. What he’s writing, Flannery can’t be sure, but there’s no doubt it’s about the bored young man seated across from them.

They’ve been at this for almost four hours now, and haven’t gained an ounce of helpful information. Not that Flannery expected much more. It’s rare that someone so close to their suspects is willing to come clean.

“Mr. Ayala…” Anderson begins slowly, his eyes glued to his paperwork. “What can you tell me about your monthly income?”

Trace Ayala rolls his eyes in annoyance and frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t need totals.” Anderson smiles wickedly. “I’d just like to know where the money comes from.”

“I have a trust fund. You are aware of who my father is, correct? Speaking of which… I’m sure he’ll be calling the Mayor once he hears about this.”

Flannery winces and shakes his head.

He can’t quite figure out why he’s the only one who’s slightly afraid of these kids. They’ve got money, and their parents all have entirely too much influence and power. If they don’t nail them, every attorney and cop who have spent countless hours working this case could very well end up in the unemployment line.

They’re up against politicians, real estate developers, and doctors . People who could take every single one of them down with little to no effort.

“Mr. Ayala… does your father know you’ve been peddling prescription drugs?”

The color immediately drains from Trace’s face, and he begins to fidget in his seat. He should have known. He should have been smart enough to realize he couldn’t sit here, tell them nothing, and get away with it.

“Which, if my memory serves correctly… those drugs belonged to him and your mother.” Anderson nods, satisfied that this interview may finally go somewhere.

“You can’t prove it.” Trace mutters and shakes his head. “You don’t have anything.”

Anderson pulls a folder from his briefcase and slides it across the table. “That’s an undercover officer.”

Trace looks at the pictures, a deep scowl settling on his face. He can’t deny it now. The photos are all the proof they’d need.

“What am I looking at?”

“Criminal possession, trafficking… 15 to 20, easily.”

“But… if… if I… testify… I’m clear?”

“With us.” Anderson nods. “Your father is another story.”

Trace ponders this for several moments.

On one hand, he can keep himself out of prison. But on the other… prison may be easier than dealing with his father.

“Fine.” He says quietly. “What do you want to know?”

***********************

“Do you swear to tell the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God.” Trace looks down at his hand placed gently on the bible, then smirks at the deputy in front of him.

“Does swearing on the bible really matter if I don’t believe in God?”

“Mr. Ayala… “ Judge Timothy Gates sighs, an authoritative warning in his voice.

“Yeah… I swear.” Trace mutters before taking his seat on the stand.

The courtroom is dead silent, a fact that isn’t lost on anyone. Despite the ‘trial of the century’ implications, not a single media outlet has been allowed into the courthouse, which could ultimately throw things in either direction.

Public opinion seems to be that two cold blooded killers are standing trial, and will surely be convicted. However, the public won’t see the testimony from those who knew the accused. Isn’t much of a fair trial when only one side of the story comes out, now is it?

“Mr. Ayala… how long have you known my clients?” Richard begins as he rises from his seat at the defense table, and begins pacing in front of the witness stand.

“Umm… I’ve known Justin as far back as I can remember. I met Veronica when they started dating, freshman year of high school.”

“So, it’s safe to assume that you know both of them pretty well, correct?”

“Yeah… guess so.” Trace shrugs.

He can’t remember ever feeling this nervous. Then again, he’s never had the lives of his friends in his shaking hands, either.

Part of him wants to believe he’s doing the right thing. If they’re guilty, his testimony will put two murderers behind bars, and if they’re innocent… anything he has to say won’t hurt their case. But even with that knowledge, he can’t bring himself to look at either of them.

No matter the outcome, this is the ultimate betrayal. He sold his friends out to save his own ass. Their guilt or innocence doesn’t change that.

“Would you consider either of them to be violent individuals?”

“Well…” He shifts uneasily in his seat and looks at the floor. “I mean… I’ve seen Justin get in fights and stuff, but I never… I didn’t ever think he’d like… really hurt somebody.”

“So, in your eyes… Mr. Timberlake is not capable of committing a single murder, let alone 27?”

“No.”

“And what about Ms. Mason?”

“V’s… I mean… she’s got a temper, yeah.” He nods slowly. “But, I’ve never seen her get violent or anything.”

“Nothing further.” Richard nods, satisfied with every one of Trace’s answers.

Anderson stands, and shuffles through several sheets of paper in front of him, then moves to stand in front of Trace.

“Mr. Ayala… you gave a sworn statement to the Massachusetts PD, that Mr. Timberlake confessed to you that he and Ms. Mason committed at least three of the murders in question. What did he say?”

“Look man… he was drunk… and if you hadn’t noticed, he’s kind of a smartass… I didn’t take him seriously!”

“What did he say?” Anderson presses. No matter what, he’s determined to get this punk to fess up in front of the jury.

“We were at this party….” Trace sighs and shakes his head.

“Mr. Ayala… according to your statement, that is not the conversation that took place. Here, in your handwriting, it says Mr. Timberlake told you Veronica encouraged him to commit the first murder, and that the second…the murder of Michael Edwards, took place because they’d gotten away with the first. Now, I’m going to ask you to remember that you are under oath. So tell us, which story is the truth?” Anderson glares at him, and Trace swallows hard.

“This one. Justin told me the murders were accidents. I told you and the detectives what you wanted to hear.”

“Mr. Ayala… please explain to me how this jury is supposed to believe anything you say? Is it or is it not a well known fact that you have a serious addiction to prescription drugs, and have even resorted to selling said drugs?”

“Sell them… yes. Abuse them… not so much.”

“Nothing further.” Anderson mutters in disgust and retreats to his seat.

He was so sure that Trace’s testimony was the nail in the coffin. The best friend of the accused coming clean, and it’s all come back to bite him in the ass.

“Redirect, your honor?” Richard grins, striding over to Trace when Judge Gates nods slowly.

“Mr. Ayala… is it true that the prosecution offered you full immunity on the drug trafficking charges if you testified against my clients today?”

“Yes sir.”

“And is it true, that the prosecution resorted to blackmail and entrapment to charge you?”

“I believe so, yes. I was shown photographs of myself selling pills to a man, who I did not know was an undercover officer. When I was called in for questioning, Mr. Harris told me the man was an undercover, and said he’d pursue the charges if I didn’t testify.”

“No further questions.” Richard nods, shooting Anderson a condescending smirk as he takes his seat once again.