The very next day, Calvin called me, his voice tight with frustration. “Eleanor, Harrington just filed a formal motion to dismiss the case.”
My heart sank. “On what grounds?”
“Lack of credible evidence and unreliable witnesses,” Calvin recited, the words bitter on his tongue. “He’s citing the lack of a direct adult eyewitness, the dismissal of Tommy’s drawing, and, of course, the fact that Bobby Jenkins is nowhere to be found.”
He paused, then added, “Judge Finch already seems inclined to grant it. He set a hearing for next week to formally consider the motion.”
A suffocating wave of despair washed over me. It felt like every door was slamming shut, one after another. Croft wasn’t just influencing, he was controlling the entire process. He knew the system, and he was expertly manipulating it to his advantage.
“So, that’s it then?” I asked, my voice flat. “He gets away with it?”
“Not if I can help it,” Calvin said, though his voice lacked its usual certainty. “I’ll argue against the dismissal, but without any new evidence, it’s a long shot. He’s tying our hands at every turn.”
The case was being strangled, slowly and methodically. It was a legal death by a thousand cuts, each one orchestrated by Croft’s invisible hand. We were adrift, the promise of justice receding further and further into the distance.
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