, where Paige’s mother had been the on-set tutor. Apparently, they’d remained friends ever since. Paige’s mother, Nina, gave a brief, heartrending statement about the loss of her only child-all that was left of their little family. Paige’s father had died of cancer years ago.
So the victims were about as blameless as it gets, their only crime being that they were unlucky enough to be home when some asshole decided to rip them off.
There was no suspect in custody, so the sharks hadn’t started to circle yet. But they would-the moment there was an arrest. It had all the makings of a media circus, and the bigger the circus, the better it is for business.
But big enough to be worth sitting next to the animal who’d done it? I wasn’t sure. I had friends in the public defender’s office who were true believers, who didn’t care how many victims their clients had disemboweled, who thought they were all just poor, misunderstood unfortunates. And some are, though more often they’re just schlemiels who don’t think past the next five minutes-which is largely why they get caught. But there’s a small percentage who are nothing but born predators. And for them, no amount of good parenting, quality schooling, or therapy sessions will ever make a bit of difference. That doesn’t mean I don’t fight for them just as hard. I fight like hell. It just means I never forget who they are. Or that justice really should prevail, though too often, it doesn’t.
I didn’t mind the fact that the Canyon Killer would be the most hated guy in the country. I knew going into this business that I wasn’t going to score a lot of Valentine’s cards. Being troll-bait for haters is part of the gig.
And I don’t have to love the client. I don’t even have to like the client. Sometimes, I really hate the client. Doesn’t matter. I’m there to take care of society’s refuse, the ones nobody wants-or ever wanted. And if I have to slash and burn to do it, so be it. When I walk into court, I’m not concerned about justice, the rule of law, or making sure it’s a fair fight. Fuck fair. I’m there to protect my client. That’s where my duty begins and ends.
But Chloe-and by association, her best friend, Paige-felt too real, too close to me. And whoever murdered them was likely a real monster. The idea of sitting next to the douche bag who’d done it made me sick. So I didn’t ask Michelle to monitor the case, I didn’t ask the courthouse reporters for the inside skinny, and I didn’t call my producer buddies for media scoop.
