Page 4 of Mob Saint

“But we’re to accept your finding in this case, by your word alone, when you went to a cold scene that was forty-eight hours old. Is that right?”

“The fire inspector went before me, so I wasn’t the only person to review the scene or the evidence.”

“But an inspector is less qualified than an investigator, correct?”

“Yes, but?—”

“So, with your insufficient experience and his even lesser qualifications, we’re to accept the accuracy of your expert testimony. Is that correct?”

“Objection, your honor. Badgering the witness.”

Tiernan doesn’t look remotely badgered. Just the opposite. That last name fits better than ever. She’s detached, professional, and likely to shoot me without blinking an eye if she’s even remotely connected to Gareth O’Brien.

“One of us needs to establish credibility, your honor.” Or the lack of it.

No part of me thinks she’s truly unqualified to testify. No part of me likes what I’m doing. But if liking myself determined most of my actions, I’d be dead a thousand times over by the ripe old age of thirty-two.

“Overruled, Mr. Hofstadter. Mr. O’Rourke, the ice upon which you skate is cracking. I wouldn’t fall through if I were you.”

“Yes, your honor. I’m nearly through.” I turn back to Tiernan. “Earlier, you answered Mr. Hofstadter’s question with ‘I think it’s likely someone tampered with it.’ If it’s only likely, then there’s at least one, if not an indefinite number of other explanations. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you think, not know, correct?”

“One thinks before one knows, Mr. O’Rourke. I’ve given this plenty of thought, so I know that building did not catch fire on its own.”

“But you don’t know how, do you?” She hesitates. I risk actually badgering. “Do you, Ms. Furey?”

I cock an eyebrow while I wait. Smug arsehole that I am.

“I'm confident someone who’s knowledgeable of electrical wiring, building construction, and fire behavior intentionally started the fire. There are few people with that experience?—”

“Just yes or no, Ms. Furey.”

I want that last statement dangling in the air, even though I know she didn’t intend what she said to support my arguments.

“No, I do not, Mr. O’Rourke.”

“No more questions, your honor.”

“Redirect, Mr. Hofstadter?”

“The prosecution requests the right to recall the witness.”

“Granted. Ms. Furey, the court thanks you for your time. You may step down.”

The judge waits for Tiernan to leave the witness box. She walks toward the gallery, keeping her eyes straight ahead as she passes me.

“It is nearly five o’clock. Court shall adjourn until nine tomorrow morning.”

Court ends for the day with a heavy rap of the gavel. I want nothing more than to swivel my seat and discover whether Tiernan is still in the courtroom or if she beat a hasty retreat. The next best thing would be to turn to Cormac, but I won’t until the jury leaves. Neither of us says a word until there’s no one in front of us. We aren’t the only people in the world who can read lips, and loose lips sink ships.

“You asking her out?” Cor smirks at me, and I’d throat punch him if he weren’t my brother. Tempting, nonetheless.

We have cousins, Sean and Shane, who are identical in every way. Looks, mannerisms, the way they sound, walk, and stand. People outside the family can only tell them apart by the freckle on Sean’s throat. Cormac and I look different enough to tell us apart by more than a birthmark. But not by much. When he’s smug, it’s like looking in a mirror. He’s only seven months older than me since I was a preemie. We’re closer than Irish twins.

“Can I sleep at your place tonight? She’s more likely to gut me than say yes. And I don’t date.”

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