Page 35 of The Devil's Price

Men come with buckets and mops. I sit there in humiliation at my table watching them clean the mess. Callahan isn't so nice this time to call a recess. He glowers at me the entire time the men mop up my vomit, though he has cleared the rest of the courtroom of the jury and audience, at least. I feel vulnerable without my security detail, but Callahan isn't going to pull any shit with Quinn and O'Connor here, not to mention the court official too.

When the porters have gone and the mess is cleaned up, Callahan speaks frankly with us and all I can do is take it. "Ms. Gallagher, I suggest you hold yourself together a bit better. If you're sick, assign someone to this case to try it for you. If not, then manage these symptoms appropriately. We cannot finish a trial with you spewing vomit every other day." He's being cold and harsh, though I do understand his point. Had this been any other case, I'd have recused myself already.

I know if I do that now, however, Mick will go to prison for certainty. With me here, at least he has a fighting chance now. It's funny how I've gone from being adamant the man was guiltyto understanding how entirely twisted this thing has gotten and wishing I'd never been a part of it, to seeing how innocent men go to jail for the guilty. I want to do the right thing, not the easy thing.

"I apologize, Your Honor, and I am feeling quite ill. I thought the case would be over today and I would be able to rest up afterward, but?—"

"Enough," he spits, glaring at me. His eyes shift to Quinn and he asks, "How many more witnesses do you have?"

Mr. Quinn glances at me nervously, like he thinks I'm his life vest in this roiling sea of anger. Neither of us wants to be held in contempt and I'm sure both of us are ready for this to be over today. I just know if he says no more witnesses, the judge will recall the jury and ask them to decide. My fingers inch together, crossing in hopes that Quinn won't give up the ghost just yet. I need more time to do things the right way.

"Sir, we have one more witness. Ms. Miriam Flaherty, the?—"

"Whore, I know," he interrupts again. It's degrading to hear him speak about her like that. She's a sex worker, and maybe that's all she has left to do to make a living. "We'll hear her testimony tomorrow starting at ten a.m. Then court will adjourn for jury deliberation." He turns to me in anger again. "Unless you have some objection, Ms. Gallagher?"

"No, sir. Your Honor, that sounds fine to me." I'm shaking as I take a deep breath and nod at him. Less than twenty-four hours to make this idiot pay for everything he's done so far and get Mick O'Connor at least a fair trial, if not freedom from every baseless accusation.

"Tomorrow, then," he says and smacks his gavel on the sounding board.

I waste no time gathering my things, haphazardly shoving my papers into my legal binder and then into my briefcase. Quinn and O'Connor watch me frantically scurrying about with curiosity in their eyes, and I rush from the room with one thing on my mind. I have to get to McVeigh and pray he's not as crooked as they come too.

The bodyguards wait just outside the courtroom entrance. One of them takes my case to carry it, but both walk along in rushed steps with me as my heels click on the marble floors.

After reading that note, I slid it into my pocket. I have proof now, not just hearsay from evidence that can't be entered into a trial, but real proof that Callahan is dirty. His handwriting on this note, threatening me with death if I don't make sure Mick O'Connor is found guilty, is enough to put him behind bars for a long time, if not forever. And he'll never preside over a case again.

"Ms. Gallagher, I'm under strict orders to take you to your penthouse." One of the guards tries to stop me, and I sidestep him and scowl.

"Stay out of my way, please. I need to get to the director of public prosecutor's office right away." The look on my face must show him how serious I am because he opens the door for me and falls into step without asking any more questions.

"How can we help?" the other asks, and I shake my head.

"Keep me alive long enough to make these sick bastards pay for their crimes," I retort as I walk faster. It's only a block to the building where my office and the other prosecutors' officesare. I know McVeigh is there now. I spoke to him before trial this morning about Finn's suspicions. He told me even if I had "alleged images" of criminal wrongdoing, I couldn't use them. I needed something more.

While the note came as an utter shock that had me shaken to my core, in the aftermath I knew it was just what I needed. Now I scurry toward my boss's office to provide that proof in hopes it will end this trial dead in its tracks. At least Mick will be able to have the proper trial he deserves then and not be sentenced to life in prison without it.

When we get there, the guard flings the door open and I rush in, scrambling past McVeigh's assistant who swears he's in a meeting. I barge right into his office to see a judge parked in the short wooden armchair across from McVeigh, and both men look up at me in surprise.

"Ms. Gallagher, I'm in a meeting. Can this wait?" He stands slowly, nodding at the judge whom I know to be Winslow O'Hare—another man I've always believed above reproach, but I’m not sure what to think now.

"Apologies, Mr. McVeigh, Your Honor, but this cannot wait. It's a matter of quite some urgency." My chest is hammering, pulse racing. I pray Callahan hasn't seen me walk into this building so hastily. Someone has been watching me, but I don't know who or how or where. I feel sick again just thinking of it.

"Mr. O'Hare, could I ask you to step outside for a few moments while I address this rude interruption?" McVeigh eyes me with caution as he addresses the judge, and the man nods and stands up.

I watch as he leaves, shutting the door behind himself, then pluck the letter out of my pocket and thrust it out toward my supervisor. "He wrote this. Callahan is threatening me." My hand shakes as he takes the pink slip of paper and reads over it. His eyebrows rise and he meets my gaze.

"Do you know what this means, Siobhan?" McVeigh stands holding the evidence, and I'm trembling thinking he's going to rebuke me, tell me he, too, is dirty and I'm in a hell of a mess.

I can't stand anymore. My legs feel weak, knees ready to give out. I sink into the chair, still warm from the judge's body, and cover my mouth with both hands.

"We have him. We can do this." McVeigh walks around to my side of the desk and stands over me. "This is proof that we've been waiting for."

"So, you go arrest him or what?" I'm relieved, ready for this to be over and for me to have my life back. I don't know how everything will work out with Finn yet, but just knowing I won't have to live under the thumb of an evil man is a huge weight off my shoulders.

"Not yet," he says, sitting on the edge of his desk. "Now you can't spread this to anyone, but I wanted you to be the first to know. A videotape has come in revealing the real killer of Aiden Hughes. His name is Hagen Doyle, son of Cormac. He's the heir to the Doyle throne and we've got him red-handed. We also have word that there is an eyewitness placing Hagen at the scene of the crime, and we know the weapon used never belonged to Mick O'Connor."

The news swirls around my head and makes me dizzy. There is physical evidence that’s been hidden from me by someone in theGarda who knew about it. Liam… it has to be. My eyes rise to meet McVeigh's.

"So it's over?"

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