Justin Bryce was a soft-spoken, pear-shaped guy in his late fifties. Back when she was arrested for grand theft, he’d served as her public defender. Didn’t keep her out of prison, but he got her sentences to run concurrently. After getting out, she’d hired him to get her rights restored and to handle legal matters for the shop. He’d become kind of a family friend—albeit an expensive one.
“You’re lucky,” said Justin after Buzzkill and the others stepped outside the interrogation room. “I finished a case up in Prescott an hour before you called.”
“Not guilty?” she asked, hoping for a positive sign.
“He did better than he would have without me. Let’s leave it at that.” He frowned. “Tell me what’s going on here. Why’re they looking at you for this woman’s murder?”
“Early this morning, some
