Read In the Blood for Free Online Page B

Lopez.” He pauses, glancing around the courtroom. Talk about theatrical. “Innocent children. Trusting children. Dead. Sexually assaulted and brutally murdered, in cold blood, by the accused.” He points his finger at Dad.
    Everyone stares at Dad, and he remains impassive. Not a flash of guilt, remorse, or sadness is remotely etched across his face. It’s like he’s totally divorcing himself from the whole proceedings. I don’t know this cold, insensitive man. He may look like my dad from the outside, but that’s where the similarity ends.
    The prosecutor outlines the evidence he’s going to present to the court, including witnesses. Something doesn’t seem right, but I can’t put my finger on it.
    The defense lawyer stands up next.
    “My client, Benjamin Franklin, is a family man, who loves his wife and children. And who’s been accused falsely.”
    My jaw drops. What the fuck? Falsely accused—how does he make that out? How’s he gonna deal with the hair in the trinket box?
    “All the evidence is circumstantial,” the lawyer continues. “My client was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the evidence will show this…”
    I rest my head in my hands. I don’t understand what’s going on.
    Circumstantial? That means there’s no concrete evidence, which doesn’t make sense. What about the hair? Why doesn’t that count? Why didn’t the prosecutor mention it?
    Or was the evidence planted? Is Dad not guilty? Have we got it wrong?
    No. NO.
    He is guilty. I saw his face when they found the trinket box. If it was planted, he’d have said so. Dad’s never been the sort of guy who takes things lying down. And I can’t forget he as good as admitted what he did in the letter he sent me. All this is probably some crazy-assed legal bullshit to try and get him off. So much for his doctrine that you should always own up to your mistakes and take the punishment.
    For some reason, the judge calls for a recess, and I decide to leave and go back to school. Coming here seemed like a good idea, so I could make some sense of everything, but all it’s done is confuse and sicken me even more. The opening statements were bad enough; no way can I sit through all the gruesome evidence the prosecution’s going to produce. To hear how those poor boys suffered. And I know now that it’s not going to help me learn any more about my father and why he did it. I don’t care what his defense lawyer says; in my heart, I’m sure he’s guilty.

Chapter Thirteen
    Garret Tyler Winston Mitchell
    Age eight.
    Only child.
    Mother died in childbirth.
    Short red hair.
    Tall for his age; four feet ten.
    Collects spiders.
    Loves his daddy, who’s a dentist, more than anything in the whole world.
    Hates cleaning his teeth.
    Refuses to eat peas.
    Skateboards everywhere.
    Surprises his teachers with his extensive vocabulary.
    Learning to play the guitar.
    Best friends with Adam.
    Benjamin Franklin’s second victim.
    Dead.

Chapter Fourteen
    “Hey, Franklin,” Dobbs yells from across the other side of the locker room.
    “What?” I snap, not bothering to look up from tying my bootlaces.
    It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realize it will be something about my dad. Thanks to the trial starting today, the papers are rehashing everything he did. So all fingers are pointing at me. It’s not like I don’t get it. If it was another guy’s dad, I might have felt resentment toward him, and not even consider whether he knew anything about it or not.
    “What did the pedophile say when he was released from prison?” He pauses, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of answering. “I feel like a kid again.”
    Some of the guys laugh while I pretend to ignore them.
    “Except your dad won’t get out of prison,” Dobbs continues. “He’s heading for death row. Where he deserves to be.”
    I agree. If he’s guilty.
    I don’t get why, after deciding he’s definitely guilty, that I still keep thinking there’s a chance he could be