The Anonymous Source Read Online Free Page A

backyard for pleasure. He is remorseless . He did not even bother to destroy the murder weapon! To the man before you, killing is its own reward.”
    Sharp stopped pacing and looked at the jury. “We may not be able to understand this man’s evil, but we know it when we see it. And, ladies and gentlemen, we are confident that you will make sure he never has the opportunity to kill again.”
    Sharp let his words sink in, then took his seat. Alex jotted a few notes, yawned, and moved his gaze back to the woman’s hair, hoping she would turn around again. His head throbbed and he wished he’d eaten a few more eggs.
    Defense attorney Cynthia Baker wore a cream-colored suit and her long dreadlocks were tied in a neat bun. She was young and Alex thought she must be inexperienced because he had never seen her before. “Mr. Sharp is right about one thing,” she began, “Mr. Santiago was in Washington Square Park from one to one-fifteen in the morning. But he was not there to kill Professor Martin. The defense will show that Mr. Santiago—lonely, confused, and away from home for the first time—made an error in judgment. He went to the park that night to purchase marijuana. But he did not purchase marijuana, just as he did not kill Mr. Martin.
    “The defense will show,” she continued, “that Mr. Santiago entered the park at one, wandered around for fifteen minutes, then attended part of a film. He was back in his dorm by two-thirty. And we will show that the so-called murder weapon, the spray bottle of fentanyl, was in Mr. Santiago’s dorm room on the night in question. Further, we will provide proof that Mr. Santiago had a prescription for the drug.
    “Finally, we will demonstrate that—despite Mr. Sharp’s best efforts to obscure this fact—there is not a man or woman alive who saw Mr. Santiago commit this crime. Not one.”
    Alex listened with one ear. His thoughts danced between Greta’s pale, naked body, and what he would have for lunch—then landed once again on the woman in the front row.

Chapter Four
    WHEN THE TRIAL broke for lunch, Alex followed the woman outside and down the courthouse steps. The afternoon was cool and cloudless. He took a deep breath and felt refreshed, despite the fumes from the garbage trucks backed up along the street.
    The woman turned down Broadway and paused at a red light. She took something out of her purse and passed it from hand to hand. When she began walking again, Alex flipped open his phone and called his editor.
    “Colonel, it’s Alex. Laptop’s dead . . . I know . . . Yeah, I know . I’ve got the first hit from this morning. You ready?”
    He dodged a car as he crossed an intersection and dictated the story using his “evening news” voice. “In a surprising twist in the Eric Santiago trial, the defense admitted that the defendant was in Washington Square Park the night Professor John Martin was murdered . ” He paused. “Got it? The Post might lead with the new prosecutor, but this is the story . . . Yeah, okay, I’ll drop the voice.”
    The woman turned left onto Canal and started walking faster. When he lost her in the crowd, he jogged until he saw her again.
    “Colonel, you still there?” he asked in his normal voice. “Good. Both defense and prosecution acknowledge that the case hinges on a fifteen-minute period, from one to one-fifteen a.m. on January first, 2002. Prosecutors argued that Santiago sprayed Martin with a lethal dose of fentanyl during that period, but the defense claimed that Santiago had nothing to do with Martin’s death—Got it? New graf . . . No, I’m not reading from notes. This is how I roll, Colonel.”
    The woman stopped in a crowd at a red light on West Broadway. Alex waited a hundred feet behind her.
    “In another development, the District Attorney’s Office surprisingly appointed Assistant DA Daniel Sharp as lead prosecutor, showing its determination to win a conviction in the high-profile murder trial—Wait,