Franklin was clearly pained to be the bearer of bad news. “While that’s all very possible, there’s not a single scrap of evidence to support it,” he said. “We can bring Harding in for questioning, but unless he’s in the mood to confess, there’s no way we’ll get anything out of him.”
“So that’s it?” Nessa looked crushed. “All these young women die and we have a good idea who killed them, but he gets to go free?”
“The law is reason free from passion,” Franklin said. “Gut feelings don’t get you very far with D.A.s or juries. We have to take our time and collect the evidence we’ll need to get a conviction. Don’t get discouraged. Justice may be slow, but she’s also relentless.”
He made a good point, Nessa thought. Then Jo made her case.
“In the time it takes to gather proof of what we already know is true, another girl could be murdered. Seems to me, the law does a good job of protecting the rights of the powerful and a pretty shitty job of taking care of the people who need its protection the most.”
That was the truth, too, and Nessa knew it. Though most of the police officers she’d met did their jobs with the best of intentions, the system was designed to punish, not protect.
“Our legal system is far from perfect,” Franklin said. “But it’s all we’ve got. We throw it out, and we’ll be left with nothing but chaos.”
Jo felt every molecule vibrating with indignation. She liked Franklin, and she knew what he meant to Nessa, but his line of argument was ridiculous and she wasn’t afraid to say it. “So we have to play by the rules while men like Spencer Harding do whatever they like. You know why he sent flowers to Harriett and me, don’t you?”
“We haven’t confirmed that he sent the flowers.”
That statement floored Jo. “Does obeying the law mean abandoning your common sense? That’s a four-hundred-dollar bouquet. Who the hell do you think bought it? Of course Harding sent the flowers. They were meant as a threat—what else could they mean?”
Franklin sighed. “I can’t read minds, Jo, and I have to be honest with you, I doubt a grand jury would interpret flowers as a threat.”
“Well, I’m telling you, if that motherfucker or any of his hired thugs set one foot inside my gym or my house, I will kill them all and enjoy doing it.”
“Please don’t take the law into your own hands,” Franklin warned her. “You could be the one who winds up in jail.”
“For defending myself?” Jo asked.
“There’s no such thing as preemptive self-defense, Jo.”
“So we know who the bad guy is, but there’s nothing we can do. I guess that makes me, Harriett, Nessa, and every young woman in Mattauk sitting ducks.”
Franklin looked over at Nessa and shuffled uncomfortably. Nessa knew there was truth in Jo’s words, and so did he. “Jo, I swear to you, I’ll do my very best to make sure this case keeps moving forward—and that the three of you remain safe.”
He was so earnest. So dedicated. There was no doubt in Jo’s mind that Franklin meant everything he said. She wished it could be enough. But it wasn’t. Not even close.
Franklin drove Nessa home, but Jo stayed behind. She asked Heather to look after the gym, then she climbed the stairs and claimed a treadmill by the second-floor windows. Running usually burned off her rage, but an hour passed and her hands were still balled up in fists. With every pump of her arms, she punched an invisible face. First it was Spencer Harding’s, then Jackson Dunn’s. Chief Rocca got his, and even Franklin wasn’t spared. How could men get away with killing so many women? Why did the law stand between them and justice? How could anyone run the risk of another girl being killed? And with the energy coursing through her every muscle and vein, why was she still so powerless to do anything about it?