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ignored her brother’s unwelcome voice echoing in her head and resisted the urge to mutter back a rebuttal as she scanned the paltry collection of people gathering for her candlelight vigil at Riverfront Park near the banks of the Cumberland River.
    The idea of a public gathering had come to her in a moment of desperation. To promote the event, she’d called local civic groups, churches, and media. She’d feared she’d have no takers from the media, but a last minute call from Channel Five offered real hope. The reporter had confirmed she and her crew would arrive momentarily to cover the vigil. She’d organized the event with the intent of drawing attention to her newest client who’d been referred to her by the Innocence Project, a nonprofit group dedicated to clearing wrongfully convicted people.
    When she’d first read the summary of the Jeb Jones case, she’d quickly realized he’d been petitioning for the test for a decade. At the time of his arrest and trial, DNA had not been available and he believed DNA would once and for all prove he wasn’t a murderer.
    She wasn’t naïve enough to take her client’s word alone. But there was enough evidence to argue for DNA testing and once she had the DNA results she’d determine if she had a case. She’d sent her petition to the cops over six weeks ago and so far no word. She found out that the case had been assigned to a Deke Morgan and had gotten through to Morgan once. He’d barely said three words as she’d stated her case and demanded a time line for the test results. “When I know, you’ll know,” he had said before hanging up and cutting her off midsentence.
    Subsequent calls to Morgan had landed her in voice mail where she’d left message after message. But no callbacks. When word came from the prison that Jeb’s health had taken a turn for the worse, she’d decided to go public.
    The vigil had looked great on paper but now as she looked out over her paltry collection of followers hovered around a table she’d stocked with donuts and coffee, she had serious doubts. Had any of these people come for justice or was it all about the food? At this point, she hoped the food lasted until the television crews arrived.
    If the media took up her cause, as she hoped, they would videotape the crowd so that the event looked well attended. If they didn’t sympathize with her point of view, they’d angle the cameras so that the group looked even sparser.
    No telling with the media. They could be your best friend or your worst enemy.
    “Are they coming?” Her law partner, Colleen Spencer, arranged white candles in a wicker basket, which she’d soon distribute to the crowd. Colleen was petite standing barely an inch over five feet. Her small stature belied a tenacity that was earning her a reputation as a successful criminal defense attorney. A royal blue Chanel suit amplified long auburn hair that framed an oval face sprinkled with freckles.
    “Yes. Channel Five is sending a reporter and a camera. They should be here in about five minutes.”
    Rachel ran her fingers through her short dark hair. She shrugged tense shoulders under the pinstripe jacket, paired with a white blouse, dark pencil skirt, and heels she’d borrowed from Colleen. Successful lawyers, Colleen had often said, dressed the part, but dressing the part smacked of rules and Rachel hated rules. Rachel had conceded to the attire and to Colleen’s pearls “to soften you up a bit.”
    “The sooner, the better.” Colleen surveyed the collection of people who wouldn’t linger long. “I think we’ve scrounged up every friend and friend of a friend we know. And thank God for the donuts.” Colleen raised her hand to a group of guys she’d met at her local gym. “Here’s hoping the candles catch more attention and more people gather.”
    Rachel skimmed her prepared statement, which she’d restricted to key talking points. No one wanted a long rambling speech. They wanted impassioned words