Dread Champion (13 page)

The morning's dream filtered through her thoughts. Today was not proving as easy.

“All rise.”The pitted voice of the bailiff yanked Kerra back to the present. She pushed to her feet as the judge plodded in, black-robed and all business. Kerra watched the woman sink into her chair with a small sigh, then tent her stubby fingers. The courtroom rustled as all resumed their seats.

“All right.” Judge Chanson raised her eyebrows. “I believe we're ready for cross-examination, Mr. Clyde?”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” The defense attorney rose, inclining his head with the courtliness of an aging prince. He glided around the table and stood in front of it, his tall frame erect and fitted into an expensive-looking suit.“Miss Wilagher, I'd just like to ask you a few follow-up questions, based on the information you've already given to my colleague. These are only to clarify, you understand.Are you ready to continue?”

“Yes.” Tracey licked her thin lips, regarding him warily.

“Fine. First I want to go over the time with you. Now, as I remember, you said the phone rang about one forty-five a.m. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And then you say you reached the beach around when?”

Tracey thought a moment.“I'm not sure exactly. Probably about two thirty-five.”

“I see.” Terrance Clyde considered his shoes. “And yet the drive from the house to Breaker Beach is only about twenty-five minutes.”

“Yes, but I had to pull myself out of bed and get dressed. I wasn't moving very fast, even though I tried to hurry.”

“Did you go anywhere else first? Make a stop on the way?”

Tracey looked taken aback. “No.”

“And when you left the house, you say you did not see Brett Welk or his car?”

“No.”

“Was he home?”

“I think so.”

“How do you know?”

Tracey's lips parted but she made no reply.

“Since you didn't see him.”

She rubbed a thumb across the desk. “I guess I can't say for sure.”

“When you returned to the house, did you ask Brett if he'd been there when you left?”

Kerra stole a glance at Brett. It must be so hard, sitting there and hearing people talk about you. She could read nothing from his expression.

“No,” Tracey replied. “I was thinking of other things.”

“Okay.” The attorney smiled kindly. “Getting back to the beach. You said you saw, in the wet sand, a footprint that you believed to be your mother's, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Could you explain more about where it was?”

“Um … ”Tracey hesitated.“It was on the wet part where the sand is packed—you know, once the tide begins to go out.”

“I see.” Terrance Clyde nodded. “Did you say you saw an entire footprint?”

She thought a moment, her expression tense.“No. It was half of one, the rest smudged out.”

“Okay. Now.What time did you leave the beach?”

“I don't know. Around three o'clock.”

“So you think you stayed there about twenty-five minutes?”

“I think so.”

“And you arrived home at what time?”

“Probably about three twenty-five. I know I was driving faster then.”

“Then when you went back to bed, it was what time?”

“That I remember for sure. I remember looking at my clock radio just before my eyes closed. It was four o'clock.”

Terrance Clyde picked up a tablet of paper from the defense table and flipped through a few pages.“Now, when you went to bed, you didn't hear a thing until you awoke around nine thirty, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“So you have no idea what happened around the home in those five and one-half hours.”

“No, I don't.”

“You didn't hear or see Darren or Brett Welk during that time and cannot state
from firsthand observation
what they were doing?”

Tracey hesitated.“Well, Brett told me the next day that he'd been out to the beach to look around and hadn't seen anything.”

“I'm not asking what he told you. I want to know if you personally observed Brett's movements between the hours of four and nine thirty a.m.”

Kerra glanced again at Brett. He stared at the defense attorney's back with a face of iron.

“No,” Tracey answered. “I did not.”

Terrance Clyde slid the tablet of paper back onto the table. “And when you got up Saturday morning, you say you went out again to look for your mother.Why didn't you call the police right away?”

Tracey Wilagher dropped her eyes. “I just couldn't,” she said in a small voice. “It's hard to explain, but calling the police would be like admitting something was really wrong.And I just couldn't face that. I had to look one more time. I
had
to.”

The attorney regarded her dolefully, the slightest narrow of his eyes suggesting doubt. Kerra surveyed Tracey but could see no hint of deceit.

“By the way, how did you feel that day? Were you as sick?”

“I think,” Tracey said, frowning, “I was better. I guess I just had too much on my mind to pay much attention.”

“I see.” Terrance Clyde thought a moment. “You mentioned you brought home your mother's jacket, shoes, and cell phone.What did you do with them once you got home?”

Tracey sucked her upper lip into her teeth. “I just left them in my car. I think the detectives ended up taking them.”

Delicately Terrance Clyde led Tracey through a discussion about her relationship with her mother. She'd claimed they were very close. But that couldn't mean they had never fought, could it? Hadn't they in fact had numerous screaming matches? Tracey admitted they had, but that was just due to her being a teenager plus trying to adjust to a new home.And what about the home? the attorney prompted.Was Tracey glad her mother had married Darren Welk? After all, he had plenty of money, and she and her mother had little. It must have been quite a dream for them, moving into such a house.

Little by little the attorney elicited information about the Welks' household.Kerra listened to the growing intrigue with the fascinated disbelief of a newcomer to a soap opera. Darren and Shawna apparently fell hard for each other and were married within four months of meeting.Although happy for her mom, Tracey couldn't seem to trust Darren Welk. She didn't like his drinking, and she didn't like the way he threw his weight around as the so-called Salad King of Salinas. What's more, Brett Welk didn't appear to care for either Shawna or Tracey in the least, acting constantly resentful of their presence in the house. Shawna tried to get along with Brett, Tracey insisted, but he just didn't seem to want to be friends. Then, within the first year of marriage, Shawna began to hear reports that Darren was cheating on her. One time she actually caught him with someone else. Shawna grew unhappy, furious at Darren for his affairs and for his drinking. She wanted something of her own to do, something to make her life worth living. That's when she opened the adoption agency.

“So the adoption agency was more for
herself
than to help others,” Terrance Clyde commented.

The prosecutor objected. Stan Breckshire hunched over his table as though ready to spring across it at any moment. Judge Chanson sustained.

“Okay. Miss Wilagher,” Terrance Clyde said, pressing his palms together, “I have some final questions about the life insurance monies, and then you'll be able to get out of here. All right?” He waited for her nod. “You say you were not aware of this insurance policy until you met with Mr. Atworth?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. I thought you said you and your mother were quite close.”

“We were.”

“Then why would she not tell you of such an important policy?”

“Objection,” the prosecutor interjected. “Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

Terrance Clyde gazed upward with a slight frown, as if searching the heavens for an answer to the question.He lowered his eyes with an “Oh well” expression, then focused intently on Tracey.

“Miss Wilagher, why would your mother—”

“Objection. Calls for speculation!” Stan Breckshire barked.

The defense attorney turned a perturbed look on the judge. “Your Honor,” he protested, his voice smooth as butter, “I haven't even asked the question yet.”

“It was obvious where you were headed.”The prosecutor pressed fingers into the table.

“Gentlemen!” Judge Chanson's tone sharpened. “I'll thank you to hold your comments while I rule on an objection.” She glared at them both.“Now.Mr. Clyde.Would you like to continue asking the question?” Her inflection bespoke of the futility in doing so. Kerra glanced from the judge to both attorneys, then to her aunt Chelsea, who seemed unaffected with the whole thing. The reporters throughout the courtroom sat with pens poised, waiting. They all seemed to expect this kind of interaction. It was all so new to Kerra. She couldn't quite figure out who to root for.

“Well, let me put it another way, for my colleague's sake.” Ter-rance Clyde lifted a hand vaguely in the prosecutor's direction. Stan rolled his eyes.

“From talking to Mr.Atworth,” the defense attorney said carefully, “what is your understanding of the reason for this insurance policy?”

Tracey's hands fidgeted. She slid them into her lap. “The policy was there to insure that I'd be taken care of just in case anything happened to her. It was there because she loved me so much.”

“I understand.” The attorney nodded his head sagely. “It was there so you would be cared for. Tell me this,Miss Wilagher: will you be better off or worse off once this money is in your possession?”

Tracey looked puzzled. “I don't understand.”

“Well, you mentioned previously that you looked forward to receiving this money so you could afford to leave Salinas, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So do you feel you will be better off or worse off once you have the money?”

Tracey lifted a thin shoulder. “Better off, I guess.”

“Certainly.” Terrance Clyde inclined his head. “Anyone with two million dollars would be better off, don't you agree?”

“I suppose so.”

“Is that a yes?”

Tracey thought a moment. “Yes,” she replied softly.

“Your mother would be happy knowing you're so well taken care of—”

“Ob
jec
tion!” Stan Breckshire half-rose in his seat. “Who's testifying here?”

The defense attorney lifted his arms in frustration. “Really, Your Honor—”

“Sidebar, both of you,” the judge commanded.Her face stern, she pushed back her chair and marched down to meet the two attorneys near the front, the court reporter following.Kerra watched the prosecutor's hands jab the air while he ranted. Terrance Clyde stood back, shaking his head. Judge Chanson pointed a finger at the prosecutor, apparently cutting him off in midsentence. Kerra's eyes remained glued to the trio.Why all the arguing; what was so important?

A sudden impatience to witness the outcome of the trial rose within her. Kerra was immediately ashamed of herself.How leering of her to watch true human drama unfold for the sake of her own morbid curiosity. Since Dave's accident she had purposefully never slowed to view a wreck she happened to pass while driving. The thought of drinking in someone else's tragedy had disgusted her.Yet here she was, watching another kind of tragedy and basking in her own fascination.

The judge uttered a final proclamation and whisked her hand toward the attorneys as if to push them back into their respective places. She bustled back to her black leather chair and placed both elbows on the gleaming wood before her, hands firmly clasped. “All right. Mr. Clyde.Did you have any
other
questions for this witness?”

Terrance Clyde slowly scratched his chin, turning to focus accusingly on the prosecutor. Kerra let her eyes rove over the jury. Most of them had followed the defense attorney's gaze. Kerra could see his unanswered questions reflected in their own eyes. Before she knew it, she was staring at the prosecutor herself.

What was he trying to hide?

When court recessed for lunch, Kerra rose, eyes drifting to Brett Welk as he pulled slowly to his feet and hung over the seat in front of him, absently staring. She hesitated, again ashamed of her crackling interest in what had transpired. He was obviously upset. She wished she could say something, but had no idea what. Reluctantly she slipped into the aisle and headed toward the door.

THIRTEEN

Brett sighed his way out of the courtroom, ambivalence weighting his shoulders. If only he could testify, part of him cried. If only he could tell everyone what a whiner Tracey Wilagher was. Slinking about the house—
his
house—as if she were the biggest victim in the world. Helping Shawna redecorate rooms that Brett's own mother had lovingly designed. That may have been years ago, but Brett could well remember his mom laying fabric samples against the carpet, running her delicate fingers over the textures. “Which one do you like best, Brett?” she had asked. Brett, with the blithe attitude of a fourteen-year-old, had shrugged profoundly.“I don't know that stuff, Mom; you decide.”

The memory radiated heat into his throat. If only he could hear such a question from his mother now. If only he could just
be
with her, hang out with her. If only he could do even the most feminine of tasks with her—help her choose wallpaper, hang drapes.

The other part of Brett was glad he wasn't testifying. Facing an opposing lawyer on the stand had to make you feel like a duck gliding onto open water in hunting season.And besides, he'd have made a lousy witness, just as Terrance Clyde had said. Brett's animosity toward Tracey and her mother would have shown through. He'd lost a mother, yes, but so had she, the attorney had pointed out. The jurors would be sure to wonder at his lack of empathy. What's worse, Brett thought, they might even sense the real truth that he couldn't state aloud. He was glad Shawna Welk was gone. Oh, he never would have chosen for her to go the way she did. In fact, given the present circumstances, he'd choose to have her back again, just so his father could be home running the ranch. Still, he would not miss Shawna Welk.