Dread Champion (15 page)

FOURTEEN

Chelsea settled into her jury chair, worrying about Kerra.What could she possibly have to talk about with Brett Welk? Chelsea didn't trust him.He seemed as tightly wound as a ball of string. Something about those eyes, the way he held himself. He looked too much like his father. Chelsea couldn't help but think of the strength of Darren Welk's genes running through his son. Did Brett have the same kind of temper?

Besides, the whole idea left her with a strange feeling. The niece of a juror having lunch with the son of the defendant. There may not exactly be a law on the books against it, but it just didn't sit right.

“All rise.”

Chelsea watched the judge take her seat.

The prosecutor first called a witness from the service company for Shawna Welk's cell phone. The woman identified the phone bill that covered Shawna's calls in February. In support of Tracey's testimony, the bill included a record of the call Shawna had placed to Tracey's private line at the exact time of 1:47 a.m.No other calls were made around that time. Stan Breckshire logged the phone bill with the court clerk.

The prosecutor's next witness was Ralph Petsky of the Monterey County sheriff 's department. Petsky, a ruddy-faced man with a flat, wide forehead, testified that he had taken the call when Tracey Wilagher reported that her mother was missing.

Erica Salvador drew herself up in her chair at the defense table, a pen poised over a yellow writing tablet. She stared at the witness, arched eyebrows raised, as if she were mentally dressing down an anticipated foe. Chelsea wondered if she would be cross-examining. Next to her, Terrance Clyde eased back in his chair, one arm stretched out, knuckles lightly bouncing off the table.

“What did you do after you talked to Miss Wilagher?” Stan Breckshire asked.

“I went out to the Welks' house to take down all the information.”

“But you did not end up investigating the entire case yourself, is that correct?”

“Yes sir. Once my report was done and we saw what we were possibly dealing with, the decision was made to bring in detectives Draker and Kelly. They are the ones who investigated the scene at Breaker Beach.”

“Okay.” Stan raised a hand. “We're getting ahead of ourselves; let's back up. So you initially went to the Welks' house.What kinds of questions did you ask the members of the Welk family?”

“With a missing person, it's typical that we ask lots of questions. We ask if the person has been involved in drugs or drinking, for example. Could Mrs.Welk have gone somewhere with a friend or boyfriend? And I asked Mr.Welk at length about fighting with his wife, since Tracey Welk had reported in her phone call that this was the case.”

“May I approach?” Stan Breckshire asked the judge.

“Go ahead.”

The prosecutor picked up a document from his table and slipped it in front of Deputy Detective Petsky. He perused it, then looked up.

“Sir, would you please tell me what this document is?”

“It's the written report of my initial interviews with the Welk family.”

According to Petsky's notes, Darren Welk had been cooperative as he answered questions.Welk admitted that he and Shawna had been fighting, but claimed he was quite drunk at the time and did not remember much of what happened that night.

Directly in front of her, Chelsea could see the first alternate's arm moving as he took notes. The man on her right was writing as well. Chelsea had chosen merely to listen. Had that been a mistake?

Stan Breckshire asked Petsky to turn to page three and read the second paragraph.

“Okay.” He flipped the pages. “‘Mr. Welk said that after the Browards left, he and Mrs.Welk were involved in a further altercation, which continued to involve words only. The alcohol in his system then made him groggy, and he lay in the sand by the fire and fell asleep.When he awoke, Shawna's daughter, Tracey, was kicking him, demanding to know where her mother was.'”

“‘Involve words only'? What does that mean?”

“That according to Mr.Welk, they were arguing, that's all.”

“He didn't mention hitting her?” Stan sounded amazed.

“No.”

“Didn't mention blood?”

“No sir.”

The prosecutor shook his head.

For the next half hour Stan Breckshire went over the report with Deputy Detective Petsky, sometimes line by line. Finally he logged the report with the court clerk and turned the witness over for cross-examination.

Erica Salvador pushed back her chair with a determined air.Her high heels clicked as she strode to stand before the witness, two documents dangling from her hand. Erica's suit was ice blue—fitting, thought Chelsea, for the coolness that seemed to swirl around her shoulders. Even in heels, she couldn't be over five feet two. Erica blinked slowly, considering the witness. He shifted in his seat. Stan Breckshire hovered over the prosecution table like a hawk, right leg madly jiggling.

“Detective Petsky.” Erica's voice was smooth as silk. “You testified that Mr. Welk was cooperative when you came to his house, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Were Brett and Tracey also cooperative?”

“Yes.” The man held himself very still, as if expecting Erica to pounce.

“And according to your report,Mr.Welk said he couldn't remember events of that night because he'd had a lot to drink.”

He stared at her a moment before answering. “That's right.”

“Did you believe him when he said he couldn't remember?”

“Objection!” Stan cried. “Irrelevant.”

Judge Chanson flicked her eyes at the prosecutor without moving her head. “Sustained.”

Erica didn't flinch.“Detective, have you ever forgotten something because you've been drunk?”

“Objection. Irrelevant!” Stan's face flushed.

“Sustained.”

The defense attorney glanced at the jury with half-lidded eyes. Her meaning was clear to Chelsea.
Iknow something about this man.

“Permission to approach the witness?” she asked as she tossed one of the documents before Stan.

He flicked through it, then shoved back his chair. “Your Honor, sidebar, please!”

Judge Chanson and all three attorneys met beside the judge's bench. Chelsea watched as the court reporter picked up her machinery and stood nearby, talking into her cupped recording device. Erica folded her arms and tipped her head disdainfully as Stan jabbed the air with spread fingers. Judge Chanson pointed a pudgy finger at the two attorneys, and they both simmered down as she addressed them. With a dismissive motion of her hand, she sent them back to their places. Stan took his seat like a missile ready to fire. Erica lay the document before Deputy Detective Petsky with the utmost tenderness. Her voice was hardened sugar. “Would you please tell us what this document is?”

With reluctant eyes he glanced over the papers, then raised his head with an expression of feigned boredom.“It's a report of a three-day suspension of duties. It's dated over
six years
ago.”

Erica ignored the emphasis. “And what was the suspension for?”

“Being drunk and disorderly.”

The attorney allowed his answer to hang in the air. “‘Drunk and disorderly.' I see.” She ran her tongue along her top teeth. “Would you kindly turn to page two and read the paragraph at the bottom?”

With a protesting shake of his head, he flipped a page and read. “‘When asked about details of his physical altercation with Buster Lakeland, Deputy Detective Petsky replied that the alcohol he had consumed made it impossible to remember much of the events.'”

Erica nodded. “Were you telling the truth when you made that statement?”

“Yes.”

“So you understand firsthand, do you not, that a large amount of alcohol in someone's system can render that person unable to remember well?”

“Objection. Leading the witness!” The words rat-a-tatted from Stan Breckshire's mouth.

Judge Chanson rubbed her neck with a finger. “Overruled.”

“Yes,” replied Petsky.

“Uh-huh. So when Mr. Welk told you he couldn't remember events of the night in question, I assume you believed him?”

“Ob
jec
tion, Your Honor!” Stan's voice rose with indignation.

“Sustained.” Judge Chanson leaned forward and glared at the defense attorney. “Ms. Salvador, I warned you.”

Erica raised her hand in a gesture of apology that didn't fool Chelsea one bit. “I am so sorry, Your Honor; I just got carried away. I have no further questions.”

She clicked high heels back to her seat with a knowing smile.

Stan Breckshire sprang to his feet. “Deputy Detective Petsky, do you still drink?”

“No sir,” the man replied with firm pride. “Not at all since that incident.”

“Not had another suspension?”

“No. And I don't plan to.”

“Good, good.” Stan tapped his chin with a forefinger.“Tell me, in the past six years which kind of evidence have you discovered to be more reliable: information someone tells you or proven facts?”

“No question there. Proven facts.”

“Is it a common occurrence for a discrepancy to exist between the two?”

“Yes sir.” Petsky shrugged.“Happens far more than we'd like.”

“I'll bet it makes your job of discovering the truth a whole lot harder.”

“Objection.” Erica looked disgusted. “Leading the witness.”

“Sustained.” Judge Chanson gave Stan a look.“Try asking a question, counsel.”

Stan rephrased, but Chelsea read his implication clearly: Darren Welk's claim that he did not remember what had happened that night on Breaker Beach would be far overshadowed by the “proven facts.”

She wondered what those facts might be.

T
RACEY DROPPED HER CAR
keys onto her kitchen table, fighting back a nervous burst of tears. She was done. Through with her testimony. She'd nearly worried herself sick about it,wondering how she would sound.Wondering if the prosecutor could really protect her, as he'd promised. Tracey had known that the attorney for the disgusting Darren Welk would try to catch her in a lie. Her stomach had churned at the thought that she might make a mistake. But Stan Breckshire told her she'd done well.

Just afew more days,
she told herself.
Afew more days and the trial will finally be over.

She sank into a kitchen chair and placed a hand over her eyes. She would not cry. Goodness knows she'd cried enough.As day after day dragged on, she didn't know how she could stand it anymore. Sometimes she thought she would go crazy. All she could do now was hang on and wait—alone.What she wouldn't give to have someone beside her, caring for her, helping her through this. But she had no one.

The clock on the wall ticked softly as she rubbed her temples. After a moment she eased back her head, rolling it from side to side. Then she pushed away from her chair. Fetching a soda, she headed for her computer, set up on a square folding table in the living room of her apartment.

As her computer booted up, Tracey impatiently waited, hoping for some email—her one lifeline. She certainly couldn't talk to anyone in Salinas. Soon after that night on Breaker Beach, she'd gotten burned by two “friends” who'd run their mouths to snoopy reporters. After that Tracey had abandoned all her local friends. A chat room freak, she had turned to a few faceless people she'd “met” on-line who lived in other countries. Now she emailed them regularly. She could talk of her loneliness without her mom, about her desire to leave.

Tracey logged on to her server and checked for new mail.

[email protected]

She sighed in relief. A message from Maria in Brazil. She tapped her mouse button and began to read.

Tracey,
             Hi, how are you? It's so hot here. But the beaches are lovely.

Did you testify at the trial today? How did it go?

Tracey clicked the reply button and began to type.

Dear Maria,
        You wouldn't believe how much I miss my mom… .

FIFTEEN

“Good afternoon,Detective.” Stan Breckshire caught himself patting his palms in anticipation. Abruptly he pulled them to his sides. Detective Douglas Draker's six-foot-two frame filled the witness stand with an air of familiarity. He rested his forearms easily on the desk, hands lightly clasped.

Step by step Stan led Detective Draker through testimony about the crime scene investigation that Draker and his partner launched when they first visited Breaker Beach Sunday afternoon. As Tracey Welk had indicated, there were indeed in the sand red drops that appeared to be blood. The detectives took samples. Due to Darren Welk's insistence that Shawna had fallen and cut her forehead on a piece of metal or something in the sand, the detectives searched for such an object but did not find it.

As for the half footprints in wet sand that Tracey had spoken of, nothing remained. The tide had come in again since the early-morning hours, washing away any potential evidence.

The detectives sealed off the beach as a crime scene, even though they could not be certain a crime had been committed.As Detective Draker put it, at that point things looked “more than a little suspicious.” The stained sand was sent to the county forensic lab. Upon returning to their offices, the detectives had a rather heated discussion with their superiors over whether or not they should obtain a warrant to search Darren Welk's car. Politics came into play, the detective reluctantly admitted. Darren Welk was a powerful man in Salinas.

Sunday evening came and went. On Monday morning the local paper carried the news of Shawna Welk's disappearance. Then the Salinas police station received a serendipitous phone call. A man said that he'd been working as a security guard in Brothers Memorial Cemetery around 4:20 a.m. and had witnessed something. Stan did not pursue what that something was. The man who had called would have to testify to that himself.