Dread Champion (16 page)

The call gave the detectives reason for a very limited search warrant. They would be searching only around a newly planted bush in the Welks' backyard.

Stan asked about the defendant's actions when the detectives arrived at his door, warrant in hand.

“I should tell you that we chose not to show the warrant immediately,” Detective Draker explained. “We wanted to gain Darren Welk's cooperation if we could.He had cooperated up to that point, and we felt it would be easier for all involved if we could get him to continue to do so.”

“And did he cooperate?”

“Yes sir, he did.”

Stan stole a glance at the defense attorneys. T. C., who would be cross-examining, leaned back in his typical position, bouncing a hand slowly and silently against the table. Erica Salvador was bent over her writing tablet, pen flying furiously.

“By the way, who was in the house at the time, other than the defendant?” Stan asked.

“No one at first. But just as we were leaving, Brett came home.”

“Okay.We'll get back to that.What did the defendant tell you about planting the bush?”

“Objection. Hearsay,” T. C.'s voice boomed.

Judge Chanson considered, absently rubbing her double chin.

“Your Honor,” Stan jumped in, “I'm not offering this for the truth of the matter but merely to show the defendant's—”

Judge Chanson waved a hand at him. “Overruled. But be careful, Mr. Breckshire.”

“Thank you.” Stan felt a wave of satisfaction. The jury would not be impressed with the defense's attempt to cover up the detective's answer. “Go ahead, please.”

“He said the gardeners planted it,” the detective replied tersely.

Stan let the words hang in the air. The stereo sound of reporters' scratching pens was music to his ears. “The
gardeners?

“Yes sir. He said they were supposed to plant the whole row of bushes along the driveway the previous Friday. He'd come in from work and had showered to go out to dinner and hadn't stopped to check the backyard. Still, he assumed that all the bushes had been planted at that time.”

With a shocked expression Stan pursued details. Detective Draker testified that he asked the defendant three times about the bush, and each time the defendant told him the same story. Finally the detective told Darren Welk that his story just didn't stack up with their information.

Stan began to pace, blood flowing warmly in his veins.“How did Mr.Welk respond?”

“Your Honor, I
must
object to this entire line of questioning; it's all hearsay.” Terrance Clyde's deep voice implied the obviousness of the prosecutor's errant ways. He unfolded his frame and stood in one smooth movement, hands spread.“We have no way of knowing Darren Welk's understanding of such questions at that time or whether—”

“I think he was sober by then, Terrance,” Stan commented. Someone behind him snickered.

“Mr.
Breckshire!” Judge Chanson turned a livid eye on him.

“Sorry, Your Honor.” Stan pretended to check his notes so she wouldn't see the smirk on his face.

“See to it that you mean it.” The judge sat back with a huff and blinked. “Now, Mr. Clyde, I'm going to allow the questioning. But I assure you I'll give you plenty of leeway on cross-examination.” She sent another searing look at Stan before turning to the witness.“You may answer the question.”

“Mr.Welk responded that our information was wrong,”Draker answered. “We talked some more, but he wouldn't change his story. So I finally said we'd like to dig up the bush.”

“Did Mr.Welk comply?”

Draker shook his head. “No. According to him, the bush was expensive and would be harmed if we dug it up.When we could not get him to comply, we showed the warrant.My partner went to our car to get two shovels and evidence bags, and we began to dig.”

“And what did you find?” Stan began to pace again.

The detective's expression remained neutral. “Underneath the bush we found a woman's white silk blouse.”

A collective breath sucked through the courtroom.

“Really,” Stan responded.“Was there anything unusual about the blouse? That is, other than the fact that it was underneath a bush.”

A titter ran through the onlookers. Stan glanced at the jury. B. B. the bartender giggled, then caught herself. A small
tsk
puffed from the lips of Mike Bariston, the black man sitting next to Chelsea Adams.

“Well, it was very dirty, as you would expect,”Draker said.“But we did notice, down the front, numerous stains which appeared to be blood that had been partially washed away.Also, the blouse was wet.”

“What did you do with the blouse?”

“We put it through our standard procedure, placing it in a paper bag, labeling it. From there it would go to the county lab to be examined.”

“For?” Breckshire prompted.

“For one, to see if we could possibly get any prints off it. Although because of the dirt and since it was fabric, we couldn't count on that. And of course to check to see if those stains were indeed blood, and if so what type. Further, since it was wet, to examine it for possible traces of salt water, which obviously could have come from the ocean.”

Stan Breckshire ducked his head in a few quick nods. With a meaningful glance at the jury, he plucked a sealed paper bag from his table and carefully began to open it. The courtroom fell silent except for the rustling of the bag.When the top was open, the prosecutor picked up a pair of clear latex gloves and slowly, painstakingly pulled them on. From the corner of his vision Stan saw Erica Salvador close her eyes in an “Oh brother” expression.
Let her make faces,
he thought. He dangled a gloved hand above the bag, took an audible breath, then reached inside.He pulled out a filthy blouse and turned to the judge. “May I approach?” At her nod he carried the blouse gingerly to the witness stand and spread it before the detective.

“Is this the blouse you found?”

The detective eyed the blouse solemnly. “Yes sir, it is.”

“And the partially washed stains that appeared to be blood are where?”

The detective pointed without touching the blouse. “Here around the front buttons and a little to the left.”

“Thank you.” Breckshire picked up the blouse again as if it were a bomb about to explode. He displayed its stained front to the jury, stepping slowly down the line.Hesta Naples cast it a prim look while Tak Nagakura's expression never changed. B. B.'s eyes widened. Henry Slatus, the hang-jowled black man in the back row with a flashy diamond ring on his pinkie, strained to see around Hesta. Chelsea Adams clearly tensed. His display complete, Stan returned the blouse to the bag and officially logged it with the court clerk.

“Now, Detective Draker,” he said, rocking on his heels, two fingers thrumming against his chin, “what was the defendant's explanation, if any, when you and your partner uncovered the blouse?”

“He didn't talk, sir.”

“Didn't talk.”

“No sir.”

“He just said nothing?” Breckshire's eyebrows rose. “No explanation, no reason for why the blouse would be there?”

“No sir.”

The prosecutor turned a lingering look of accusation on Darren Welk. The moment stretched.

“Mr. Breckshire, since you're apparently thinking,” Judge Chanson broke in dryly, “perhaps this would be a good time to take a fifteen-minute break.”

C
HELSEA WAS WASHING HER
hands in the bathroom when the impression hit. It wasn't a vision, nothing seen or heard. But deep within her the voice of God resonated, a voice that she had come to know well. Imparting to her one intense command.

Pray for all the people associated with this case.

Chelsea withdrew her fingers from under the tap. Turned off the water. She waited for God to say anything else, perhaps something more definitive, but nothing more came.

Absently she dried her hands.
Yes, Lord, I'll pray. Anything specific?

Again she waited but received no further impression.

A knock sounded on the door. “Be right out!”

Chelsea didn't want to keep the person waiting. As she unlocked the door, silent prayers for the jurors began to flow through her mind. She would begin with Irene, juror number one, and go down the line. Then, during those waiting moments in the courtroom, she would pray for others—the attorneys, the judge, reporters, witnesses.

She sensed there was something more here, that in time God might lead her to pray more specifically and perhaps for certain people. She sensed too a heightened alertness within her. That she was entering a time in which prayer and careful listening to God's further leading would be particularly important.

God, please help me hear you.
She opened the door.
You know I can't do this alone.

SIXTEEN

Stan Breckshire ogled the lookie-loos returning to their seats, vaguely wondering how many would stick out the entire trial. He was beginning to memorize their faces. There was the couple probably in their seventies, she carrying a bag in which she could hide a soda six-pack, and he sporting a striped bow tie, of all things. A threesome of older women were settling themselves dead center in the second row, whispering furiously. Amazingly, all three of them had long, straggly gray hair. They reminded Stan of the Three Fates from Greek mythology—the old crones who decided how long each mortal would live. Stan caught snatches of the words
blouse
and
blood
and “that handsome defense attorney.”He sniffed, turning his attention elsewhere. A fine-looking young blond sat on the end, all by herself. A wiry man with a half-bald head, looked about in his forties, also sat alone, arms crossed, rocking with a “Let's get on with the show” expression.

The jury filed in. Stan took his seat, foot jiggling. He jerked his neck to the left. The discomfort in his arm was a tad less today. Probably because of all the pain relievers he'd downed.

A few minutes later, with Detective Draker back on the stand, Stan launched into details of his investigation after the blouse had been found. The detective sat just as he had before, with the same amount of emotion on his face—nil. Mr. Personality.

Discovery of the blouse, the detective intoned, prompted them to take the defendant down to the sheriff 's department in Salinas for immediate questioning. Darren Welk could have requested a lawyer to meet him there but did not do so. Brett arrived home just as they were leaving, and his father quickly explained what had happened. Brett's face, according to the detective, turned a sickly white.He followed his father out to the detectives' vehicle, demanding to know what they were going to do. When they pulled away, Detective Draker said, Brett stood on the sidewalk looking after them with a dazed expression.

While Detective Draker and his partner questioned the defendant at the station, their colleagues were busy obtaining a search warrant for the defendant's house and car. The house was immediately “frozen,” or sealed off.No evidence of foul play was discovered in the house. On the floor of the passenger side in Darren Welk's car they found a woman's purse. And far back underneath the left rear seat, numerous grains of sand were discovered. These were also sent to the lab to be compared with grains of sand taken from Breaker Beach.

Stan stopped pacing and scratched his head.“Could these grains of sand possibly have come from Darren Welk's shoes?”

“The evidence doesn't support that.” The detective's face remained deadpan. “Sand granules were discovered in the floor of the driver's area. This would be expected, since we know that the defendant drove home from the beach.However, the sand under the backseat was different. First of all, who could have tracked it in? More importantly, it was too far back under the seat to have come off someone's shoes.”

“What were your thoughts about how it could have gotten there?”

“Objection. Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

Stan moved on. “What further investigation did you conduct at the beach, if any?”

They had to move as quickly as they could, the detective replied, as the beach was a constantly changing environment. The sheriff 's department launched a full-scale search for the body. They examined nearby beach and rock areas to see if the body had washed up onshore, and they sent out divers to check around rock formations underwater. They also contacted the Coast Guard.

“Why the divers?” Stan asked. “Wouldn't a body always wash ashore?”

“Not necessarily. Many times a body can be pulled out to sea, especially if it floats rather than sinks. This particular beach is known for its strong currents. And of course the tide would have continued to go out Saturday morning. This combination could easily have sucked a body out of the beach area. As a result, the body could have gotten caught between rocks somewhere underneath the surface. In time, with decomposition of a body, it will likely loosen and float to the surface in whole or in part. But by this time it was only Tuesday afternoon, not even four days since Shawna Welk had last been seen.”

Stan stole a long glance at his jury. Candy Lowe, the fresh-faced young pregnant woman in the back row, looked a little green. Chelsea Adams's eyes were closed.

“Was there anything else of interest about this particular beach?”

“Not the beach itself but the nearby area. Just about a week earlier a man had been attacked by a shark.”

“Oh, lawsy, the shark got her,” a woman breathed.

Judge Chanson shot a testy glance in the direction of the three gray-haired Fates. Immediate silence. Stan worked to keep his mouth straight.

“Keep moving,Mr. Breckshire,” the judge intoned.

“Yes,Your Honor.”His knuckles kneaded his palm.“Did you find any other possible pieces of evidence during your search of the beach on that Tuesday?”