Dread Champion (27 page)

“I'll raise her, Kristin, me and Mama Yolanda.You won't have to do a thing.”

“I'll know where she
is,
don't you understand? Now I can't know; I'm separated from her! But if you raise her, how am I supposed to keep away?”

He lifted a hand. “Why do you have to keep away?”

“Because, Rogelio!” She shoved a palm into the car seat, chin trembling. “Because I just do!”

“Why?”

“I'm not ready to be a mother; I don't
want
to be a mother!” she cried. “I want to be with friends and have fun and go out! You've seen all the girls that have babies.What do they do? Stay stuck at home all the time.”

“Kristin.”He wrapped his fingers around her arm.“You wouldn't be stuck at home. Mama Yolanda's going to take care of her. But you'll be able to be a part of your own daughter's life.Wouldn't you want that?”

She said nothing, tears spilling onto her cheeks. Suddenly Roge-lio understood her fear. You either were a mother or you weren't. A daughter's life wasn't something to play with.

“Oh, Kristin, come here.” Sliding over, Rogelio put his arms around her and pulled her head to his chest. He stroked her hair while she shuddered and sniffed. Two cars pulled into the parking lot, the drivers casting them curious glances through his open windows. He paid them no heed. They disappeared into the Seven-Eleven, then emerged a few minutes later, bags in hand. Drove off. Still Kristin cried. Finally she raised her head. A new light illumined her eyes.

“Rogelio. Do you still love me?”

His heart turned over. How could he have stayed away from her so long? “Yes.Very much.”

She eased away from him, sat up straight. Looked at him squarely. “I love you, too.”

He pressed back against the seat, hands on his thighs.Why was he waiting for the other shoe to drop?

“I want to be with you. Let's stay together this time.” She paused. “But I just can't do it if you're raising the baby.”

Rogelio's stomach gelled.A moment passed before he could find a response. “Another bargain, Kristin?” The words were laced with shocked accusation. “Forget Roselita and I can have you?”

“She's in a good home. Shawna assured me—”

“She's
not
in a good home,” Rogelio shot back. “The way Janet talked, the father's practically a criminal.”

“I don't believe that!”

“Well, you'd better believe it!”

They glared at each other.

Kristin reached for him. “Please, Rogelio. Let's just go back to the way things were.”

He pulled away.“Things can never be the way they were, Kristin. You had a baby. She was adopted—illegally. Now she's in trouble. She needs a good home. Mama Yolanda and I can give her that. Those are the facts. You can't change them—and you can't bargain your way out of them!”

Kristin drew herself up, defensiveness hardening her face. “I'm not trying to bargain my way out of anything; I'm just trying to talk some sense into you! But never mind, Rogelio. You've got a one-track brain. Fine then. Do whatever you want. Just leave me out of it. And out of your life!”

She yanked on the handle of his door and clambered out onto the hot pavement. Searing him with a final look, she stalked away.

Rogelio sat frozen in his seat, stunned.How had they gotten from hugging each other to this in a matter of minutes? He heard Kristin's angry voice command her friend, “Get in!”Her car doors slammed. The engine roared to life and she sped away.

MONDAY, AUGUST 12

THIRTY

In single file, Sidney Portensic's ducks followed him down the narrow hallway toward the courtroom. A cacophony of thoughts rang in Chelsea's head as she fell in behind Gloria. Not since awaiting the verdict in last year's trial had she experienced such a long weekend.

She had fasted on Saturday, as God had called her to do. Sunday she'd joined the others for dinner at a restaurant. Feeling drained and despondent, Chelsea sat near the end of the table, close to Mike, Gloria, and Latonia Purcell. The three of them chatted about work and their families. Down the table Henry loudly talked jazz with Clay.Hesta picked at her food. Tak sat silently at the other end of the table, emanating intellectual superiority. Although Chelsea tried to join in the conversations, those around her responded in chilled tones, as if viewing her absence the previous day as a slight to the entire group. Chelsea tried to tell herself she was being too sensitive, but she knew better. Truth was, she'd been laid bare before them during jury selection. And they hadn't liked what they'd seen.

Now as she entered the courtroom, Chelsea's eyes swept the long rows of seats. There was Kerra. Next to Brett. Leaning toward him and talking intimately. She looked up, caught Chelsea's eye, and smiled self-consciously. Chelsea's mouth curved upward for a moment, then slipped back into place. She didn't need to talk to Kerra to know who the girl had been with that weekend. The truth on her face was clear.

The prosecution's first witness for the day was Shawna Welk's dentist, Dr. Richard Cooper. Chelsea pulled out her paper and pen, heading a new page with his name. Using a projection screen, Dr. Cooper explained how he had compared X-rays of the tooth found on Breaker Beach with X-rays of the victim's teeth. Shawna's tooth number twenty-one, on the bottom left side, was unusual in that it contained two roots instead of one. Also, it had undergone an api-coectomy, or root canal, the filling showing up as a white spot. The tooth found on the beach matched this one exactly.

“I am absolutely positive that this tooth belonged to Shawna Welk,” Dr. Cooper concluded. “Given these anomalies and the perfect match on every point, this tooth is as good as a fingerprint.”

As good as a fingerprint,
Chelsea wrote in her notes. Terrance Clyde stood up to cross-examine.

“W
AIT, SIR; YOU'LL NEED
to empty your pockets before going through the scanner.”

“Oh. Okay.” Nervously Rogelio did as he was told. The security guard pointed to the machine and he stepped through. On the other side he retrieved his wallet and keys. “Do you know which court the trial for Darren Welk is meeting in?” he asked the guard.

“Courtroom 2H. Up the escalator, down the hall, and on your left.”

“Thanks.”

Rogelio stepped onto the escalator, trying vainly to still his quivering heartbeat. Everything about the courthouse was new and overwhelming. How was he going to talk privately with the judge? What made him think the man would even see him? In desperation Rogelio breathed a prayer—another bargain with God. He could not waste his time here.He'd begged a day off from his boss, saying he had personal matters to attend to. His grandmother thought he was at work.

On the second floor Rogelio followed the guard's directions to the courtroom. His hand trembled as he eased open the door and peeked inside. Trial was in session. Sucking air through his teeth, Rogelio closed the door.He couldn't just walk in, could he? Right in the middle of someone's testimony?

He paced slowly in the hall, checking his watch. Almost ten o'clock.How long would he have to wait? Surely they'd at least break for lunch. He would ask to see the judge then.

The courthouse door opened.Rogelio spun around. People began filing out, heading in various directions. Brett Welk appeared with a pretty blond at his side. His eyes happened to meet Rogelio's. “Hi,” Brett mumbled as they passed; then he hesitated. “Do I know you?”

“Uh.Yeah.”Rogelio swallowed nervously.“I worked as a gardener at your house.”

Brett raised his chin in slow recognition. “Sure, that's right.”He seemed distracted. “You coming to watch the trial?”

Rogelio looked from him to the blond. She was almost as pretty as Kristin. A dark-haired man in an expensive suit and carrying a briefcase sidled over, listening. She flinched away from him, distaste on her features. He didn't seem to care.

“No.” Rogelio looked back to Brett. “That is … I need to see the judge.”

“Oh.”Brett aimed a searing glance at the dark-haired man.“Can't you ever quit spying on people?” Shaking his head in derision, he said, “Come on, Kerra.”As they moved away, Brett looked back over his shoulder at Rogelio. “Don't trust that guy.”

“I'm not so bad,” the man said mildly.“At least I'm willing to help you. You said you needed to see the judge?”

Rogelio hesitated.

“Don't worry about them.” The man tilted his head at Brett's retreating back.“At a trial everyone has enemies. I'm just here doing my job.”

Rogelio didn't know who he could trust. But surely he could just ask this guy a question. “Okay, yeah. Do you know where I could find him?”

“Her.”

“Huh?”

“The judge is a woman.”

Rogelio's eyebrows rose. “Oh.”

The man eyed him curiously. “Why do you want to see the judge?”

“I have some business.”

“I see.”

A man toting a television camera approached them.“Hey,Milt—”

“Give me a minute, Bill.”He gestured his head with a dismissive air. The cameraman faded away. “I may be able to help you.”

Rogelio regarded him. “Who are you?”

“Milt Waking, Channel Seven News. And you?”

A pause. “Rogelio Sanchez.”

“Rogelio. Nice to meet you.”He held out a well-groomed hand, smiling briefly. Rogelio hesitated, then shook it once.

“The judge is not an easy person to see,”Milt said. “Especially when she's in the middle of a trial. Tell me, does your ‘business'with her have anything to do with this case?”

“Why does that matter?”

Milt inclined his head. “Because if it does, she certainly won't see you. A judge can't talk to anyone about a case while it's going on, because it could mean hearing information that she doesn't hear in the courtroom, and that's not allowed. Judges aren't even supposed to read newspaper articles about a trial over which they're presiding.”

Slowly the meaning of the words sank in. Rogelio could not imagine being defeated this easily. “It's not really about the trial itself,” he hedged.

Milt peered at Rogelio. “Well, does it have to do with anyone involved in the case?”

Rogelio ran his tongue inside his bottom lip. He was afraid of saying too much. Especially to a reporter.

A light appeared in Milt's eyes. “I'm guessing by your silence that the answer is yes.” His gaze roved the courthouse hallway. Rogelio wondered who—or what—he was looking for. Then Milt checked his watch. “We've only got a few minutes, so let me say this quickly. The judge won't see you, trust me on that. If you want to ask a bailiff, go ahead. But they'll want to know your business, and then when you tell them, they'll just say, ‘Sorry.'”His hand slipped up and down his tie. “Fortunately, I know a lot of people. Tell you what. Trial's going to start again.Which means all of us are going to be tied up until noon. If you stick around, we can talk more then. I'll buy you lunch.”

“Why would you do that?” Defensiveness crept into Rogelio's voice. Did this guy think he had no money to feed himself?

Milt waved a hand. “Okay, pay your own way then.My point is, that's all the time I can give you; take it or leave it. If you decide you can't trust me, you'll go home from here empty-handed.”He raked another look around the hall, stopping to rest on a few chosen people. Rogelio followed his gaze.

With a start Rogelio realized who Milt was looking at. Other reporters.He was acting like a cat who'd caught a mouse and wanted it all for himself. This guy wasn't Mr.Helpful; this guy thought Roge-lio could help
him.
Rogelio's mind sped up as he considered the possibilities. How could he use this? What should he do?

He needed to buy some time. He needed to think.

Rogelio leaned against the wall, folding his arms as if he were fully in charge of the situation.“Okay, I'll hang around.Maybe we'll talk at lunch.”He hoped Milt couldn't see his legs tremble.

Milt nodded. “Suit yourself.”

THIRTY-ONE

“The people call Dr. Theodore Gaston.”

Stan rapped knuckles against the prosecution table as he waited for his witness to be sworn in. Dr. Gaston worked with the USGS— United States Geological Survey—and was an expert in tides and currents, particularly in Monterey Bay. The man was in his mid-forties but looked far younger, with a narrow, boyish face and thinning brown hair. Black-rimmed glasses only heightened his nerdy appearance. He stood tall and spindly as he raised slender fingers to take the oath, then settled into the witness chair like a gangly genius kid.

Stan yanked at his tie as he greeted the doctor, hot-to-trot to begin his specific questioning. But first he had to lead Dr. Gaston through
voir dire
to establish the man as an expert witness. This involved a necessary but boring discussion of the doctor's training and experience, including continued education, papers written, awards won, and on and on.

As expected, T. C. tried to poke holes in the man's stellar reputation. Had it really been five years since he'd taken any continuing education courses? And shouldn't an “expert” of his caliber have written for more scientific journals? Hogwash and more hogwash.

Back and forth the questioning went, from prosecution to defense, until both attorneys had exhausted themselves of points to be made. By the time Dr. Gaston was officially deemed an expert witness, an hour had passed. Stan hoped his jury was still awake.

“Now, Dr. Gaston.” Stan pressed palms together and drummed his fingers. “What are the general characteristics of currents off Breaker Beach?”

Like the dentist, Dr. Gaston was prepared with various visual aids.Unfolding himself from the witness chair, he angled his way to stand before an easel with flip charts. The first was a depiction of the entire Monterey Bay and its beaches.