Dread Champion (39 page)
They will be utterly ashamed, because they have failed,
              with an everlasting disgrace that will not be forgotten.
Chelsea repeated it aloud, again and again, until she knew it by heart.
Judge Carol Chanson plucked her black robe from its brass hook and shrugged it on. She couldn't have been more glad that this crazy case was nearing its end. The best thing that could happen right now, she told herself, would be for the jury to return a verdict that very day. Not likely, but she sure could go for a weekend of sailing on the bay. She glanced at her wall, where there was a photograph of a large sailboat, its spinnaker flying. She imagined the breeze, the wind.
Well,maybe on Sunday.
Her phone rang and she picked it up automatically, still focused on the picture. “Judge Chanson.”
“Jed Trutenning here. You're almost done, huh.”
“Hi, Jed.” She sat down in her chair. “We'll finish up this morning. What's going on with you?”
“Just wanted to keep you informed about our investigation. Remember I told you we staked out the phone booth? Believe it or not, we got a hit.”
“You're kidding.”
“Nope. And we'd almost given up.We questioned a teenage girl who used the pay phone last night. She informed us that she'd made a call from the phone on the evening of August seventh and that as she was walking toward it, someone else was finishing a call.”
Judge Chanson raised her eyebrows.“Really. That's quite a memory for a teenager.”
Trutenning chuckled. “Apparently, she's taken up with some boyfriend her parents don't approve of, and when she can't sneak calls to the guy from home, she uses the public phone. It's just around the corner from her house. She remembered the date because it happened to be the day after her birthday.And he forgot.”
She frowned. “Who forgot what?”
“The boyfriend forgot her birthday.”
“Oh.” She sat back in her chair and sighed.“So could she give you a description?”
“Yup. One you'll probably recognize.”
Her chin dropped. “Oh no. I'm not sure I want to hear this.”
He told her.
“I
N DECIDING THE FACTS,
” Judge Chanson read, “you must not be swayed by mere sentiment⦠.”
Chelsea tried her best to pay attention to the judge's instructions, even as her mind whirled with concerns over Kerra, suspicions of Brett, and worries about the dreaded deliberations. Thoughts of sitting around a table with so many people who disliked her chilled her to the bone.
“Remember also,” the judge continued,“that you are not to place any significance upon answers that were stricken by the court, even though you heard them⦠.”
Lord, Ifeel so unsettled. Idon't know what's going to happen, but I'm scared.
“As for witnesses, it is in your purview to decide who was telling the truth and who was not.You may take into consideration the fact that a witness has lied or made inconsistent statements. If you determine that a witness has lied about material facts, the veracity of all his or her testimony may be held in doubt⦠.”
Idon't want to focus on my worry, Jesus. Just help me do what you want, minute by minute.
“You are not to draw any negative conclusions from the fact that the defendant did not testify⦠.”
Chelsea glued her eyes to the judge's face. These instructions were of vital importance; she
had
to listen.
“The defendant is presumed innocent. In order to find for a guilty verdict, you must be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt and to a moral certainty of the truth of the charge. âReasonable doubt' extends to more than mere possible doubt and does not require that the proof be so clear as to eliminate the possibility of any error, for under such a standard no prosecution could prevail⦠.”
Were her doubts reasonable?
Were
they?
Lord, help me see through this.
At ten fifteen Judge Chanson finished her instructions. All at once the case was over. The judge wished them well, banged her gavel, and swept from the courtroom. Chelsea stood with the other jury members, her gaze falling one last time on Kerra.
Suddenly the room dimmed. A vision was coming. Chelsea inhaled deeply. She hung on to the chair in front of her for support, trying desperately to appear as normal as possible. Her eyes closed.
With instant clarity the man's face sprang into viewâthat same man with the jet-black hair, the cold, narrowed eyes. He brought a hand to his chin, the raised scar jagging with a rough sheen between his thumb and finger. One corner of his hard mouth lifted in a satisfied, evil smile. He turned and looked straight at Chelsea, his lips flattening. She couldn't breathe.
Then he vanished.
“Chelsea?”Vaguely she heard Gloria's voice.
Blood pounded in her ears. She drew in a ragged breath, tried to relax her grip on the chair.
Lord, why do Ikeep seeing this man?
A voice responded within her.
Pray against his plans
.
Pray!
“Chelsea?” Gloria jiggled her arm. “What's the matter?”
She forced open her eyes. “Sorry,” she managed.
The whole thing couldn't have taken more than a few seconds. Just long enough to shake her to the core. Somehow Chelsea picked up her purse from the floor and followed Victor out the courtroom door. Jumbled prayers already flowed through her head.
K
ERRA STOOD BESIDE
B
RETT ON
the escalator. “Want to take a walk or something?” he said. “We might as well get out of this place for a while.”
“Sure.”
Four more days here,
she thought.Maybe she should change her plane ticket, stay a few days longer.How could she leave Brett, especially if his father were found guilty? Deep in her heart she expected that.Maybe if the jury hung ⦠Kerra wondered how Aunt Chelsea would vote. But even if they did hang, Darren Welk would stay in jail. Brett would have to go through a whole new trial, waiting, dreading.
The enormity of it weighted Kerra's feet as they stepped outside into hot sunshine. She winced. No way could this turn out well. No way at all.
T
OO LATE,
M
ILT SPIED
Lynn Trudy lying in wait for him as he stepped off the escalator. “What have you done with Tracey?” she hissed, blocking his path to the exit.
He feigned a bewildered look. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“She wasn't home last night.” Lynn leaned toward him with an evil eye. “And she's not at work today.”
Milt drew back in distaste.“How am I supposed to know where she is? What am I, her keeper?” He started to slide around her. She stepped in his way, pointing a red nail at his nose.
“I don't trust you for a second. You're nothing butâ”
“I believe we've already had this conversation,”Milt spat. “Now get out of my way.”
“Miss Trudy.”Detective Trutenning suddenly materialized at her side and laid a beefy hand on her shoulder. “I need a word with you.”
Saved!
Milt sneered at her as the man guided her toward the wall, her face still flushed with anger. The detective said something to her in an undertone.
“Why?” she demanded loudly.
Milt couldn't make out the answer.
“I've already told you everything I know, which is nothing!”Lynn gestured impatiently. “So what's the point?”
“Everything Iknow.”
Milt knew Trutenning was investigating the jury phone calls.
“I repeat: we have further questioning,” the detective said, his voice rising.
“So question me right here!”
What was this?
Milt wondered.
Why come back to Lynn?
With mounting curiosity he watched them argue. This couldn't possibly fit. The phone calls had demanded a not-guilty vote.
Trutenning had apparently had enough.He wrapped his fingers firmly about Lynn's arm. “We're going to the station
right now
.”
Lynn opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.With a look of pure venom first at him, then across the way at Milt, she stomped beside the detective out the door.
Milt stared after them, stunned.
Chelsea's fingers trembled as she filled a small cup from the bottled-water stand in the deliberation room. The evil look on that man's face in her vision haunted her.
Lord, whoever he is, thwart his plans. Protect your people. And help me, Jesus; Ineed to be calm!
She moved aside for Sylvia, who waited with cup in hand. B. B. had already sunk into a chair, laughing throatily over a comment from Latonia.Hesta sat near one end of the table, fingers laced, back straight, waiting. Tak was across from her, also silent, his greenish brown eyes tracking the movements of various members.
“Well, finally, here we are.”Clay sauntered to the head of the table and pulled out a chair. He sat down, thumping a fat pile of notes, stapled into separate documents, in front of him.Henry claimed his place at the other end of the table.His notes were on a pad of yellow lined paper.
Chelsea willed her face to be impassive as she seated herself between Antonio and Gloria. Slowly she brought the cup to her lips and drank.
Sidney bustled around the table, setting a pad of paper and pen at each place.“Okay,”he declared when he was through.“You all need anything, you know I'm just outside the door.” He smiled at them, showing teeth. “Feeding time will be at one o'clock. That'll give you a little bit of time to get started.We have caviar and oysters on the half shell today.”
“Hm.” Latonia Purcell inclined her dark head elegantly, as if such delicacies were her daily fare. “Don't forget the chilled wine.”
Sidney chortled. “Oh, don't you worry.” He sidled toward the door, his expression turning serious. “Now, God's blessings on you all.” He nodded once, his gaze falling on Chelsea. Then he stepped outside and shut the door. They heard a gentle click as he locked them in.
They looked at each other. Chelsea took a deep breath.
Lord, I have to focus on these deliberations now. Show me what to do.
“Okay.” Clay slapped his palms on the table. “Let's get down to business. The first thing we have to do is choose a foreman.”
“That's right,”Henry put in. The two men eyed each other.
“I don't think it matters much who's foreman,” Sylvia said, her tone businesslike. She leaned on an elbow, two fingers under her chin. “Our votes are all equal here.”
“You do it, Clay,”B. B. suggested.“You're at the head of the table.”
“I think Clay or whoever would be just fine,” Hesta declared with an air of chilly dismissal. “We have more important things to discuss.”
Clay gave her a look of distaste, then blinked away. “Anyone else have a comment?”
Chelsea remained silent as they discussed the issue. After ten minutes they agreed to take a vote. Chelsea went along with everyone else, voting in Clay as foreman.
If only the rest could be so easy,
she thought.
“All right.” Clay assumed control like a general over his troops. “As you know, we have two different issues here. First is the issue of guilt or innocence. Second, in the case of an agreement of guilt, is the issue of exactly what crime was committed. I imagine at this point you each have a sense of your belief as to the first issue. I suggest we take a vote right now to see where we stand.”
Here it came. Once and for all, where did she stand? Chelsea ran the possibilities through her head. The suggestion that Shawna Welk simply disappeared into the night was a defense tactic that she could easily dismiss. There simply was no indication as to how Shawna could have managed that or where she could have gone. In addition, Chelsea could not believe that she would choose to walk away from her daughter forever.
So many pieces of evidence pointed to Darren Welk's guilt.Who else could possibly have killed Shawna on a deserted beach when the very trip to that beach had been unplanned?
And yet there was Brett. Chelsea did not know the extent of his involvement. She only knew that as long as she suspected him, she could not fully grasp a vote for guilty. But as she searched for a logical explanation as to how Brett could have killed his stepmother, she found none.
Lord, if you want me to vote not guilty for now, how am Igoing to defend myself?
“I agree; let's take a vote.”Henry drummed pudgy fingers as others murmured their assent. “On paper.”
“Anything anybody want to say first?” Clay asked. He hunched over the table, leaning on his arms, chin thrust forward. They all shook their heads.“Okay then.”He put his pad of paper on top of his notes.“Let's write our votes on a piece of paper, fold them, and hand them down this way.”
Chelsea's hand grew damp as she picked up her pen. Even as she wrote her answer, she prayed God's victory over the man in her vision.
Jed Trutenning stuck his tongue in his cheek and surveyed Lynn Trudy's defiant features across the table. They'd been questioning her for an hour and had gotten nowhere. His partner, Gary Welch, sat between them, arms folded and impatient.“I want you to hear something, Ms. Trudy.” Trutenning drew a sheet of paper from his breast pocket and unfolded it. Slowly, almost lovingly, he smoothed its creases against the table. “California Penal Code Section 95. âEvery person who corruptly attempts to influence a juror, or any person summoned or drawn as a juror, or chosen as an arbitrator or umpire, or appointed a referee, in respect to his or her verdict in, or decision of, any cause or proceeding, pending, or about to be brought before him or her, is punishable by a fine not exceeding ten thousand dollars, or by imprisonment in the state prison.'”He raised his eyebrows at her.
“State prison,
Ms. Trudy.And you'll have not one count against you but two. In other words, you won't be going home anytime soon.”
