“Oh.”
“Come on, don’t say it like that. It’s who I am. You knew that. I was always up front about it. And we had some good times together.”
“When do you go?”
“Well, that’s the hard part,” he said. “I’m getting back on a plane tonight, in a couple of hours as a matter of fact. I have a cab waiting.”
“Tonight?” she gasped. “Well, I mean, I suppose that’s wonderful for you, if it’s what you want. But what about us? What am I going to do when you’re gone?”
“Oh, well, that’s part of why I’m here,” he said, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way you wanted between us, but here’s something that should make it a little easier.”
Inside the envelope was a check for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. His publisher had been ecstatic over the story, standing over Kirby’s shoulder and reading as the reporter wrote. He had not balked at the price.
“What’s this for?” she whispered, although with a sickening jolt, she realized she already knew.
“For your story,” he said.
“You didn’t, you couldn’t have,” she cried. “I told you that in confidence.” But she knew it was futile, because she could see it all now, the whole three months, and what it had really been about.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “From what you’ve told me, I don’t think Dana will mind helping you out. It’s not as if she did anything illegal. It’s a good story. It makes her more human. It’ll be out in the next issue of Probe magazine.”
“I see,” she said. It was as though someone had shot her through the heart, only instead of falling down dead, she was standing up dead.
He put his arms around her and pulled her against him. “Where’s Alex?” he asked.
“He’s spending the weekend with a friend,” she said automatically.
“Tell him I said goodbye.” Then he kissed her hair, and was gone.
Judith stood alone in the foyer, hearing his footsteps fade down the front path, and stared, unseeing, at the check in her hands.
FIFTEEN
Judith pleaded illness on Sunday, declining the invitation to dinner at the McAuliffe house, flat out refusing to allow Dana to come over with chicken soup, and intimating it was too much for her even to talk on the telephone.
“It must be one of those flu bugs,” she told her best friend of more than thirty years. “And I won’t have you catching it. You have to be in court every day, with all your wits about you.”
“Well, I have something to tell you,” Dana said. “Something very exciting that I know you’ll want to hear.”
“That’s nice,” Judith replied weakly.
“No, I mean something really important,” Dana said. “And I don’t know how much longer I can keep it to myself. So promise you’re going to get over this soon.”
“Sure, I promise.”
They agreed that they would get together as soon as Judith was feeling up to it. By then, Judith reasoned, the latest issue of Probe would be on the newsstands, the dinner invitation would likely be withdrawn, and the friendship would be damaged beyond repair. Part of her wanted to speak up, to warn Dana about what was coming. But another, bigger part of her was in denial.
“You can invite your friend Tom if you like,” Dana suggested.
“No,” Judith said dully. “He won’t be around. He’s… well, he’s gone out of town… for a while.”
On Monday, the prosecution put Zach Miller on the stand. He was an attractive young man, Allison Ackerman noted, in the mold of military officers, and his uniform was freshly pressed.
“What is your relationship with the defendant, Lieutenant Miller?” Brian asked.
“We’re friends,” Zach replied. “We used to be roommates.”
“Did this friendship continue past the time of the defendant’s marriage?”
“Yes.”
“At the beginning of November, last year, did you have a series of conversations with the defendant concerning his wife?”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be a little more specific than that,” Zach replied. “Corey and I have had a lot of conversations about his wife, since before she was his wife.”
“All right, Lieutenant,” Brian replied, easily. “Did you have occasion to discuss Mrs. Latham’s abortion with the defendant?”
“Yes, I believe we did.”
“Will you please tell the court the substance of those conversations?”
Zach sighed. “A couple of days after he got back from his last patrol, Corey told me that Elise had had a miscarriage while he was gone.”
“Did he indicate to you how he felt about that?”
“Yes. He said he was sick at heart. And he looked it, too.”
“And subsequently?”
“About a week after that, he told me that Elise didn’t have a miscarriage, after all. She had an abortion.”
“And what was his reaction to that?”
“He was understandably upset.”
“What do you mean when you say upset?”
“I mean upset. He had tears in his eyes and he seemed to be distracted and depressed.”
“Is that all?”
Zach shrugged. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Lieutenant, did you not tell Detective Tinker that Corey Latham was angry when he found out about the abortion?”
“I may have used that word at the time, I don’t remember.”
“Well, let’s see if we can jog your memory a little. Was he angry?”
“Angry. Upset. What difference does it make? His wife not only lied to him, she killed his baby,” Zach replied. “Wouldn’t that put you just a little bit off center?”
“Yes,” Brian replied, “it would. In fact, it would make me pretty angry.”
“All right then, if you like that word better, he was angry.”
“How long would you say his anger lasted?”
“I don’t know. For a while, I guess.”
“Longer than two weeks?”
“Maybe.”
“Longer than a month?”
“Look, I didn’t count the days, and I don’t really remember. In any case, it was his wife he was upset with, not the clinic.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Here we go with angry again,” Dana said with a sigh as she rose from her seat. “Tell me, Lieutenant Miller, did the defendant rant and rave about what had happened?”
“No.”
“Did he make any threats?”
“Not that I heard.”
“Did he say he was going to go make a bomb and blow up Hill House?”
“Of course not.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much of anything. He just got real quiet. That’s how he is when something’s bothering him. He just gets real quiet and chews on it until he works it out in his mind.”
“Was there anything about his state of mind during that time that gave you any indication he was plotting violence?”
“Absolutely not,” Zach assured her. “Corey isn’t like that. He’s the coolest guy I know. He wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“Thank you,” Dana said.
“Redirect, Your Honor,” Brian said.
The judge nodded.
“Were you saying just now, Lieutenant Miller, that Corey Latham is incapable of hurting anyone?”
“No, not incapable, just not likely to.”
“You mean, if some enemy stormed our shore, and killed Americans, Lieutenant Latham would not be likely to respond?”
“No, I don’t mean that,” Zach replied. “He’s a naval officer. Of course he’d respond. I just meant we’re trained to defend, not initiate. We aren’t trained to be the aggressor, to go out and attack someone, unprovoked.”
“Oh, so you’re saying he would fight if provoked, that he would defend against an enemy that had stormed our shore and killed Americans?”
“Yes.”
<
br /> Brian leveled a long look at the defendant before turning back to the defendant’s friend. “Are you telling this court, sir, that Corey Latham would go out and defend dead Americans he probably never knew, but he wouldn’t go out and defend his own aborted baby?”
Zach blinked.
“Objection,” Dana declared. “Calls for a conclusion.”
“Withdrawn,” Brian said, before the judge could rule, or the witness could respond.
Craig Jessup slipped into the courtroom just after the lunch recess.
“We have to talk,” he whispered in Dana’s ear.
The attorney nodded. “Okay, let’s meet at the office around six,” she suggested. “I’ll arrange it with Joan and Charles.”
That was normally how they did it; having everyone in on the initial discussion saved time later. But Jessup shook his head.
“No, not at your office,” he said.
Dana frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“Not now,” he replied. “How about coming up to my place?”
In all their years of working together, he had never invited her to his home. “All right,” she said. “Your place.”
If Dana thought Jessup’s behavior odd, she had no time to dwell on it as a tall spare man with a big space between his front teeth, who identified himself as Henry Lott, took the stand.
“Can you tell us where you work, Mr. Lott?” Brian asked.
“I work at Bay Auto Supply in Bremerton,” he replied.
“And how long have you worked there?”
“Let’s see… I been with them going on twelve years now.”
“To the best of your recollection, were you working there last December 15?”
“Yes, I was.”
“How do you come to be so certain?”
“Last March, when the police come asking, I checked my time card.”
“Do you know the defendant?”
“Sure do,” the witness said.
“How do you know him?”
“The lieutenant used to come in the store at least a couple times a month, getting stuff for his Jimmy.”
“Do you recall seeing the defendant on December 15?”
“Yes, I do,” Lott confirmed. “He come in around four-thirty in the afternoon.”
“You’re pretty sure of the time?”
“Yep. That’s always when he came in. After work, you know, before he gets on the ferry.”
“When he came in that day, what did he want?”
“He wanted a new battery.”
“Did you sell him one?”
“Sure did.”
“What did he say he wanted the battery for?”
Lott looked perplexed. “For his Jimmy, of course,” he replied. “The one he had was going on two years old, you see, and he thought it was starting up kind of sluggish in the mornings sometimes, so he decided it was time to replace it. He took care of that car like it was living and breathing.”
“And you’re sure that it was on December 15 that the defendant entered your store to purchase a new battery?”
“Sure I’m sure.”
Brian approached the witness, and handed him a slip of paper. “Will you tell the court what this is?” he requested.
Lott looked at the paper. “It’s a credit card receipt,” he said, “for sixty-five dollars and thirty-two cents.”
“What does it say the receipt is for?”
“A battery.”
“Whose credit card was used for the purchase?”
“The lieutenant’s.”
“And the date on the receipt?”
“December 15.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s all.”
Dana sat forward in her seat. “No questions, Your Honor,” she said.
Bendali nodded. “You may call your next witness, Mr. Ayres.”
“The prosecution calls Carney Toland,” Brian declared.
Carney Toland, a small wizened man of about forty, with greasy hair and dirty fingernails, took the stand.
“Where do you work, Mr. Toland?” Brian inquired of him.
“I have an auto parts shop—B&T Auto Parts—up on Aurora Avenue,” he replied.
“Were you working at your shop the week before Christmas of last year, specifically on the third Sunday of the month?”
“I was,” Toland replied.
“It was a long time ago, how can you be so certain?”
The man shrugged. “Because I’m at the shop every Sunday. My partner works Saturdays. I work Sundays.”
“And do you recall having a customer that day who purchased a battery from you?”
“Well, I probably had half a dozen,” the witness said, “but only one who looked like him.” He nodded in the direction of the defendant.
“Out of half a dozen, why would you remember him?” Brian asked.
“He was a clean-cut, good-looking kid, very polite, very friendly-like, and he made an impression on me. So I remembered him.”
“Did he say anything about why he wanted the battery?”
“He said the one in his vehicle was two years old and was starting up kind of slow in the mornings, so he figured it was time to replace it. He seemed real knowledgeable about cars.”
“We have heard previous testimony that the defendant purchased a battery for his SUV on December 15. So I must ask you, sir, are you absolutely certain that it was just a few days later that the defendant came into your shop and purchased a similar battery?”
“As certain as I can be,” Toland declared.
“Thank you,” Brian said.
Dana rose from her seat. “Mr. Toland, when exactly did you remember that my client came into your shop to purchase a battery?”
“When I saw his picture in the newspapers.”
“And when was that?”
“Sometime in March or April, I guess.”
“So, two months after the bombing, you saw my client’s picture in the paper and suddenly remembered you had seen him in your shop, purchasing a battery, is that correct?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Now, Mr. Toland, you said you sold as many as half a dozen batteries that day, didn’t you?”
“At least,” he amended. “It may have been closer to a dozen.”
“So it was pretty busy in your shop, is that right?”
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. The place really hops on the weekends.”
“Do you remember everyone who purchased a battery from you that day?”
“Well, maybe not everyone. But anyone who used it to make a bomb, I guess I’d remember.”
“I see,” Dana said. “So, if Corey Latham hadn’t been accused of making a bomb, you wouldn’t have remembered him, is that your testimony?”
“No, no, I know my customers,” Toland quickly assured her. “And I remember him from the shop.”
Dana glanced across the spectator gallery. “Mr. Vaughan, will you stand up please.” In one of the middle rows, a medium-sized man of about thirty scrambled to his feet. Dana turned back to the witness. “Do you recognize the man standing, sir?”
Toland squinted at the man. “He looks a little familiar,” he said. “But no, I can’t say as I recognize him exactly.”
“What if I told you that he was in your shop on the very same Sunday in December, and purchased a battery for his car. Would you remember him then?”
The auto parts dealer blinked. “Was he?”
“You don’t know, do you?” Dana pressed. “You don’t remember him, do you?”
There was a pause. “No, I don’t,” Toland said with a sigh.
“Thank you, Mr. Vaughan,” Dana said. As the man sat back down, Dana picked up several slips of paper and approached the witness. “Do you recognize this?” she asked, handing him one.
Toland looked at the slip. “It’s from my shop,” he said. “It’s a credit card receipt for a battery.”
“Whose name is on the receipt?”
“Lester Vaughan,” the witness
read.
“On what date was the receipt issued?”
“On December 19.”
“So, on December 19, Lester Vaughan was in your shop to buy a battery for his car, but you don’t remember him.” She handed him the remaining slips. “Will you please tell the court what these slips are?”
“They’re also credit card receipts.”
“Yes, for items purchased from your shop by Lester Vaughan over a two-year period. But you don’t remember him. And yet you want this court to believe that Corey Latham walked into your shop once, and you’re able to positively pick him out of a newspaper?”
“He was there,” the auto parts dealer insisted. “I remember him.”
“Do you have any credit card receipts for my client,” Dana inquired, “for December 19—or any other date, for that matter?”
Toland shook his head. “No, I don’t. But he could have paid cash. Lots of people pay cash. Three of the batteries I sold that day, I sold for cash. I have the register receipts. He could’ve been one of them.”
Dana shrugged. “But we’ll never really know, will we?” she said, finished with the witness.
“Mr. Toland,” Brian said on redirect, “when you saw the defendant’s picture in the newspaper, did you tell the police that you recognized him as someone who had bought a battery at your shop on December 19 of last year?”
“Yes, I did,” the auto parts dealer said firmly. “I thought it was him. I don’t know, I still think it was him.”
A heavyset, platinum-haired man by the name of Carl Thorson was the next witness to take the stand.
“Mr. Thorson,” Brian began, “will you please tell the court where you live?”
“I live on Queen Anne Hill,” the man replied, “next door to Corey and Elise Latham.”
“Do you know the defendant?”
“Yes. He and his wife moved in a little over a year ago. We would talk occasionally, over the fence, you know, like neighbors do.”
“Do you recall seeing the defendant any time during the first week in November of last year?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell the court under what circumstances?”
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