Texas Tall

by Janet Dailey

  * * *

  “The people call Miss Erin Tyler.”

  At Mr. Drummond’s words, Erin stood. Her legs were shaking, and her mouth tasted like she’d sucked on a penny. For an instant she froze, her feet refusing to move. Then she felt the touch of Lauren’s hand on her back. “You can do this,” she whispered. “Go on.”

  As Erin moved into the aisle and walked forward, she could feel every eye in the courtroom on her. Some were friendly, others curious. A few were even hostile. They all watched her as she took her seat in the witness-box and was sworn in by the bailiff.

  . . . Tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That’s what her parents had told her to do. She could only hope the truth would help her father.

  She glanced around the courtroom, feeling small and out of place. In a room full of stern adults, how could the testimony of a twelve-year-old girl make any difference? Then she met her father’s blue eyes across the distance and remembered how much he loved and trusted her. The thought gave her courage.

  Erin straightened in the chair as Clay Drummond stood and walked toward her. His mouth was smiling, but the expression in his eyes reminded her of a snake closing in on a baby bird. Her father had reminded her that Clay Drummond was a family friend and a nice man. But Erin knew better than to think he would be nice today. That was not his job.

  “Do you know who I am, Erin?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m just going to ask you a few questions. There’s no need to be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous, sir.”

  “Very well. To start, what did your father do after he shot Mr. Tomescu?”

  “He got back in the truck and hugged me. Then he got out again. He called my mother and the sheriff and laid a blanket over the dead man.”

  “So he called your mother first, then the sheriff. He must have been in a big hurry to get you away from there. Did you hear the phone calls?”

  “No, he made them outside the truck. But he’d told me what he was going to do.”

  “Why do you think he covered the body?”

  “Objection!” Erin’s mother said. “Conjecture.”

  “Sustained,” the judge said.

  “Fine. One more question. Did you see the defendant—your father—touch the knife in any way—like maybe pick up the weapon and look at it, or even put it in the man’s hand?”

  “No. I was watching. He didn’t do anything like that.”

  His posture sagged slightly, as if someone had loosened a string. “Thank you, Erin. No more questions.”

  “You may cross-examine the witness, Ms. Tyler,” the judge said.

  Erin’s mother stepped forward, looking as slim and polished as a movie star playing a lawyer on TV. “Erin,” she began, “did either of your parents or anyone else instruct you in what to tell the court today?”

  “They only told me to be honest.”

  “I’m sure you will be. Please tell the court exactly what you saw happen on the night in question.”

  Erin related the events, as she remembered them, hearing the radio announcement, hitting something in the road and blowing a tire, her father getting out, then seeing the motorcycle lights.

  “Why didn’t you get out with him?” Tori asked.

  “I wanted to. But he told me to stay in the car. He thought he might’ve hit an animal.”

  “Is that why he took his gun, in case he’d hit an animal?”

  “I think so.”

  “When did he tell you to lock the door and get down?”

  “When he saw the motorcycle coming. I’m pretty sure he thought it was the robber.”

  “And did you get down?”

  “Not all the way. I wanted to see, so I peeked over the window.”

  “Tell us what you saw.”

  Erin told the court what she’d seen happen. She did her best to keep her voice steady, but toward the end her throat began to quiver. Only now did she realize how truly scared she’d been.

  “Think carefully, Erin,” her mother said, handing Erin a pen. “What exactly did the man do with the knife? Can you show us?”

  “It happened really fast. I didn’t see where the knife came from, but he went like this.” Erin demonstrated with the pen, holding her arm up and back as if she were about to throw it.

  “And did he throw the knife?”

  “No. That was when my dad shot him.”

  “Thank you.” Her mother took the pen. “Just one more question, Erin. Did your father know you were watching?”

  “No. I was afraid he’d be mad, so I didn’t tell him. He didn’t find out till the next day.”

  “So, when he told the sheriff you hadn’t seen anything, he wasn’t really lying. And he wasn’t trying to hide anything, was he?”

  “No.” Erin shook her head. “My dad doesn’t lie.”

  “Thank you, Erin.” Her mother gave her a little smile. “No further questions.”

  Rising, Erin stepped down from the witness chair. As she walked back toward the aisle, she glanced to one side and saw the dead man’s sister, Stella Rawlins, staring at her over the rail. A chill crept through her body. The hatred in those fierce green eyes was like icy claws creeping over her skin.

  She’d faced the court and made it through the questions without a stumble. But now, for the first time today, Erin felt fear.

  * * *

  “The people call Mr. Drew Middleton.”

  Will heard Tori gasp. She thumbed through her notes, probably to see if his name had been added to the witness list. If it had, she could’ve been too busy to notice the update. She was clearly caught off guard.

  Her body went rigid as Middleton walked in through the back doors, strode down the aisle, and took the witness stand. Her fingers gripped her pen as the bailiff administered the oath. Will studied her taut profile, unable to read her emotions.

  “Mr. Middleton,” Clay asked, “please tell the court where you were on the night in question.”

  “I was with Ms. Tyler.” He did not look at Tori. “We’d been to dinner in Lubbock, and I drove her home.”

  “So it was a date?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how did the date end?”

  “We were in my car, in front of her house, when her phone rang. I could only hear one side of the conversation, but it appeared there’d been some kind of accident—an incident, she called it—and she had to go and get her daughter right away.”

  “Did you get the impression her daughter was hurt or in danger?”

  “No. But Tori—Ms. Tyler—was in a big hurry. She rushed into the house, and a couple minutes later, her wagon passed me racing up the road.”

  “Why didn’t you drive her in your car? That would have saved time.”

  “I offered. But she insisted on going alone, as if she was on a secret mission or something.”

  “Objection.” Tori’s voice was icy.

  “Sustained,” the judge droned. “Strike the part about the secret mission.”

  Clay cleared his throat. “Mr. Middleton, why do you think she was in such a hurry? Was it because the defendant, Mr. Tyler, wanted his daughter gone before the sheriff arrived on the scene?”

  “Objection!” Tori snapped. “Calls for speculation!”

  Clay shrugged. “Withdrawn. Your witness, Ms. Tyler.”

  “No questions.” Tori shuffled her papers as the judge excused the witness. Middleton left without ever making eye contact with her. Whatever they’d shared in the past seemed to have gone sour. One less thing to worry about, Will told himself.

  “Call your next witness, Mr. Drummond,” the judge said. “After that, we’ll break for lunch.”

  “The people call Ms. Stella Rawlins.”

  * * *

  A murmur swept through the gallery as Stella took her time walking to the witness stand. Every eye was fixed on her. Aside from running the Blue Coyote, she’d kept a low profile in the town. For many of the spectators, this was
their first chance to get a good look at the woman. Damned if she isn’t putting on a show, Will thought.

  After she’d taken the oath and stated her name for the record, Clay began his questioning. He looked more harried than ever. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. His hands seemed unsteady, and his left eye had developed a noticeable tic.

  Does Stella have something on him? But how can that be? Will wondered. Clay Drummond was a paragon of integrity, a leading citizen in the town, and the most likely candidate for a judgeship when Sid Henderson retired. Stella had brought down some powerful men, like former sheriff Hoyt Axelrod and Congressman Garn Prescott. But Clay? That didn’t seem possible.

  “Ms. Rawlins, for the record, the victim, Nikolas Tomescu, was your brother, is that correct?”

  “Yes. Nicky was all the family I had.” Her voice quavered on the edge of tears. The lady was good.

  “And had you ever known him to act in a violent way?”

  “Heavens, no! Nicky was slow and sweet, like a little child. I’d never known him to even kick a dog, let alone harm another human being.”

  “So the defendant and his daughter were in no danger whatsoever on the night in question?”

  “No. Poor Nicky wouldn’t have hurt either of them. He was most likely scared to . . . to death.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lace hanky.

  “I see.” Clay gave the jury a meaningful glance. “No more questions. Your witness, Ms. Tyler.”

  Tori stalked toward the witness stand. “My condolences for your brother’s loss, Ms. Rawlins.” Her voice was level, even cold. “Are you aware that the deputies found a packet of cocaine on your brother’s motorcycle?”

  Stella’s eyes glittered with suppressed rage, but her husky voice betrayed nothing. “That’s what I was told. But I don’t know anything about it. I’d warned Nicky not to fool around with drugs, but evidently he didn’t listen to me.”

  “The gun he had was registered to you. Did you give it to him?”

  “We kept a gun in the drawer below the cash register. He had access to it anytime.”

  “Were you aware that on the night in question, your brother was riding around on his motorcycle with drugs and a gun?”

  “Objection!” Clay Drummond broke in. “The witness isn’t on trial here.”

  “No, I want to answer,” Stella said. “Nicky was an adult. I never told him what to do or what not to do. As long as he showed up for work, his personal life was none of my business.”

  “I see.” Tori’s tone was skeptical. “But do you agree that if he was carrying drugs, he’d be more likely to act in an aggressive manner—say, by drawing a gun or using a knife?”

  Stella shrugged her ample shoulders. “How should I know? I always told Nicky to be nice to people. But I don’t know how he might’ve behaved when I wasn’t with him.”

  “But didn’t you just tell the court your brother was harmless and would never hurt anyone?”

  “Objection! Badgering the witness!” Clay protested.

  “Withdrawn.” With a knowing glance at the jury, Tori turned away. “No more questions for now.”

  “Mr. Drummond?” the judge asked.

  “The people rest, Your Honor.”

  Stella strutted back to her seat, a stormy look on her face as the judge dismissed the court for a lunch break. The prosecution’s case had proven little, but the trial was far from over. This afternoon it would be Tori’s turn to present her case. And it would be Clay Drummond’s job to rip holes in her defense.

  * * *

  Clay had brought a couple of ham sandwiches from home, planning to have lunch in his office. But once there, he realized he was too churned up to eat. Pouring himself two fingers of bourbon in a Dixie cup, he slumped at his desk. He knew better than to return to the courtroom with alcohol on his breath, but what the hell, he needed a drink.

  He’d struck a few blows for the prosecution, but he was off his game, too tired and stressed to think straight. He’d hoped to get a few slipups out of the daughter, but Erin had turned out to be almost as poised and cool as her mother. Drew Middleton hadn’t been much help, and even Stella had faltered under Tori’s sharp cross-examination.

  Will would be the afternoon’s remaining witness. All along, Clay’s best hope of a guilty verdict had been to convince the jury that the defendant had tried to cover up the crime. Now, once Tori had introduced the audiotapes supporting Will’s motive, it would be the only remaining hope.

  The jangle of his personal cell phone triggered a spasm in Clay’s stomach. It was Stella. And he knew better than to let the call go to voice mail.

  “You were dead on your feet out there, Clay.” She sounded like she was talking through clenched teeth. “You let the Tyler woman ask me too many questions. And that little brat of hers made you look like a fool. You need to up your game. I want that bastard brought to his knees!”

  “I’m doing everything I can, Stella.”

  “Not by me, you aren’t.”

  “I’ll get my chance at Will this afternoon. Don’t worry, I’ll give it all I’ve got.”

  “You damned well better. If Will Tyler walks out of that court a free man, you’re finished.”

  The call ended in silence.

  The clenching sensation in Clay’s gut had become a sharp pain. Maybe he was getting an ulcer. Scrolling down, he punched in Abner’s cell phone. The sheriff had gone back to work after his testimony. Now Clay was going to need him again.

  “Are you alone?” he asked when Abner answered.

  “For now. How’s the trial going?”

  “Still dicey. I’ll want you back here to confirm that the knife was bagged at the scene and found to have been wiped clean of prints.”

  “No.”

  “What?” Clay almost dropped the phone. “Why, for God’s sake?”

  “You know why. I’ve been doing some soul-searching, Clay. If anybody finds out I wiped that knife myself before it was dusted for prints, and then lied about it under oath, I could go to jail. I’ve got a new grandson, a fine boy, to raise. I want to be there for him.”

  “Damn it, Abner.” Clay gripped the phone harder. “I could ruin you!”

  “That wouldn’t be very smart. Evidence tampering, if it came out, would guarantee Will Tyler’s acquittal. And I wouldn’t be slow to let folks know you were in on the scheme. Call me to the stand, and I’ll resign. Then I’ll tell the truth. Your choice, Mr. Prosecutor.”

  With a muttered obscenity Clay ended the call. What a time for Abner to get noble! But the little toad was right about one thing. Clay couldn’t touch him without incriminating himself.

  Clay glanced at his watch. The lunch break was over. It was time to be back in court. And he had nothing left.

  * * *

  Will shifted forward in his chair as Tori introduced two audiotapes into evidence and played them for the jury. The first was a recording of the radio announcement, describing the fugitive. The second was the tape of Will’s urgent call to the 911 dispatcher, when he believed he’d killed the robber. More than any other evidence, these tapes supported Will’s reason for shooting the man on the motorcycle and confirmed that he’d truly believed he was facing a dangerous criminal. Now it was time for Tori to call her first, and only, witness.

  “The defense calls Will Tyler.”

  By the time Will told his story on the stand, most of it was old news. When he was finished, Tori had just one question for him.

  “Please explain to the court why you covered the body and why you called me first, before you called the sheriff.”

  “In answer to both questions, I wanted to spare my daughter,” Will said. “The sight of a dead man with a bloody hole in his chest would’ve haunted her for the rest of her life. I didn’t want that picture in her mind. As for the call, I didn’t know she’d witnessed the shooting. I only wanted to get her away from an upsetting scene to someplace safe and familiar. For me, that was even more urgent than calling in the law. That’s all I
have to say.”

  Clay’s cross-examination was tepid. And the man looked even more ragged than he had that morning, his eyes sunk in shadows, his speech far from its usual machine-gun delivery. By the time he finished his closing statement, once more pressing the point that Will’s impulsive shot had needlessly killed an innocent man, he appeared so exhausted that Will wondered if he might be ill—or maybe trying to garner sympathy.

  Tori’s performance, in Will’s eyes at least, was flawless. As she faced the jury, looking spectacular and pointing out that Will had done what any reasonable father would do, one thought took root in his mind. If he walked out of this courthouse a free man, he wanted Tori back. He wanted her in his home and in his bed, with his ring on her finger. He wanted a normal, loving family life with his wife and daughter. And he wouldn’t give up until he’d made it happen.

  But right now, everything depended on the outcome of the trial.

  So far, Will had reason to be hopeful. But juries could be unpredictable, verdicts surprising. There was no way of knowing what would go on behind those closed doors. A strong case didn’t always win. And this one, based more on circumstance than on solid evidence, would be a judgment call. It could go either way.

  With his freedom hanging on their decision, Will watched the jury file out of the courtroom, charged with finding on two counts— manslaughter and obstruction of justice. They could be out for an hour. Or they could be arguing into tomorrow.

  * * *

  Will, Tori, Erin, Lauren, and Beau drove the seven blocks to Tori’s house to wait. Tori broke out cold sodas and snacks for everyone. Erin and Beau switched on a video game. The action crackled, heightening the tension in the room as they played. Lauren, looking tired, phoned Sky, then wandered into Tori’s room to lie down. Tori and Will, too edgy to relax, alternately sat and prowled. Time crawled, minute by anxious minute.

  Two hours from the time they’d reached the house, Tori got the call. The jury had a verdict. They piled into her wagon and rode in silence back to the courthouse. Sitting beside Erin in the backseat, Will felt his daughter’s hand creep into his. He held on tight as they pulled into the parking lot and stopped at the side entrance to the courthouse. In the foyer they glimpsed Stella, in her tight black dress, hurrying into the courtroom ahead of them.