The state presented its case first. For two weeks, every day, all day, the prosecutor offered evidence and testimony, from experts and law enforcement, and people who knew Heath and Brandon Black, and built his story of the murder. Almost every single day, he found a reason to put up the crime scene photos. Gabe had seen the bloody, gory images so often they were etched into her brain. Black’s face torn almost in half, his swollen eyes wide open in a perfect rictus of terror, his torso a lake of blood, his inside parts spilling out of him.
Heath’s hat, lying innocuously on the grass, a couple of feet from Black’s curled fingers.
There were photos of Heath’s clothes from that night, and his boots. Of his hands. There were older photos, too, of Black after other beatings.
And the testimony. People who’d known Heath all his life, sitting before him, recounting the crash and Heath’s consuming, furious grief. They described the times he’d beaten Black, recalling how ‘wild’ he’d been, how difficult it had been to restrain him, how he’d shouted things like I’LL KILL YOU, I’LL KILL YOU and I’LL TEAR YOU APART. For every point in his theory, the prosecutor called multiple witnesses, each corroborating the others.
Catherine Spelling and Pearl Wilkes both testified about Heath’s outburst at the Moondancer, the threats he’d made to Richard Cross, his shouting match with Catherine, and the damage he’d done. They’d characterized what had happened to Gabe as nothing more than a misunderstanding and Gabe and Heath’s responses as extreme.
People sat in the witness box and described Black as a good man, a loving son. They told of his remorse for running from the crash, his desperate wish for forgiveness, his crippling fear of Heath. Black’s mother had stared steadily at Heath and described how her son had gotten sober in the aftermath of the crash and had gone almost three years without a drink before he’d returned to Jasper Ridge. She’d blamed Heath’s hatred for his relapse into drunkenness.
The medical examiner explained the forensic evidence—especially Black’s blood on Heath’s clothes and Heath’s skin in Black’s mouth. They showed an animated reconstruction of their story of the murder, and the ME talked over it, slowing it down and explaining the tremendous force required for the damage to the body.
Scientists described cases of humans managing superhuman strength, how powerful emotions could fuel unusual physical power.
The jury paid rapt attention, and it was easy to see, in their reactions to the evidence and the looks they turned on Heath, that they believed the state’s case.
And why wouldn’t they? All of the evidence presented was true. Heath was going to be convicted of a crime he hadn’t committed, and all of the evidence that would do it was true.
Honor cross-examined every witness, finding a tiny chink in each one—not a lie, nobody was lying, not even Catherine or Pearl had lied, but a possibility for another truth. She got the ME and the scientists all to concede that it was possible Heath’s DNA was present because of the earlier beating. She got the scientists to concede that the strength required was not necessarily superhuman but possibly simply unusual. She got Catherine to admit that she hadn’t seen the encounter between Cross and Gabe, so she didn’t know whether it was a misunderstanding, and she got Pearl to shakily concede that Cross had a reputation among the staff.
She got the Jasper Ridge witnesses to admit to times when Black had provoked Heath, or had done something reckless like drive drunk, or had done something else that would tarnish the image of the sad, sorry, persecuted man.
But none of it was enough. The evidence against Heath was so overwhelming that sometimes Gabe couldn’t stop herself, sitting in that terrible room while huge images of a destroyed body glowed on a screen, from wondering how anyone else could have done it. The story the prosecutor was creating fit the facts so neatly that, though she didn’t doubt his innocence, a strange double image was emerging in Gabe’s mind, a truth that he both had and had not done it, that he was both innocent and guilty. She fought to shove it away, but it wouldn’t go.
She would not have found it hard to believe that his spirit had left his body that night and done what Heath had, in his heart, wanted. It frankly seemed to Gabe the only possible explanation, since she believed he had not committed the murder, but the evidence was overwhelming that he had.
Late in the afternoon on the Friday of the second week of the trial, Jackson Hayes, the prosecutor, dismissed his last witness and rested the state’s case.
The judge turned to Heath and Honor. “Is the defense ready to proceed?”
Honor stood. “We are, Your Honor, but considering the lateness of the hour, might we recess until Monday?”
“I think that’s reasonable. Any objection, Mr. Hayes?”
Looking smug, Hayes stood. “No, Your Honor. No objection at all.”
“Very well. We are in recess until nine a.m. Monday.” He struck the gavel.
Gabe and the others stood immediately, as did Heath and Honor. Heath was pale and haggard. Every day of the trial took away another layer of the armor that was his hope and will.
Honor turned to the little circle they’d made. “We need to talk.”
Morgan nodded. “We do. Somewhere private and close. I’ll call Angelo’s and get us a dining room.”
*****
“Hell, I more than half believe I did it.” Heath loosened his tie and slumped back in his chair. He drank his bourbon down in three long swallows.
Angelo’s had turned out to be a steakhouse a couple of blocks from the courthouse. Morgan was friends with Angelo, so when they arrived, they were ushered back to a private room, ornately decorated with red flocked wallpaper, plush carpeting and heavy furniture. Two servers in crisp uniforms took their orders and brought their drinks, and then they were left alone in a room so quiet it seemed hermetically sealed.
Honor sipped at a glass of white wine. “We knew the state’s case. Nothing presented was a shocker. You knew that this part was going to be bad, and it was. But I think I made some room for doubt.”
“Reasonable doubt?” Logan asked.
“Honestly, no. Not yet. But something to build on. Melina and Art are still digging into this Devlin guy, but they need more time. So far, what we have is a very large man with a record of violent crime. We have his Instagram with lots of gym photos. We can argue that he is strong and violent enough to have accomplished the act. But he didn’t know the victim or Heath. We have no motive yet, and we can’t explain why the victim would have met him out by the creek. Without that, we can’t tell a good story.”
“Out of the blue, Catherine hired a convicted felon as a hand on her dude ranch,” Morgan said. “That itself says something.”
“Yeah, it does. It’s suspicious, and it could feed a narrative that Catherine is the mastermind. But it doesn’t get the victim and Devlin to the creek, and it doesn’t show the motive for Devlin. It’s a big move to suggest that even a guy like him would kill like that to keep a minimum-wage job, and we haven’t found anything else yet. Hayes could argue that she hired him because she was crippled by Heath running Richard Cross off, and her options were limited. Or just that she was giving somebody a second chance.
Logan nearly spat his derision at that idea. “Catherine Spelling’s never given a second chance to anybody in her goddamn life.”
After a glance Logan’s way, Honor returned her attention to the table as a whole. “I’m going to open on Monday with our character witnesses. We need to tell the story of the Heath you know. And I’ll chip away at what chinks I’ve made in the state’s case. If we can create a better image of you in their heads and I can develop the points of doubt we’ve got, maybe I can make some magic. Family goes up first thing. I’ll come by the ranch on Sunday to do some prep with all of you. Gabe, I want to put you on the stand first.”
This was the first Gabe had heard of that. She’d do anything she needed to do to help Heath, but the thought of the witness stand terrified her. She must have shown that fear, because Hea
th gave her a look and then turned to his lawyer.
“No. Leave Gabe out of this.”
“I’ll do it, Heath. It’s okay.”
“No. I’m not putting you through that.” He turned back to Honor. “Leave her alone. Leave all my family alone. I want to go up on the stand myself.”
Honor dismissed that with a sharp shake of her head. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? You said you want a better image of me. Then put me on the stand and let me show them who I am.”
“No. You’ll do more harm than good. Your family and friends will show them who you are. Let me do my job.”
Heath slammed his hands flat on the table, making the glasses and silverware rattle. “Then do your fucking job! I didn’t do this! Let me tell them so! Let me tell them who I am!!”
Honor finished her wine. She set the glass down, crossed her arms on the table, and leaned in. Her blue eyes stabbed at Heath. “Who you are is a hothead who wanted the victim dead. What you just did right now? I’m on your side. Hayes is not. If you get on the stand, you will be subject to cross-examination. Exactly how long do you think it will take him to have you foaming at the mouth? He will poke and poke, trying to get you to react violently, and what’s the chance he’ll succeed? Just about one-hundred percent. The more stressed you are, the less control you have. Giving testimony is a high-stress situation for somebody not on trial for murder. Exactly what do you think the jury will think when you shout and pound your fists? Or maybe he’ll really get you going, and you’ll go after him the way you went after Logan last week. The jury would love that. No, Heath. You didn’t commit this crime, but I think everybody at this table, you included, knows that, in a different situation, you absolutely would have killed him. And we are the people who believe in you most. If you get on the stand, you will ruin any chance there might be to get you out of this. Let me do my job.”
Heath threw his empty glass across the room. When it shattered against the flocked wallpaper and the pieces fell almost silently to the carpeted floor, everybody in the room stared at the spot it had struck the wall. Gabe didn’t think he could have made Honor’s point for her any more clearly.
Probably thinking the exact same thing, he jumped from his chair and stalked to a corner of the room. He punched the wall twice and then just deflated. His shoulders drooped, and he dropped his head, letting his forehead hit the wall.
Gabe had sat quietly at his side, feeling sad and afraid. Now she got up and went to him. Leaning on the wall beside him, she set her hand on his back and was simply with him.
After a moment, he sighed and swiveled his head to see her. “She’s right, you know. I’d’ve killed him with my bare hands any number of times. Only reason I didn’t is people stopped me. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is justice.”
“No. You didn’t kill him. That’s all that matters. And you were going to leave him alone.”
“I should’ve left you alone. Back when you first came to town, I knew I was no good for you. I should’ve left you be. Now I’m just dragging you down with me.”
“Shut up. Shut up right now. Don’t take how I feel for you and just toss it aside like that.” Grabbing his hand, she opened it and pressed it flat on her belly. “You gave me something I thought I’d never have again, and it’s better than I ever had before. We’re a family. I love you.”
He stared at her belly. “You’re showing. I noticed this morning.”
She smiled. She was fifteen weeks along and thought she was showing, too, but she hadn’t decided for sure. She’d expected her belly to look rounder instead of just puffy. “Maybe I’m just getting fat. Emma keeps baking me cookies.”
“No, little one. The baby’s growing. Pretty soon, you’ll feel her kick. I’m going to miss everything. She won’t even know me. Her whole life, I’ll just be a strange man in a scary room.”
Gabe was terrified of raising their baby alone. It was so hard to be strong for him when all she wanted was to curl up in his arms and have him tell her everything would be okay. “Yes, he will know you. He’ll know what a great daddy he has, and he’ll love you. Please, Heath. Remember our magic words. It’s gonna be okay.”
His laugh was the saddest sound she’d ever heard. “They’re not magic. They’re a fairy tale.”
*****
That weekend was hard. Heath had decided in the private dining room at Angelo’s that what was happening was justice, and his will ebbed away. By the time Honor left on Sunday evening, he had given up.
He’d sat in the big house and watched as Honor had prepared Gabe and his father and siblings to give testimony. He’d sat silently, drinking bourbon and barely reacting to anything going on around him.
While Gabe and Emma were in the kitchen putting together a cold dinner for everyone, Gabe felt something flutter inside her. Nothing big, certainly not a kick, but she had a pregnancy app, and the past couple of weeks it had been telling her to keep a lookout for ‘quickening.’ It would likely feel, the app told her, like she was being tickled from the inside. Or maybe like gas.
It felt like someone drumming their fingers on the inside of her belly. When it happened a second time, while she was making Heath’s sandwich, she stopped and paid close attention, laying her hand over the spot. It happened again.
Emma noticed. “Oh! Do you feel her?” Emma had taken to calling the baby ‘her,’ just like Heath. Gabe didn’t care either way, but she called him ‘him’ just for parity’s sake, so that everybody wouldn’t get so used to thinking of the baby as a girl that they’d be disappointed if he was a boy.
“I think so. Just like little taps.”
“Yes! Isn’t that the best feeling? Like she’s saying ‘Hi, Mama!’ You have to go tell Heath! He needs some good news.”
Gabe resisted Emma’s pull. “I don’t know. He’s so sad. He’s so worried he’ll miss everything. What if it makes him sadder?”
“What’ll make me sadder?” Heath walked, mostly steadily, across the kitchen and opened the cupboard next to the double refrigerator. He stared into it, then turned to Emma. “Bourbon?”
“I put four bottles at the bar Thursday night.”
He only stared.
Emma put her hands on her hips. “Heath…”
“Don’t start, Em. Are we out?”
“I guess so.”
He stared at his sister for a couple of blinks, then turned back to the cupboard and pulled a bottle of some other kind of booze down instead. “What’ll make me sadder?”
Gabe had trouble forming the words. “I—I—think the baby moved. I think I felt him.”
His eyes shifted to her belly, and Gabe stood where she was, holding a butter knife smeared with yellow mustard, while every emotion she could name played over his face. She waited for one to land and form an expression.
The one that landed broke her heart. Despair.
“That’s good,” he said. He took the bottle of booze and left the kitchen.
*****
Since the start of the trial, he’d backed off the bourbon a bit, preferring restless sleep to sitting in court with a hangover, but he spent that whole weekend after the state rested its case drunk, and by Sunday night, Logan and Wes had to drive them down to their house and carry him to bed. They helped her get him down to his boxer briefs, and then they’d left her alone with him.
She’d lain at his side and watched him sleep the snoring death of deep drunkenness, more worried and afraid than she had been since those days right after the Fourth, when he’d been in jail.
But she had to stay strong. Especially if he was weakening, she had to be strong for both of them. She had to ease the burden of his worry for her. She had to remind him of their love, that that wouldn’t change, wherever they were. She had to remind him that he was a Cahill and Cahills didn’t give up. She had to tell him everything was going to be okay.
She had to be strong to take care of their baby.
Now that she had figured out that she could feel the
baby, she felt him often, little taps and flutters. She lay quietly next to Heath with her t-shirt scrunched up below her boobs and stared at the thickening that was her bump. Heath’s baby was in there. Their baby.
She fell asleep that way, on her back, her hands laced over her bump.
*****
Heavy pounding, like a hammer, woke her, and then a crash. Just as she realized that she was alone in bed, she heard Heath’s voice.
“Fuck! Fuck you! Motherfucker!”
And another crash.
Gabe jumped from the bed and ran to find her husband.
She found him in what had been Ruthie’s room and would soon be a nursery for their baby.
When Gabe had moved in, the room had still been Ruthie’s room, with all of her furniture and clothes and toys. Heath had closed the door and simply left it as she’d left it. He didn’t go in there or talk about it. He hadn’t told Gabe until she’d asked directly.
Their house wasn’t big, and the third bedroom was tiny and awkward. Heath was using it for storage. So when Gabe found out she was pregnant, Heath had opened Ruthie’s door and packed up her things. That had been a long, difficult, bittersweet day. Everything was in the attic at the big house now.
The weekend before, Wes and Heath had brought down Ruthie’s nursery furniture: a sleigh crib in cherry wood, a matching changing table, and a rocking chair. The changing table and crib had been taken apart for storage, and they’d leaned the parts against the wall and called their work done for the day.
Sometime in the middle of this night, Heath had decided to build the crib. He was sitting on the floor in his underwear, with a bottle of Jim Beam, his toolbox, and the various parts of the crib.
Somewhere (Sawtooth Mountains Stories Book 1) Page 27
