Dread Champion

by Brandilyn Collins

  “Well, there you go,” Stan said snidely.

  Judge Chanson shot daggers at him. He stuck a hand in his hair and rubbed.

  “All right. I’ll have to get to the bottom of this. Then I’ll decide what to do. Mr. Breckshire”—she aimed laser eyes—“any other thoughts at this time? That are worth sharing?”

  Erica snorted. Stan’s fingers curled at the sound. The judge glared at her. Erica recovered, managing a delicate cough.

  Stan could think of a dozen things, all better left unsaid. “No, Your Honor.”

  “Fine then.” A look of regal command settled upon the judge’s features.“Mr. Clyde,may I prevail upon you to find Sidney and ask him to bring Ms.Adams to my chambers? The rest of us shall wait.”

  A LUMP SAT IN Chelsea’s chest as she entered the deliberation room. She’d slept intermittently the previous night, her mind swirling with thoughts of Kerra and the trial.

  Oh, Lord, Iknow you’ve called me to pray. But I’m tired this morning, and Istill can’t help being frightened for Kerra. She sounded so distant when she phoned last night. Please draw her to you. Protect her.

  “Good morning, good morning.” Sidney Portensic bustled cheerily into the room.

  “Morning, Sydney,” B. B. and Gloria replied in stereo as others voiced their greetings. Hesta gave him the nod of a queen to a serf.

  Sydney’s face remained all grins. “I trust you all had a good sleep on the county’s dollar.”

  “Oh, the best.” Clay’s hand slid to his lower back, his face feigning severe pain.

  Sydney laughed good-naturedly, then quickly turned all business. “Ms. Adams”—he turned to Chelsea, his voice low—“may I speak with you for a moment?”

  Kerra. Anxiety singed the back of her neck. “Of course.”

  He ushered her into the hallway and shut the door. “The judge wants to see you.”

  Chelsea stared at him, seeing the concern on his face. “Why?”

  “Guess you’ll find out soon enough.” His features creased into an empathetic smile. “Come on.”

  When Chelsea entered the judge’s chambers, the judge, attorneys, and court reporter all were there.Apprehension skidded around her stomach.

  Judge Chanson came right to the point.“Ms.Adams, it has come to my attention that your niece is attending this trial. This perhaps is the niece you mentioned during voir dire?”

  All three attorneys stared at Chelsea. She felt like a schoolgirl called before an accusing principal.“Yes. She’s visiting from Kansas.”

  “Have you discussed this trial at all?”

  “Of course not.” Indignation fueled the need to explain. “We’d planned to spend these two weeks together, as I told you. She’s been through a tragedy and I wanted to help her. Then when I ended up on this jury, what else was she supposed to do?”

  “Apparently, she’s found something,” Stan Breckshire burst.

  “Counsel!” Judge Chanson smacked her desk. Steam fairly rolled off her shoulders. She turned back to Chelsea. “The media are reporting that your niece has been spending time with Brett Welk, the defendant’s son. That they had dinner together last night.As you can imagine, this is most disturbing news.”

  Chelsea fought for a breath. She could find no words to say.

  “I must ask you again if you have talked with your niece about the trial.”

  Her indignation seeped into anger.As if she’d encouraged any of this. “I told you, no.”

  “I see that she is on your list of callers.Did she phone last night?”

  “Yes. Finally. It was nearly eleven. I asked where she’d been and she wouldn’t tell me.”

  For another ten minutes Judge Chanson and the attorneys questioned Chelsea. Did she approve of this relationship? Would it affect her ability to deliberate fairly? Even as Chelsea told herself to remain calm, she could not keep the anger from her voice. Any “relationship” Kerra had with Brett Welk was completely her niece’s own doing, and Chelsea was not about to accept the blame.

  Finally Judge Chanson leaned her forearms on her desk. “All right. I appreciate your candor, Ms. Adams. Now there is only one thing I can do to save these proceedings. I will have to remove Miss Fraye’s name from your contact list. That way, regardless of what she chooses to do, no one will be able to question your veracity in deliberating. Understood?”

  Chelsea’s throat locked. God, you can’t allow this! Complete separation from Kerra at a time when her niece’s rebellious nature was rearing its ugly head. Chelsea knew her niece all too well.With the entire court frowning upon her friendship with Brett Welk, Kerra was bound to stick to him like glue.

  KERRA MEEKLY FOLLOWED the heavy bailiff down the narrow hall. Her ankles shook as they approached the judge’s chambers.What was going to happen? Surely this had something to do with Brett. The mere thought of the judge trying to run her life filled her with both fear and indignation. And poor Brett. He was already beside himself with the media reports.When the bailiff had sidled up to her outside the courtroom, saying the judge wanted to see her, Brett’s face had paled.

  That horrid Milt Waking had watched her every move.

  “Just go right on in; they’re waiting for you.” The bailiff smiled broadly as he swung open the intimidating door.

  They?

  Kerra forced herself through the doorway. Five heads turned to stare at her. The judge, all three attorneys, and the court reporter. Her stomach turned over.

  “Come in,Miss Fraye.” Judge Chanson beckoned Kerra to stand before her. The attorneys parted to give her room. Kerra had a fleeting thought of the Israelites in the middle of the boiling Red Sea.

  Judge Chanson loomed larger than life in her black robe, one arm resting on her expansive desk. She cleared her throat and considered Kerra. A ground-swallowing earthquake would have been most welcome at that moment. “Miss Fraye, it has come to the court’s attention that you are the niece of juror Chelsea Adams and that further you have, ah, begun a friendship with Brett Welk. I assume this is true?”

  Kerra could only nod.

  “I see.” The judge fingered the purple chain around her neck, looking grim.“We have already spoken to your aunt about this matter, so she is aware of what I must do. I cannot tell you not to come to court,Miss Fraye, as this is a public trial. But I am concerned that you would have any contact with your aunt, given this unusual situation. So I am taking your name off her list of callers. You will not be able to speak to your aunt until the verdict has been given and your aunt is released from this court. Understood?”

  “Yes,” Kerra squeaked.

  Judge Chanson gave her a probing look. “I hope you also understand why I must take this measure. Surely you can imagine that your continued communication with your aunt would bring into question her ability to deliberate fairly.”

  “It shouldn’t,” Kerra blurted, then drew back, amazed at her audacity.Well, so what? This was ridiculous.Aunt Chelsea had done nothing wrong and neither had she. Defensiveness kicked through her like a sudden dust storm. These people couldn’t begin to know the extent of her grief since Dave’s death. They couldn’t begin to know what it felt like to be attracted to someone again, to feel alive again.What was she supposed to do, turn her back on this chance?

  Everyone was staring at her. Kerra felt Erica Salvador’s eyes giving her once-, second-, and third-overs.

  “What I mean is,” she declared, “I have never talked with Aunt Chelsea about what’s happened in the courtroom. I’m sure she told you that.And she is the most honest person you’ll ever meet.You’re lucky to have her on your jury.”

  “I’m sure, I’m sure,” Terrance Clyde soothed.

  “Well,” the judge said after a moment, “my decision stands. This is to protect your aunt just as much as the rest of us. It will ensure that her honesty cannot be questioned.”

  Kerra focused unseeingly on the sleeve of the judge’s robe. The woman was right. This was for Aunt Chelsea’s protection. Suddenly a burden Kerra hadn
’t allowed herself to admit lifted from her shoulders. She wouldn’t have to call Aunt Chelsea every night. She wouldn’t have to worry about her aunt’s probing questions.

  She was free to do anything she wanted.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  For the second day in a row, court was late getting started, this time thanks solely to herself and Kerra. Chelsea sank into her jury seat wearily. She was half glad she couldn’t read the papers. The media was sure to get wind of the judge’s decision to cut her contact with Kerra. Chelsea shook her head. This was all her fault. She never, ever should have let Kerra come to the trial.

  As if on some twisted cue,Kerra and Brett entered the courtroom at that moment. They sat side by side.

  Kerra’s eyes drifted to the jury box. Chelsea gave her a wan smile. Kerra nodded back, brows knit. Her expression mixed apology, determination, and … something else.

  Anticipation.

  Chelsea turned her eyes away.Lord, Iknow you want me here, but Inever should have allowed Kerra to come. You’ve promised me that you’ll take care of her while I do what you’ve called me to do. Please keep your promise!

  Stan Breckshire called his first witness of the day—Victor Mendoza. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, his perfectly straight back betraying his discomfort at having to testify.With one last prayer Chelsea pushed aside her worries about Kerra so she could concentrate. Under questioning,Victor Mendoza admitted that he and his family had run the Mexican border into America when he was four years old. As an adult, he had become an American citizen. He told the court how loyal he was to the country that had taken him from poverty, offered him a good life.

  Carefully then the prosecutor elicited every detail about how Victor Mendoza had seen Darren Welk planting a bush in his backyard at 4:20 a.m. on the night Shawna Welk was killed.How when he had realized the information might be relevant, he’d called police, fulfilling his duty as a citizen.

  Victor’s testimony filled in a missing puzzle piece for Chelsea. No wonder the detectives had come to the Welks’ house with a search warrant to dig up the bush.

  An hour later Stan Breckshire turned him over to the defense for cross-examination.

  Terrance Clyde rose in one easy motion.Victor Mendoza shifted in the witness chair, as though gathering himself for an unwanted confrontation. He raised his chin with an air of forthrightness and watched the defense attorney approach.

  “Good morning.” Terrance Clyde smiled briefly. Victor Mendoza gave a wary nod. “I have just a few questions for you. You estimated you were about seventy feet from the person you saw digging, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it was dark with little moonlight.”

  “That is true.”

  “Further that the lantern that cast the long shadow was on the ground directly behind the digger.”

  “Yes.”

  Terrance Clyde brought a hand to his chin, thinking. Someone coughed. “So in other words, this figure that you saw was backlit?”

  Victor Mendoza considered the word. “You could say that, yes.”

  “Would you say the light was brighter around the person’s feet or face?”

  “His feet and legs. Since the lantern was on the ground.”

  “Sure.” The attorney inhaled slowly, frowning at the carpet. “Then how did you see the person’s face?”

  “As I said, I didn’t completely see his face. But I saw his build and height and enough of his features to recognize him as Darren Welk.”

  “Did the fact that this digger was in Darren Welk’s backyard help you reach that decision?”

  “I am not sure.”

  “If you had seen that figure at the same distance, lit the exact same way at night at any other location, say near your own house, would you have recognized the person as Darren Welk?”

  Victor Mendoza fingered the starched collar of his shirt. “I do not know, sir. I can’t answer the question, since that is not what happened.”

  Chelsea liked that honest answer. She found Mr. Mendoza very believable.

  “All right.” Terrance Clyde almost shrugged. “Let’s try this.” He sauntered to his table and picked up an envelope.“May I approach?” he asked Judge Chanson.

  Stan Breckshire pushed to his feet, requesting to see what was in the envelope. A short sidebar ensued, Stan arguing about the contents. Apparently, he lost. Sidebar over, Terrance Clyde approached the witness and showed him a photo. “Recognize this person?”

  Victor Mendoza bent over the photo, a finger tracing its edge. “Yes. It’s Darren Welk, very much as I saw him that night.”

  “Where was this picture taken?”

  “In his backyard. About where I saw him digging.”

  “Would you say this photo was taken from about the same distance as that from which you saw the digger?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Pulling back the photo, the attorney handed Victor Mendoza another. “Recognize this man?”

  Again Victor surveyed the photo with care. A minute passed.He bent closer. Chelsea looked from him to the defense attorney. Ter-rance Clyde stood with absolute composure, as if merely waiting for a bus. Finally Victor Mendoza’s head came up. “I cannot be sure who this is.”

  A nod. “Where was this picture taken?”

  “I don’t know. Looks like a house but I don’t recognize it.”

  “All right.” The attorney took back the photo, replaced it with a third. “Do you recognize this person?”

  The witness’s head bent a third time. “Yes. This is Darren Welk, again as I saw him that night.”

  “And the photo was taken where?”

  “In his backyard. About where I saw him.”

  “Fine. Thank you.” Terrance Clyde now spread the three photos in front of Victor. “Just to be sure, you said this one and this one”— he pointed to the first and third—“are of Darren Welk, and you can’t be certain of the identity of the middle one. Correct?”

  Victor rechecked each one in turn. “Yes.”

  “Would you please pick up the middle one, the one you don’t recognize, and read the writing on the back?”

  Victor’s eyes lifted to the attorney, a new awareness glimmering. His jaw shifted as he surveyed Terrance Clyde with distrust. The atmosphere of the courtroom tensed. Chelsea noticed Milt Waking’s hand poised above his notepad. Suddenly the reporter’s gaze cut to hers, as if he’d felt her looking at him. She glanced away and her eyes fell on Brett. He sat bolt upright and still.

  Too still.

  A warning bell sounded in Chelsea’s head. She tore her attention away from him and turned back to Victor Mendoza.

  With obvious reluctance Victor picked up the middle photo, turned it over. “Bud Howershack.” Confusion and relief flicked across his face.

  “Do you know Bud Howershack, one of the assistants in my office?”

  “No.”

  “No wonder you didn’t recognize him,” Terrance Clyde said lightly.

  An anxious titter ran through the courtroom.

  “All right, how about photo one.”

  Victor swallowed and picked up the first picture.“Darren Welk.”

  “As you said,” the attorney commented. “Now. Photo three. The one you also recognized as Darren Welk.”

  In that instant Chelsea knew what was coming.

  Victor’s chin shifted one way, then another.

  “Mr.Mendoza?”

  With an almost defiant flick of his wrist, he turned over the photo.

  “Brett Welk.”

  The three gray-haired women in the second row gasped. Every juror’s head swiveled toward Brett, like those of spectators at a tennis match.His face drained. Chelsea saw the rise and fall of his chest. Kerra looked at him in shock, then turned a disgusted glare upon the defense attorney.

  By the time Terrance Clyde was through with Victor Mendoza, the poor man was practically stammering. He’d had to admit that indeed the fact that the digger was in Darren Welk’s backyard had help
ed lead to his identification.

  Stan Breckshire could barely contain himself at the prosecution table and tried with much animation to redeem his witness during rebuttal. But the damage had been done.Victor Mendoza could not possibly be certain who he saw digging that night.

  Chelsea could not push her fears away. Had he seen Brett Welk?

  EARS BURNING, BRETT WAITED. He’d told an anxious Kerra she was on her own for lunch; he had things to attend to.When the courtroom cleared, he accosted Terrance Clyde as the attorney placed papers in his briefcase. “What are you trying to do to me?” he demanded.

  Terrance exchanged a knowing glance with Erica. She picked up a stack of folders and exited the premises.

  “I’m trying to save your father’s hide.” He slid a document into his case.

  Brett grabbed the sleeve of the attorney’s expensive jacket. “You don’t have to sacrifice me to do that!”

  “Let go of me,” Terrance said evenly.

  Brett could have punched the man. He gripped the suit. Then jerked his fingers away.

  “Thank you.”Terrance adjusted his jacket, considering Brett with a cool-as-a-cucumber expression. “Now. Do you want your dad found innocent … or don’t you?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Then leave me to my business.”

  “It’s not just your business; it’s mine too! I’ve got to live out there.”He flung out an arm.“You know how the reporters are going to hound me now?”

  “Don’t talk to reporters, Brett.”

  “What do you think I am, stupid?”He swung away in frustration, then swung back. “Besides, I don’t have to say a word. All they have to do is quote what they heard from you! If I’d known you were going to use that picture this way, I’d never have posed for it.” He glared at the attorney, breathing hard. “Is this what my father wanted you to do?”

  Terrance’s mouth firmed and Brett knew he’d hit a sore point. “I don’t have to talk to you about my client,”Terrance said.“But I’ll tell you one thing. Contrary to what you might think, my job is not to make either you or your father happy. My job is to do whatever I must so the jury will find him innocent. Reasonable doubt, Brett— that’s what it’s all about.”