Kristin drew herself up, defensiveness hardening her face. “I’m not trying to bargain my way out of anything; I’m just trying to talk some sense into you! But never mind, Rogelio. You’ve got a one-track brain. Fine then. Do whatever you want. Just leave me out of it. And out of your life!”
She yanked on the handle of his door and clambered out onto the hot pavement. Searing him with a final look, she stalked away.
Rogelio sat frozen in his seat, stunned.How had they gotten from hugging each other to this in a matter of minutes? He heard Kristin’s angry voice command her friend, “Get in!”Her car doors slammed. The engine roared to life and she sped away.
MONDAY, AUGUST 12
THIRTY
In single file, Sidney Portensic’s ducks followed him down the narrow hallway toward the courtroom. A cacophony of thoughts rang in Chelsea’s head as she fell in behind Gloria. Not since awaiting the verdict in last year’s trial had she experienced such a long weekend.
She had fasted on Saturday, as God had called her to do. Sunday she’d joined the others for dinner at a restaurant. Feeling drained and despondent, Chelsea sat near the end of the table, close to Mike, Gloria, and Latonia Purcell. The three of them chatted about work and their families. Down the table Henry loudly talked jazz with Clay.Hesta picked at her food. Tak sat silently at the other end of the table, emanating intellectual superiority. Although Chelsea tried to join in the conversations, those around her responded in chilled tones, as if viewing her absence the previous day as a slight to the entire group. Chelsea tried to tell herself she was being too sensitive, but she knew better. Truth was, she’d been laid bare before them during jury selection. And they hadn’t liked what they’d seen.
Now as she entered the courtroom, Chelsea’s eyes swept the long rows of seats. There was Kerra. Next to Brett. Leaning toward him and talking intimately. She looked up, caught Chelsea’s eye, and smiled self-consciously. Chelsea’s mouth curved upward for a moment, then slipped back into place. She didn’t need to talk to Kerra to know who the girl had been with that weekend. The truth on her face was clear.
The prosecution’s first witness for the day was Shawna Welk’s dentist, Dr. Richard Cooper. Chelsea pulled out her paper and pen, heading a new page with his name. Using a projection screen, Dr. Cooper explained how he had compared X-rays of the tooth found on Breaker Beach with X-rays of the victim’s teeth. Shawna’s tooth number twenty-one, on the bottom left side, was unusual in that it contained two roots instead of one. Also, it had undergone an api-coectomy, or root canal, the filling showing up as a white spot. The tooth found on the beach matched this one exactly.
“I am absolutely positive that this tooth belonged to Shawna Welk,” Dr. Cooper concluded. “Given these anomalies and the perfect match on every point, this tooth is as good as a fingerprint.”
As good as a fingerprint, Chelsea wrote in her notes. Terrance Clyde stood up to cross-examine.
“WAIT, SIR; YOU’LL NEED to empty your pockets before going through the scanner.”
“Oh. Okay.” Nervously Rogelio did as he was told. The security guard pointed to the machine and he stepped through. On the other side he retrieved his wallet and keys. “Do you know which court the trial for Darren Welk is meeting in?” he asked the guard.
“Courtroom 2H. Up the escalator, down the hall, and on your left.”
“Thanks.”
Rogelio stepped onto the escalator, trying vainly to still his quivering heartbeat. Everything about the courthouse was new and overwhelming. How was he going to talk privately with the judge? What made him think the man would even see him? In desperation Rogelio breathed a prayer—another bargain with God. He could not waste his time here.He’d begged a day off from his boss, saying he had personal matters to attend to. His grandmother thought he was at work.
On the second floor Rogelio followed the guard’s directions to the courtroom. His hand trembled as he eased open the door and peeked inside. Trial was in session. Sucking air through his teeth, Rogelio closed the door.He couldn’t just walk in, could he? Right in the middle of someone’s testimony?
He paced slowly in the hall, checking his watch. Almost ten o’clock.How long would he have to wait? Surely they’d at least break for lunch. He would ask to see the judge then.
The courthouse door opened.Rogelio spun around. People began filing out, heading in various directions. Brett Welk appeared with a pretty blond at his side. His eyes happened to meet Rogelio’s. “Hi,” Brett mumbled as they passed; then he hesitated. “Do I know you?”
“Uh.Yeah.”Rogelio swallowed nervously.“I worked as a gardener at your house.”
Brett raised his chin in slow recognition. “Sure, that’s right.”He seemed distracted. “You coming to watch the trial?”
Rogelio looked from him to the blond. She was almost as pretty as Kristin. A dark-haired man in an expensive suit and carrying a briefcase sidled over, listening. She flinched away from him, distaste on her features. He didn’t seem to care.
“No.” Rogelio looked back to Brett. “That is … I need to see the judge.”
“Oh.”Brett aimed a searing glance at the dark-haired man.“Can’t you ever quit spying on people?” Shaking his head in derision, he said, “Come on, Kerra.”As they moved away, Brett looked back over his shoulder at Rogelio. “Don’t trust that guy.”
“I’m not so bad,” the man said mildly.“At least I’m willing to help you. You said you needed to see the judge?”
Rogelio hesitated.
“Don’t worry about them.” The man tilted his head at Brett’s retreating back.“At a trial everyone has enemies. I’m just here doing my job.”
Rogelio didn’t know who he could trust. But surely he could just ask this guy a question. “Okay, yeah. Do you know where I could find him?”
“Her.”
“Huh?”
“The judge is a woman.”
Rogelio’s eyebrows rose. “Oh.”
The man eyed him curiously. “Why do you want to see the judge?”
“I have some business.”
“I see.”
A man toting a television camera approached them.“Hey,Milt—”
“Give me a minute, Bill.”He gestured his head with a dismissive air. The cameraman faded away. “I may be able to help you.”
Rogelio regarded him. “Who are you?”
“Milt Waking, Channel Seven News. And you?”
A pause. “Rogelio Sanchez.”
“Rogelio. Nice to meet you.”He held out a well-groomed hand, smiling briefly. Rogelio hesitated, then shook it once.
“The judge is not an easy person to see,”Milt said. “Especially when she’s in the middle of a trial. Tell me, does your ‘business’with her have anything to do with this case?”
“Why does that matter?”
Milt inclined his head. “Because if it does, she certainly won’t see you. A judge can’t talk to anyone about a case while it’s going on, because it could mean hearing information that she doesn’t hear in the courtroom, and that’s not allowed. Judges aren’t even supposed to read newspaper articles about a trial over which they’re presiding.”
Slowly the meaning of the words sank in. Rogelio could not imagine being defeated this easily. “It’s not really about the trial itself,” he hedged.
Milt peered at Rogelio. “Well, does it have to do with anyone involved in the case?”
Rogelio ran his tongue inside his bottom lip. He was afraid of saying too much. Especially to a reporter.
A light appeared in Milt’s eyes. “I’m guessing by your silence that the answer is yes.” His gaze roved the courthouse hallway. Rogelio wondered who—or what—he was looking for. Then Milt checked his watch. “We’ve only got a few minutes, so let me say this quickly. The judge won’t see you, trust me on that. If you want to ask a bailiff, go ahead. But they’ll want to know your business, and then when you tell them, they’ll just say, ‘Sorry.’”His hand slipped up and down his tie. “Fortu
nately, I know a lot of people. Tell you what. Trial’s going to start again.Which means all of us are going to be tied up until noon. If you stick around, we can talk more then. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Why would you do that?” Defensiveness crept into Rogelio’s voice. Did this guy think he had no money to feed himself?
Milt waved a hand. “Okay, pay your own way then.My point is, that’s all the time I can give you; take it or leave it. If you decide you can’t trust me, you’ll go home from here empty-handed.”He raked another look around the hall, stopping to rest on a few chosen people. Rogelio followed his gaze.
With a start Rogelio realized who Milt was looking at. Other reporters.He was acting like a cat who’d caught a mouse and wanted it all for himself. This guy wasn’t Mr.Helpful; this guy thought Roge-lio could help him. Rogelio’s mind sped up as he considered the possibilities. How could he use this? What should he do?
He needed to buy some time. He needed to think.
Rogelio leaned against the wall, folding his arms as if he were fully in charge of the situation.“Okay, I’ll hang around.Maybe we’ll talk at lunch.”He hoped Milt couldn’t see his legs tremble.
Milt nodded. “Suit yourself.”
THIRTY-ONE
“The people call Dr. Theodore Gaston.”
Stan rapped knuckles against the prosecution table as he waited for his witness to be sworn in. Dr. Gaston worked with the USGS— United States Geological Survey—and was an expert in tides and currents, particularly in Monterey Bay. The man was in his mid-forties but looked far younger, with a narrow, boyish face and thinning brown hair. Black-rimmed glasses only heightened his nerdy appearance. He stood tall and spindly as he raised slender fingers to take the oath, then settled into the witness chair like a gangly genius kid.
Stan yanked at his tie as he greeted the doctor, hot-to-trot to begin his specific questioning. But first he had to lead Dr. Gaston through voir dire to establish the man as an expert witness. This involved a necessary but boring discussion of the doctor’s training and experience, including continued education, papers written, awards won, and on and on.
As expected, T. C. tried to poke holes in the man’s stellar reputation. Had it really been five years since he’d taken any continuing education courses? And shouldn’t an “expert” of his caliber have written for more scientific journals? Hogwash and more hogwash.
Back and forth the questioning went, from prosecution to defense, until both attorneys had exhausted themselves of points to be made. By the time Dr. Gaston was officially deemed an expert witness, an hour had passed. Stan hoped his jury was still awake.
“Now, Dr. Gaston.” Stan pressed palms together and drummed his fingers. “What are the general characteristics of currents off Breaker Beach?”
Like the dentist, Dr. Gaston was prepared with various visual aids.Unfolding himself from the witness chair, he angled his way to stand before an easel with flip charts. The first was a depiction of the entire Monterey Bay and its beaches.
“Breaker Beach is right in the middle of the large Monterey Bay,” he began in a reedy voice.“Here.”He indicated with a long pointer. “Immediately below it is Zmudowski State Beach, and below that is Moss Landing State Beach. This entire area”—he moved the pointer up and down—“is known for its strong rip currents. Because of this, all water sports at these beaches are considered hazardous.”
“Can you explain the specific hazards of a rip current?”
Dr. Gaston launched into an explanation, a man in his element. Rip currents created what was termed the Bernoulli effect, he said, their waters moving faster than surrounding water. The resulting force trapped a person in the middle of this rapidly moving stream. Experienced ocean swimmers knew not to fight a rip current if they found themselves caught in one. They allowed themselves to be carried out to sea until the velocity of the current diminished enough that they could swim parallel to the beach. Once they were completely out of the rip current, they could swim ashore.
“So rip currents can get the best of even a strong swimmer?” Stan prodded.
“Yes, if he fights it. The current can be so strong that the swimmer won’t be able to pull out of it. He will waste all his strength fighting. Then once the current finally abates, sometimes far off- shore, he will lack the strength to swim back to the beach.Unless he is rescued, he will drown.”
“And this is the condition of currents off Breaker Beach?”
Dr. Gaston adjusted his glasses with scholarly aplomb. “Absolutely.”
Stan’s eyes flicked to the courtroom clock. It would soon be noon. He did not want to be interrupted in the middle of key testimony about tides the night Shawna Welk was killed. “Your Honor,” he said, looking to the judge, “this would be a good time to break for lunch.”
IN THE JURY ROOM Chelsea ate her sandwich distractedly. She’d noticed a new face in the courtroom. A young Hispanic man.As she and the other jurors were filing out, she’d seen Milt Waking approach him.
Is this important, Lord? Do you want me to pray?
She received no definite answer. Still, she could not push that scene from her mind. The young man, obviously out of his element, and Milt, cool, slick as always.What would they possibly have to say to one another?
“What’s the matter, Chelsea?” B. B.’s voice broke through her thoughts. “You look like you’re in another world.”
“Oh.” She smiled. “I was just … thinking about the trial.”
“Well, don’t think too hard,”B. B. said, laughing. “There’s plenty of time for that yet.” She pulled up a chair.
Chelsea’s heart sank. She didn’t want to be unfriendly. But she felt she should pray for that young man right now. And for Milt. God had called her to be diligent, to pray as seemed right. She couldn’t expect a specific leading from the Lord every moment.
Can I do both, God? Can I talk to B. B. and pray at the same time?
Of course she could. Hadn’t she been doing pretty much the same thing through much of the testimony? Asking God’s blessing on the trial, Kerra, Brett, herself, even as she furiously took notes?
“So tell me what you do for fun when you’re not stuck on a jury,” Chelsea prompted B. B. And in the back of her mind she prayed, Dear Lord, lead Milt’s actions today. And be with that young man, whoever he is…
ROGELIO SAT OPPOSITE MILT in a corner booth of a small Italian restaurant near the courthouse. Rogelio wasn’t used to eating pasta. He’d chosen soup and a salad, hoping his nervous stomach would allow him to eat.Milt didn’t seem that hungry, either. He was picking at his tortellini, his mind clearly more on their lulling conversation. Rogelio still wasn’t sure how much to tell him. He’d had little time to consider it. The testimony and atmosphere of the courtroom had interested him far more than he would have expected.
“Why is that guy’s testimony such a big deal?” he asked, stalling for time. “All that talk about waves and tides.”
“The prosecutor has to prove that Shawna Welk’s body was swept out to sea,”Milt explained.
“Well, yeah.Where else would it have gone?”
“Nowhere. But Welk’s attorney doesn’t have much to offer in the way of defense. The evidence is stacked against them. So he’s got to make mountains out of molehills. The prosecutor knows that one of those molehills will be to suggest that if Shawna was killed at that beach, her body would have washed up on shore.”
Rogelio could think of nothing to say.He ate his soup in silence.
Milt took a few more bites, carefully keeping a hand over his tie. “So.What did you want to talk to the judge about?”
Setting down his spoon, Rogelio stared at the white tablecloth. He still didn’t have a clue what he should do. “First I have to know if you can help me.”
“How can I promise to help you if I don’t even know what you need?”
He had a point.
“Okay.” Rogelio thought fast. “How about this to start? I need some information on a person. All I h
ave is his name. I hear he’s been in some trouble with the law, and I’d like to know exactly what. Could you find something out for me?”
“I’ll see what I can do,”Milt said, shrugging, “but I don’t have time to be running around as long as I’m covering this case.What’s the name?”
“Enrico Delgadia.”
Milt shook his head, obviously not recognizing it.“Know where he lives?”
“Somewhere in the Salinas area, I guess.”
“Mm. If he’s been in trouble with the law, there may be some news articles about him. Let me fire up my laptop and check it out.”
Hope surged through Rogelio. Could the guy possibly come up with answers this quickly?
Milt shoved plates and silverware aside and set up his computer. “This thing’s got a wireless hookup. I’ll plug the name into a search engine, see if we get lucky.”
Rogelio didn’t know what a wireless hookup was but did not ask. He watched the reporter’s face as Milt typed quickly, then waited. Satisfaction creased Milt’s features.
“Got a bunch of hits.” His eyes flicked back and forth. He continued to read and click the computer for what seemed a long time, his reactions clear in the darkening knit of his brows. Tension stiffened Rogelio’s legs. Finally he could stand it no longer.
“Tell me!”
Milt looked up.“Enrico Delgadia is the owner of ChefMate in Salinas,” he said. “A company that packages food products.You know it?”
Rogelio nodded, amazed. Chef Mate was huge, its buildings and green lawns spread along a road just outside Salinas.“What did he do?”
“Numerous things, according to these articles from the Californian. You don’t read the Salinas newspapers?”
Rogelio shook his head.
“He’s been charged with tax evasion twice, plus money laundering and price fixing. Sounds like he’s been to court at least three times. Always found innocent. Know what he looks like? Here’s a picture.”
Milt turned the computer around and Rogelio leaned over the table. The news article showed a close-up of Delgadia, lips drawn back in anger. It was an evil face.
Dread Champion Page 21
