Dread Champion

by Brandilyn Collins

  He waited until ten thirty, then dialed Milt’s cell phone. Four rings. The answering message clicked on. “This is Rogelio, man; where are you? I’ve talked to my grandmother and Kristin. They know about your report tomorrow night. After all this, you’d better come through. Call me.”

  By eleven thirty Rogelio’s muscles ached for bed.He’d called two more times—with no answer. Had Milt turned on him? Gotten his story, then left him in the dust? Heaving a sigh, he dialed once more. Milt’s recorded voice grated in his ear.

  Rogelio banged down the handset in frustration.

  FORTY-TWO

  Milt scurried through the door of his Menlo Park town home after midnight and headed straight for his computer. Despite his amorous evening with Tracey, he’d failed to extract one measly bit of information about her aunt’s visit or her email friend Maria. As for Delgadia’s money, Tracey continued to insist she knew nothing about it. The girl was lying through her teeth. But then she was apparently lying about a whole lot of things.

  Oh, she was all neediness and lost waif on the outside.Milt could even believe that was not an act. But what vile choices had she made to put herself in that position? Milt wondered if she’d been trapped by her own greed.

  He threw himself into his office chair and fired up the computer, hoping his fly-by-night scheme had worked. As he logged on to his email, he considered scenarios.Worst case, Maria had ignored his warning and written Tracey again. If the two of them continued hurling accusations through cyberspace, it might be a while before they figured out an extra email had been thrown into the melee. Even if his cover was blown, he already had enough to write one whopping story.

  Best case, Maria hadn’t written and Tracey hadn’t decided to write her. And he could now become Tracey.

  Please, oh, please. He hit the keys with impatience.

  Maria’s forwarded email from “Tracey W.” appeared in his in-box. Milt clicked on it, scarcely breathing.

  How many times do I have to write before you’ll GET it?? Think!! He’s a REPORTER! Don’t you understand that after all these months everything could be lost? What if he really is only out for information? What if he gets suspicious about the rest of it? You could end up in jail! Darren could get off. Think! No insurance money! All the horrible things you’ve had to do—for nothing! All your plans to come to Brazil, ruined!!

  See what you’ve made me do? I’m so sick with worry, I’ve gone and written you without disguising all the words. THAT should show you how upset I am! Erase this letter now. And write back. PLEASE!

  Milt read the email four times, then stared unseeing into the dark night beyond his office window. His mind whirled.What if …

  He swiveled in the chair, pawing through the stack of paper on his desk until he found the stapled pages of Tracey’s testimony. Pored over his notes. Then stared out the window some more.

  No one could back up all of Tracey’s version as to what happened the night Shawna Welk was murdered. Tracey could have mixed a lot of fiction with the facts. Suppose Tracey had gotten greedy and somehow intercepted Delgadia’s payment or perhaps demanded a good portion of it from her mother. Then came the fateful night on Breaker Beach. Shawna called her daughter, asking for help. Tracey went to the beach. They ended up fighting as Darren Welk lay passed out on the sand. The fight escalated and Tracey pushed her mother. Maybe Shawna’s head hit a rock and she passed out. Tracey left her. She floated out to sea. …

  Milt dragged a hand across his scalp. Whatever the exact scenario, the most amazing part was not that Tracey had done it but that she’d gotten away with it for so long.

  He turned back to the computer, narrowing his eyes at Maria’s email. This gal lived in Brazil, of all places. Had Tracey met her in some chat room? Or maybe “Brazil” was a code word for some other place. At any rate why, with so much to lose, would Tracey confide in her? He turned possible reasons over in his mind, landing on Tracey’s inexperience and obvious fear. She’d found herself mired in the muck of deceit and murder and couldn’t stand the smell. She’d probably gone half crazy keeping her secrets to herself week after week, month after month.Women were like that. They always had to talk to somebody. Maybe Maria had started it by first confiding secrets of her own.

  Whatever had happened,Milt aimed to get to the bottom of it.

  His DSL server offered three email accounts, available under different names—a good incentive for a family who wanted individual email addresses. And perfect for his unexpected need. Fortunately, he’d only activated two accounts, one for personal use and one for business. Quickly he logged on to the home page of his server and set up a third address under the name of Tracey W. Then positioned his fingers over the keys, formulating his message.

  Maria,

  Okay, I’ve calmed down now. Guess I shouldn’t have gone through the trouble of changing my email address. But I want you to understand that I’m falling in love with Milt—already. I’ve just never met anyone like him. So once I get the insurance money, I’m not sure I want to come to Brazil right away. Milt and I have talked about going on a trip.

  Milt’s fingers hung over the keyboard. Should he say more? He had to get this just right. He hunched over, reviewing the words.

  Then signed off.

  Tracey

  He clicked the send button and breathed a prayer to any god in the universe that Maria would respond.

  Before going to bed, he called his news director’s private line at the station and left him a message. “Milt here. Listen, we can’t air the story tomorrow as planned.We’ll have to wait a day or so while I run down some new information. I’ve stumbled onto something you’re not going to believe… .”

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 14

  FORTY-THREE

  “Yes ma’am, they were screaming at each other.”

  The witness chair practically swallowed the tiny Hispanic woman. Chelsea watched her fingers latch and unlatch with nervousness, her thin brown lips forming a small O as she perched before Erica Salvador.

  Lupe de La Roca, one of the weekly crew who had cleaned the Welks’ house, was the fourth defense witness of the morning to testify about hearing an argument between Shawna Welk and another person, this one being her daughter, Tracey. Two others had told of arguments with ex-boyfriends. And the first, an electrician called to a repair in the Welks’ household, had told of hearing a bitter argument between Shawna and Brett. The way defense counsel apparently wanted it to sound, Shawna Welk did little else but argue. Chelsea wondered at that. Shawna was turning out to be quite different from what she’d expected. Anyone who ran an adoption agency would have a soft side, would care about people. Maybe Shawna had cared for others. But more and more Chelsea was seeing her selfishness.

  Lord, help me know what’s true.

  “What did they do when they saw you in the hall?” Erica asked. Chelsea thought her voice sounded unusually warm. She was obviously trying to put the woman at ease.

  “Mrs.Welk pushed Tracey into her bedroom and slammed the door.”

  “Whose bedroom, Tracey’s?”

  “No, Mrs.Welk’s.”

  “Did they continue to argue?”

  “Yes.”

  “For how long?”

  Lupe de La Roca frowned at her hands. “A few minutes.”

  “Okay. How far were you from the room?”

  “At first I was down the hall, but I was cleaning the baseboards and came closer.”

  “Did you hear anything else as you got closer?”

  “Yes ma’am. I heard something that sounded like a slap.”

  “A slap?”

  The woman nodded. “Like a hand against a cheek.”

  Erica looked shocked. “Then what happened?”

  “The door flew open and Tracey stumbled out. She ran right by me. Her cheek was red and she was crying.”

  Erica let the words hang in the air. “When was this, Mrs. de La Roca?”

  “Wednesday, February thirteenth.”

  Two days
before Shawna’s murder, Chelsea thought. She wrote down the date in her notes.

  “Are you certain of that date?”

  “Yes. I know because”—the woman pressed her lips together until they nearly disappeared—“that’s the last time I saw Mrs.Welk.”

  COURT BROKE FOR LUNCH. Milt hustled toward the hall, mind running in a dozen different directions. Phone messages, emails, and COURT the testimony. Tracey arguing with her mother so soon before Shawna’s death.Wasn’t that interesting. But most important right now—had Maria emailed him back? And had Tracey written Maria?

  Milt found himself behind Kerra and Brett, the couple of the year.He drew even with them. “Sounds like you’re not the only one who didn’t like Shawna.” He raised an eyebrow at Brett. “Care to comment?”

  Kerra turned on him like a wildcat protecting her young. “Get out of here!” she hissed, raising a hand.

  Whoa. Milt melted back.He’d expected a reaction, but what was that all about?

  “Milt Waking!” a caustic voice sounded from behind.He turned to see Lynn Trudy, eyes narrowed into slits, bearing down upon him in obvious wrath. She cornered him against the wall and away from others, raised a long-nailed finger and pointed it at his nose. “You better stay away from my niece,” she hissed.“Or I’m gonna tell everybody what you’re doing.”

  Milt stared at her, brain scrambling. Tracey had told her about them? Why?

  Why not? She’d obviously yakked to at least one email friend. Talk about the kiss-and-tell type …

  “You hear me? I know what you’re up to. I know you’re just using her to get information. I’m warning you—I’ll ruin you and your career if you don’t stop.”

  Easy does it, he told himself.

  He set down his briefcase. Raised his shoulders in a slow shrug. “So I’m attracted to her; what’s that to you?”

  She cursed at him, her voice like gravel. “You don’t care about her.You are the lowest, most disgusting form of scum on this earth.”

  Anger knocked around Milt’s chest.He drew away from the wall, forcing her backward. “Who I choose to date, Ms. Trudy,” he declared in a chilling tone, “is none of your business. But since you brought up this delectable subject, just what information are you so worried I’ll discover?”

  “There’s nothing to discover,” she shot back. “You’ve heard it all in court.”

  “Then I repeat: what are you worried about?”

  Her face flushed to the roots of her spiked hair. “I’m telling you to leave my niece alone! Or I’ll go to the other reporters right now and tell them how you’re using someone half your age.”

  “You do that, Ms. Trudy.”Milt flicked at an imaginary piece of lint on his suit coat. “You go right ahead. Maybe they’ll consider it nothing more than a salacious piece of news to drop into their stories. Which, of course, would reflect as much on Tracey as it would on me. More likely”—he gave her a twisted smile—“they’ll figure I’m on to something. They’ll start watching. Real closely. And the next thing you know, Tracey will have a dozen reporters camped on her doorstep. Is that what you want?”

  The crimson on Lynn’s face crept down her neck. For a moment Milt thought she was going to hit him.He stepped back and picked up his briefcase.

  “I’m going to forget we had this conversation, Ms. Trudy.” He glared down at her, adjusting his tie. “This case will be over before long, and I expect you’ll see the conviction you so heartily desire. In the meantime if you really want what’s best for your niece, you’ll keep her name out of the papers.”

  Before she could answer, Milt brushed past her and headed for the escalator.

  He reached the first floor before he could breathe again. Briskly he walked outside and to his car in the parking garage. Leaning against the hood, he tried to collect his thoughts.He sure was making enemies all of a sudden.Which could only mean he’d stumbled onto something big.

  Milt buffed his jaw with the palm of his hand. Okay, back to the most important thing on his agenda. He pulled out his laptop and rested it on the car hood. Logged on to his email and checked his in-box, holding his breath. Four emails popped up. The top one was from Maria.

  Anticipation spritzed his nerves. He clicked on the email and read.

  I don’t know what to say to you, I’m so worried. I’ve been thinking about this for hours. I can’t believe it. You simply CAN’T do this! Please write back and tell me you’ve come to your senses.

  “Yes!”Milt whispered. He’d done it!

  Now how to get any information out of her? He frowned in thought, then typed.

  I’m going crazy. I can’t think straight.Why’s it so bad to take a trip with Milt before I come see you, tell me that? Don’t worry about talking openly; nobody’s even the least suspicious of me anyway. Just HELP me!

  Don’t wait so long to write this time.

  Tracey

  Milt clicked the send button and exhaled. Distractedly he considered his other emails, then checked his watch. His phone messages still awaited. With all that had happened, he hadn’t remembered to check them even that morning. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

  Messages clicked on. The first was from an anxious-sounding Rogelio, left last night. The second was from an even more anxious Rogelio, left at eight o’clock this morning. The third had been recorded just two minutes ago. This time Rogelio’s voice was a loud mixture of anger and panic.Milt winced and yanked the phone away from his ear.

  “I want to hear from you, understand me! I want to know what you found out and what you’re going to say in your report tonight. Plus what I should do then! You told me we’d talk some more about everything.Don’t leave me hanging,Milt; I’ve got too much at stake!”

  Oh, great. Milt could have kicked himself. Not a good thing to forget to call Rogelio.What if the kid got tired of waiting and did something stupid like go to another reporter? He’d have to call as soon as Rogelio got home from work. Convince him to hang tight another day or two. This baby thing would have to wait; no way could he blow his cover with Tracey now.

  At least Tracey hadn’t called him. Now to make sure he kept her in line. He looked up her work number on a small notepad in his suit pocket and dialed.

  “Halding’s Dress Shop.”

  “Tracey. It’s Milt.”

  “Hi!”

  No suspicion in her tone. His eyes closed in relief. “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said. “I don’t think I can see you tonight.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ve got to do some interviews on another story.”

  “When can I see you?” she asked in her lost-waif tone.

  “I don’t know. I’ll call you back as soon as I can figure something out. I don’t want to wait long.”

  “Okay.”

  “By the way,” he said, allowing irritation to creep into his voice, “why did you tell your aunt about us? She came at me today with both barrels.”

  “I didn’t tell her!”

  “Then who did?”

  Silence. “Okay,” she said quietly, “I did tell her. It was a mistake.”

  Milt shook his head. This girl lied coming and going.“Yes, it was.

  You’re making it more difficult for me here. I want to keep seeing you, but you’ve got to keep quiet about us, understand?”

  “Yes.” She sounded meek.

  “Have you told anybody else?”

  A pause.“No.”

  Milt gestured in frustration. She would neglect to mention Maria to him. “Okay. But let me just warn you that if you do, others are likely to respond as your aunt did. They’ll only make you miserable and get in our way. For both our sakes, I hope you won’t talk to anyone like that.”

  He cringed as he awaited her answer. Had he said too much?

  “Milt, I’m not going to talk to anybody who’s against you, believe me. I threw my aunt out, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his tone softening, “you did.”

  When he disconnec
ted the line a few moments later, he suddenly realized how hungry he was.

  FORTY-FOUR

  The afternoon had seemed interminable to Chelsea. Yet another witness had testified about hearing Shawna in an argument with Tracey. Then defense counsel had called Peter Chesterton, a former sheriff with Monterey County, who spoke at great lengths about the shoddy job the department had done in investigating the disappearance of Shawna Welk. They had prematurely focused on Darren Welk, he said, then never followed up on other possible suspects after their interview with him.

  Stan Breckshire was fighting back hard in his cross-examination. Hadn’t the witness been let go from the Monterey sheriff ’s department? Wasn’t he in fact a disgruntled former employee who’d had a hard time finding other work?

  During break Chelsea leaned against the sink in the women’s bathroom and closed her eyes.Her mind swirled with the testimony. The video of Darren Welk certainly made him look guilty, but she could not shake her suspicion of his son. How could anyone know with absolute certainty what had happened to Shawna that night? What if someone else had killed her? Someone like Brett?

  Oh, God, please give me wisdom! Idon’t know what to think. And Kerra is with him all the time! Protect her, Lord, protect her.…

  When the jury resumed their seats for the last part of the day, Chelsea was still praying.

  ROGELIO BANGED DOWN the phone and glared out the kitchen window. From the living room filtered the sound of the television, already tuned to Channel Seven in preparation for their anxiously awaited news report. Rogelio shoved to his feet, marched to the set, and smacked it off. Reeling back into the kitchen, he dropped into his chair.

  Mama Yolanda did not even look up from her tortilla making. “Does not sound like good news,” she said mildly.

  “It isn’t.Milt’s not going to run the story tonight. Says he needs ‘more information.’” The last two words were a sneer.