The Two-Witness Rule: A Novel

by William Eleazer

  What Scott saw was the Metro Police SWAT and Hostage Negotiations Team going into action. They were surrounding the area, and Scott could hear the team commander calling for Wilborn to drop his weapon. Wilborn had maneuvered Gordon backwards toward the outer wall of the courthouse where there was some waist-high shrubbery. The picture of the scene was still being shown on the TV. The voices were indistinct, but at least two voices could be heard. One was Wilborn’s. The camera showed him still holding his hostage in front of him by the collar, the pistol still firmly pressed into the back of his head. Wilborn now had his back flat against the building’s outside wall.

  The camera showed members of the SWAT Team inching closer from both the left and right. One held a scoped rifle in a kneeling position near the courthouse entrance. Then the audio became better, though not entirely distinct, as Wilborn began to shout his instructions to Gordon.

  “You son-of-a-bitch, give me a good reason why I shouldn’t blow your ass to hell right now!”

  “You are right,” Gordon was heard to say, in a loud but trembling voice. “I’m . . . I’m . . . sorry.”

  “Not good enough,” Wilborn answered. “I’m going to count to five. You better have a better answer!”

  Then Wilborn slightly loosened his grip on Gordon’s collar and began to count slowly. “One . . . Two . . .”

  “No! No!” Gordon wailed. “I’ll make it right! I’ll make it right.”

  “Three . . . I’m still listening!” Wilborn’s voice was loud and demanding.

  There was an eerie silence. The SWAT team stopped all movement.

  “Four . . .”

  Two shots rang out as the count reached five. One from Wilborn’s pistol. The hollow-point projectile exploded in Gordon’s head. The other shot was from the SWAT team member kneeling near the entrance. It caught Wilborn in the upper left side of his body, and he fell on his right side, into the shrubbery. His weapon flew out of his hand into the grass. He remained motionless as blood poured from his wound.

  The response team of tactical paramedics went into action and the SWAT team commander began to secure the scene, directing the cameraman to leave. The TV coverage then moved to the studio, where newsmen recounted and replayed the events that had just occurred.

  Scott and Fasi stayed in Fasi’s office, glued to the TV, following the commentators as they discussed the scene they had just watched. The commentary soon became repetitive, but they continued to watch. It was announced that the medical examiner had found both Gordon and Wilborn dead when he arrived at the courthouse thirty minutes after the shooting.

  After what must have been the fifth replay of the shooting, the phone rang on Scott’s cell phone. It was Carl DeBickero.

  “We just arrested Thomas Reid and Anderson McDowell,” he said. “Got them before they could leave Savannah. Thought you would want to know.”

  “You bet. How about Colosimo?”

  “Not yet, but he’s next. The funds—the check that bought the Camaro in Birmingham—came from his law firm’s operating account. We’ll wait until we question his two assistants. I expect we’ll have enough then to charge him. If not, I’m sure you can close the deal with a pretrial offer to one of the two we now have in custody.”

  “Good. Let me know what you need.”

  Just as they hung up, Fasi’s desk phone rang. It was Janna O’Meara, the DA’s secretary.

  “Mr. Magidson would like to see you now, if it’s convenient.”

  “It’s always convenient when the boss wants to see me, ” Fasi replied, with a laugh. “Is he aware of what just occurred in front of the courthouse?”

  “Of course. I think that’s what he wants to discuss with you.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Fasi turned to Scott, explained the phone call and quickly left. Scott returned to his office and called Jennifer.

  When she heard his voice, she was relieved. “Oh, Scott. Are you all right? I just heard about the shooting.”

  “I was six stories up, watching on TV. I’m going to the Library. I think I need a beer, maybe two—and maybe Juri will pick up the tab for my first-hand account. Can you meet me there, say in about twenty minutes?”

  “Sure. Twenty minutes. I’ll be there. I love you.”

  The End.