Joel Goldman - Stone Cold

Mason smiled, but there wasn’t any humor in the gesture. “See you in court, Detective.”

“Looking forward to it,” Rossi said.

He left the way he came, annoyed that he’d played that so poorly. He had hoped that the overnight bag was for Gloria Temple and that Blues was taking it to her. When she wasn’t in Mason’s office, he realized that Blues had played him, leading him to Mason’s office instead. Worse, he’d left Virginia Sprague’s apartment unwatched, giving Gloria a chance to get away if she’d been there in the first place.

Mason watched from his office window overlooking Broadway as Rossi got in his car and drove away.

“Nice work,” he said to Blues.

“Rossi made it easy.”

“What did you find out about Gloria?”

“I know she’s alive and that she’s in town. I’ll know where in a day or two.”

“Do I want to know how?”

“Relax. Only thing that got hurt was my feelings when I couldn’t get to her on my own.”

Mason’s eyes popped. “Don’t tell me you had to ask for help. That’s like a husband asking his wife for directions.”

“I’ve evolved. The job is bigger than my ego. I even went to church.”

“You got religion too?”

“Not yet. When I struck out on the street I tried Virginia Sprague. She took one look at me and wouldn’t even open the door. So I asked a pastor friend of mine if he knew someone Virginia would talk to while I listened. He put me on to Grace Canfield.”

“The same Grace Canfield who’s an investigator in the public defender’s office?”

“Same one. And she’s got a soft spot in her heart for Alex Stone. We went to see her today. I saw Rossi staking out her apartment when we left.”

“What did Virginia tell you?”

“Kyrie Chapman was her grandson. She took Gloria in when she was fifteen. Kyrie had a thing for Gloria but Gloria wasn’t interested. She said that Gloria disappeared about six months ago. She also said that two detectives came to her house looking for Gloria a few days after Kyrie was killed and she let them search her house.”

“Did they find anything interesting?”

“Yeah, an aluminum baseball bat on the floor in Gloria’s closet.”

Mason thought for a moment. “Alex said when she found the bodies of the Hendersons, the kids skulls had been crushed.”

“Aluminum bat would do that.”

“Be a hard thing for Gloria to explain,” Mason said.

“No good way to explain that, so she took off. Virginia didn’t hear from her until the other day. Gloria called her asking for money.”

“What did Virginia say?”

“She said no until Grace convinced her to call Gloria back and say yes. She told Gloria to come pick up the money but Gloria said no, she wanted Virginia to bring it to her. Said she’d call her in a day or two and tell her where and when.”

“And Virginia said she’d tell Grace?”

“She did, and Grace said she’d take Virginia to wherever it was they had to go.”

“Where’s that leave you?”

“I’m the driver.”

“Does Alex know Grace is helping you?”

Blues shook his head. “No, and Grace isn’t going to tell her. Not until she hears what Gloria has to say.”

“So her soft spot may not be so soft after all. Is that it?”

“Almost. Grace and I made a deal with Virginia in return for helping us.”

“To do what?”

“Save Gloria if she needs saving.”

“Some promises are harder to keep than others.”

“This one may be impossible,” Blues said.

Alex Stone sat between Claire and Lou Mason, waiting for Judge West to enter the courtroom and gavel everyone to order, the sharp crack reminding her of a starter’s gun, signaling the beginning of a race between incompatible versions of the truth. She’d lost that race more often than she’d won, but that was the nature of her work. Most of her clients were guilty. That didn’t kill the thrill of the race for her, because charging uphill for a good cause against long odds had been a challenge she couldn’t resist.

As long as it wasn’t her turn in the dock, her fate being decided by twelve people who neither knew nor cared about her, their verdict as likely to be based on the evidence and the law as on hidden agendas and secret bias. There was no thrill in that, only soul-crushing fear. She was wearing her standard courtroom black suit with a white blouse, but she felt like she was naked in the middle of Main Street.

The worst part for Alex was how completely helpless she felt. Though she’d done as much as Claire and Lou would allow her to do to help prepare for trial, they made it clear that she lacked their objectivity, reminding her of how well her insistence on not disqualifying Judge West had worked out. From this moment until the jury returned their verdict, she would sit in her chair, mute, listening to witnesses testify against her, afraid that she would slowly suffocate, her throat already beginning to constrict.

Kate Scranton sat behind her, ready to slice and dice every juror’s twitch and every witness’s tic. She had explained to Alex the facial-action coding system and how involuntary facial expressions could separate fact from fiction and belief from disbelief. It was black art as far as Alex was concerned, though she found herself avoiding Kate’s studied gaze, worried about the verdict Kate might render about her.

She let out a long sigh when Judge West entered the courtroom, flinching when he rapped his gavel on the bench. Mason steadied her, his hand gently pressed against her back, his touch reassuring. She turned toward him, nodding her thanks, his calm demeanor soothing her jangled nerves.

The lawyers played out the ritual of stating their appearances. Patrick Ortiz took his place at the podium in the middle of the courtroom and called his first witness. Hank Rossi made his way from the back of the courtroom to the witness stand.

“Please tell the jury who you are and what you do for a living,” Ortiz said.

“My name is Henry Rossi,” he said, looking first at the jury and then back to Ortiz. “People call me Hank. I’m a homicide detective for the Kansas City Police Department.”

After a series of background questions that allowed Rossi to tell the jury about his background, training, and experience in law enforcement and homicide investigations, Ortiz cranked it up.

“Detective Rossi, in the course of your duties as a homicide detective, did you come to know a man named Dwayne Reed?”

“I did.”

“Tell the jury how that came about.”

“I arrested him for murder.”

It was a slam-bang duet that made the jury sit up. Alex scribbled a one-word note on a Post-it pad, shoving it toward Claire, the note reading: relevance! Claire jotted her response- patience -without taking her eyes off Rossi.

“Whose murder?” Ortiz asked.

“A man named Wilfred Donaire.”

“Who represented Mr. Reed at his trial?”

Rossi looked at the defense table, pointing his finger at Alex. “The defendant, Alex Stone.”

Ortiz walked Rossi through Jameer Henderson’s testimony and Kyrie Chapman’s abrupt departure from the courtroom.

“What was the outcome of the trial?” Ortiz asked.

“Reed was acquitted.”

“When did you next have any interaction with Dwayne Reed?”

“Later that night when I questioned him about another murder.”

“And where did that questioning take place?”

“At police headquarters.”

“Did you see the defendant that night?”

“Yeah. Dwayne called her and she came down to the station. They left together.”

“What did you do after they left?”

“I left too.”