Mark Gimenez - Accused

"Down, boy."

The others choked back laughter, but the Assistant D.A.'s face flushed a bright red. "Rex, are you trying to humiliate me?"

"No, Ted, you're doing a damn fine job of that on your own. I'm trying to teach you humility. There's a difference." The D.A. turned to Karen: "Sure you don't want to move to the Island? You could be the first female D.A. in the history of Galveston." The D.A. gestured at the baggies. "These their prints, those wives'?"

"And their husbands'."

"You figure a jealous husband for the killer?"

"Could be."

"Could be your wife was the jealous party."

"Trey proposed to her that night."

"So she said."

The D.A. pushed another document across the desk.

"Item two: list of websites Trey visited over the last six months. Common theme seems to be porn."

Scott passed it on to Bobby. Karen leaned toward Bobby to read the list.

"Did he go onto Facebook?" she said.

"Every day the last couple of weeks," Bobby said.

"What's your point?" the D.A. said.

"Trey could have communicated with someone through their Facebook account, online but outside his email accounts."

"Like who?"

Karen tapped on the laptop keyboard then turned the screen toward the D.A. On the screen was a Facebook profile.

"Like her."

"Who's Billie Jean Puckett?"

"Pete Puckett's seventeen-year-old daughter."

"The golf pro?"

Scott nodded. "Trey was having an affair with Billie Jean. Pete threatened to kill him if he didn't stay away from her. Happened at the Challenge tournament in California, one week before Trey was killed. There was a witness, another golfer."

"I take it he didn't? Stay away from her?"

"No. He didn't."

The D.A. again gestured at the baggies. "You got Pete's prints?"

"Not yet. But he seems capable of violence. He threatened me after his round on Friday, with a one-iron."

"A one-iron?" The D.A. grunted. "Most pros carry the hybrids now, you can hit the ball higher-"

"The prints on the kitchen counter are from a big man. The construction workers down the street, they told Carlos they saw a big man at Trey's house the day he was killed. And a blonde girl."

Hank snorted. "They told us they didn't see nothing."

"You're a cop," Carlos said.

"True."

"I've seen Pete on TV," the D.A. said. "He's a big man." He gestured at the Facebook profile. "And Billie Jean's still blonde?"

"She is," Scott said. "And Pete's a hunter, good with guns and knives. And he was in Trey's house that day."

"Can you prove it?"

"Not yet."

"Let me know when you can."

"Rex, I think Pete Puckett killed Trey."

"Thought the caddie killed him?"

"You just said his prints didn't match."

"Scott," Karen said, "we should subpoena Facebook, get all of Billie Jean's messages. Maybe she said something to Trey about Pete's threats."

The D.A. turned his palms up at Scott. "Facebook, Twitter, texting, sexting-you ever feel like you're living in a parallel universe?"

"All the time," Scott said, "with two eleven-year-old daughters." To Karen: "Where's their headquarters? Facebook's."

Karen typed. "California. Their only presence in Galveston County is online. No way they comply with a state court subpoena."

"They might if I sign the subpoena," the D.A. said.

"You'd do that?"

"Sure. Like I said, Scott, I think your wife killed Trey. But if she didn't, I want to find out who did." To Karen: "Write the subpoena, Professor."

"I usually write the subpoenas," the Assistant D.A. said.

"I know." To Scott: "Even if Pete was in Trey's house, his prints weren't on the knife. Your wife's were. You got that good explanation yet?"

"Not yet."

"Let me know when you do."

The D.A. handed over another document.

"Item three: phone logs, landline and cell. His landline bills were at the house, so we ran all those numbers. The logs list all calls, the parties, dates, times, and duration of the calls."

Scott scanned the logs. "Lots of calls to Terri and Rebecca. None to the other women."

"What about his cell?" Bobby said.

"We got the log off the phone," the D.A. said.

"He might've deleted some calls. But every call-even the deleted ones-shows up on the phone bills. We need to subpoena Trey's cell phone records."

"Okay. Write that one up, too."

"Trey's last calls that Thursday were to and from Rebecca, Tom Taylor, and a Benito Estrada at six-eighteen P.M.," Scott said. "Who's he?"

The D.A. leaned back in his chair and cut a glance at Hank.

"Well, that brings me to item four: the toxicology report." He put on his reading glasses, picked up a document, and read. "Trey Rawlins' blood alcohol level at the time of his death was point-two-six, three times the legal limit. He also had cocaine in his system. Six hundred nanograms per milliliter."

"Trey used cocaine?"

The D.A. nodded.

"How much is that? Six hundred nanograms."

"A lot."

"Enough to cause an overdose?"

"I asked the M.E. that same question. Can't have a murder case if the victim died before he was stabbed."

"We could still charge her with abuse of a corpse," the Assistant D.A. said.

The D.A. ignored his assistant. "M.E. said he was alive when he was stabbed because his heart pumped out so much blood."

"Was cocaine found in the house?"

"Nope." The D.A. rubbed his face. "Good thing his dad's dead 'cause this would've killed him." He looked up at Scott. "I'm no longer in denial about Trey."

"I'm sorry, Rex. I know you cared for him."

The D.A.'s face was grim. He exhaled and said, "Now it's your turn, Scott."

"My turn for what?"

"To end your denial. About your wife."

The room turned quiet, and Scott became aware of his own breathing.

The D.A.'s eyes dropped to the report. "We took a blood sample from her, too. Her blood alcohol level was point-two-two."

"She said they'd been drinking at Gaido's."

"And we can probably suppress that at trial," Karen said. "No PC to draw her blood and-"

"Incident to her arrest," the Assistant D.A. said.

"She wasn't arrested for DUI."

"No. For murder."

"But the law requires-"

Scott held up his hand to Karen. The D.A. had not looked up from the report. There was more.

"What is it, Rex?"

The D.A. looked up now. "Scott, your wife had cocaine in her system, too. Four hundred nanograms. She was drunk and stoned. Could be why she slept in Trey's blood."

During a football game at SMU, Scott Fenney, number 22, had run around right end then made a sharp cut back to the middle of the field past the defenders going the other way. Scott had a clear field to the end zone… except the last defender threw a thick forearm out and caught Scott right above his facemask. The force knocked him unconscious. When he came to, he felt dazed and confused, as if his mind couldn't put two words together. And so he felt now. Bobby subbed for him.

"Could be why she didn't wake up when the killer came into the bedroom and stabbed Trey."

"Look, Scott," the D.A. said, "I know y'all have a daughter, so I'm not going to release this report. But it'll come out at trial."

Scott tried to grasp the thought that Rebecca had used cocaine. He couldn't.

"You're sure? About the cocaine?"

"You can run your own tests, we took extra blood from her."

The D.A. slid the report across the desk. Scott did not pick it up.

"So what's all this got to do with Benito Estrada?"

"He's a known drug dealer on the Island. Him and Trey, they were cell phone buddies. Means Trey was a regular customer. And a special one."

"Tell me about him. Benito."

"Twenty-eight, Harvard-educated, BOI. Runs the Gulf Coast operation for the Guadalajara cartel. Considers himself a businessman, even acts like one-supports the community, gave half a million for Ike relief, something of an icon among his folks. But he runs his operation like a business, so we haven't had the turf wars and gun battles in the streets like the border towns."