Steven James - The Knight

“Thanks,” I said.

He wrapped a snug dressing around my chest and gave me a cold pack to help reduce the swelling. “Take care of that, OK?”

“I will.” As he was stepping away, I saw Ralph approaching, bringing me a fresh shirt and jeans. I accepted the clothes, thanked him, and went to find a restroom to clean up and change.

A few minutes later as I was buckling my belt, my phone came to life and I figured Lien-hua must have seen that she’d missed my call. I answered, “Hey, you.”

“Hello, Pat.” It was Detective Cheyenne Warren. “I heard what happened up there. I’m glad you’re all right.”

“That makes two of us.” I realized that I wasn’t disappointed it was Cheyenne rather than Lien-hua.

She got right to business. “It doesn’t look like Taylor left the recorded message in the mine.”

“What? How do you know?”

“We found him this morning, dead, along with a woman. I should say we think it’s only one woman. It’s hard to tell.”

Her words could mean only one thing. “Dismembered?”

“Yeah. The killer dumped her in the water at the northern swimming beach at Cherry Creek State Park. Killed her at Taylor’s house, though; we matched the blood at the two sites.”

I let her words sink in as I returned to the courtoom. “Taylor had a house in the Denver area?”

“Up in the mountains. Near Evergreen. That’s where he was beheaded-tortured first, though. We’re still looking for his head.”

Unbelievable.

The envelopes had all been mailed within the Denver metroplex, so I’d suspected that Taylor might be living in the region, but still, it was disconcerting to hear that he’d been that close to us and we hadn’t found him.

“Suspects?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

I was considering everything she’d just told me when the bailiff led the jurors into the room. I only had time for a few quick questions. “Besides the dismemberments,” I asked, “are there any evidentiary links to Heather Fain’s death?”

“No physical evidence yet, but there was an anonymous 911 tip, just like with Heather’s body.”

Judge Craddock and the two lead lawyers emerged from the judge’s entrance.

I tried to think of any criminals I’d run into who could have found, overpowered, and killed Taylor, but came up short. “Anything else?”

“We’re going to Taylor’s house in the morning to finish processing the scene. Early: 7:00 a.m. It’s about half an hour from downtown; maybe you can ride with me, reduce our carbon footprint.”

Normally, it annoys me when people try to sound so progressively green by using the “carbon footprint” cliche, but from Cheyenne it just sounded natural.

“I’d come,” I said, “but I’m not scheduled to arrive in Denver until almost noon tomorrow.”

“So change your flight. Come back tonight.”

It was a possibility.

I suspected the judge would call for a mistrial, but I wouldn’t know for a few more minutes. “I will if I can. I’ll call you back when I know more.” Judge Craddock situated himself behind the bench and called for order. I needed to get off the phone. “Do me a favor. Text Agent Ralph Hawkins for me. Fill him in.”

“All right.”

I gave her Ralph’s number, ended the call, and turned off the phone. After everyone had taken their seats, Judge Craddock faced the jurors and cleared his throat. “This incident involving Mr. Sikora bears no relevance to the trial at hand. We are conducting a trial concerning the defendant, Richard Devin Basque, not this man who just tried to shoot him. If this event is allowed to disrupt the judicial process, our justice system would be too fragile, too easily manipulated to be efficacious.”

He took a deep breath. “And so, considering all of these factors, I am not calling for a mistrial. You will be sequestered until Monday. No news media. No outside contact. During the weekend we will provide independent, court-appointed psychologists to conduct, at no charge, confidential counseling sessions with any jury members who wish to discuss their feelings regarding the shooting. We will resume proceedings Monday at nine o’clock sharp when Dr. Bowers returns to the stand.”

I could hardly believe his words, and by the looks of the jury members’ faces, neither could they. I wasn’t sure what would be normal in a situation like this, but resuming the trial on Monday “I will not let this grievous event train-wreck the judicial process. Not in my courtroom.” He let his eyes click from one jury member to the next. “This trial will move forward. We will proceed and we will reach a verdict, and justice will be served.”

Even though I was surprised by his decision, the more I thought about it, the more I found myself understanding the logic of it. The actions of Grant Sikora weren’t at issue here, and shouldn’t be allowed to affect the trial’s outcome. And the longer we waited, the more likely the jurors would be to remember the shooting and forget details from the trial.

I expected Ms. Eldridge-Gorman to object to the judge’s decision, which she did, quite vociferously. She would certainly appeal if Basque were convicted, and the state would do the same if he were acquitted. What a mess.

“Objection denied,” Judge Craddock squawked. “Dismissed!” He slammed his gavel down, rose, and had his robe half off by the time he entered his chambers.

Just like me, the jury must have thought he was going to call a mistrial, because they sat in shocked silence, most of them staring blankly at the door to the judge’s chambers, which was now slowly swinging shut.

I took a moment to think.

I really wanted to take a look at the crime scene where Taylor had been killed. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, so I could probably catch an earlier flight and still make it home tonight, then return to Chicago Sunday evening.

A quick call to the airline told me there was a flight that would arrive in Denver just after ten tonight, and I still had ninety minutes before the departure time, so, even with Friday rush hour, I figured I could make it.

I confirmed a seat assignment and was ending my call when Ms. Eldridge-Gorman crossed the room toward me. She came close and spoke quietly, only for me to hear. “I know what you did in that slaughterhouse, Dr. Bowers. On Monday morning I will move that you be held in contempt of court for refusing to answer the question today.”

She might have been baiting me to see if I’d say something she could use against me when I returned to the stand next week. I didn’t respond.

“If you tell the truth, the jury will discount your testimony and empathize with my client.” A sense of dark satisfaction threaded through every one of her words. “And if you lie you’ll perjure yourself. Either way, Richard will be set free, Dr. Bowers, and you’ll be the one to thank.”

Everything had suddenly become even more complicated. “Have a good weekend, Ms. Eldridge-Gorman,” I told her.

“I will.” She snatched up her briefcase and gave me a half smile.

“And I will look forward to seeing you on Monday.”

She strode away, and I noticed that Ralph had been watching us. He walked to me, and after she was out of earshot he asked, “What was all that about?”

“A misunderstanding.” I’d never told him what had happened in the slaughterhouse, and now was not the time to get into all that.

His gravelly voice became even lower than usual. “Something you need to tell me, buddy?”

I considered my options, his friendship, the case, my future… and decided to let things stand for now. “No. It’s nothing.” I gestured toward the door. “You heading out?”

“I gotta give a statement to the press. Being the senior agent on site… You know.”