Sandra Brown: Ricochet

Duncan knew what he was up against. He’d come up against Stan Adams before. But he was anxious to get on with it.

He was staring at the door leading to the judge’s chambers, willing it to open, when it actually did.

“All rise,” the bailiff intoned.

Duncan shot to his feet. He searched the expressions of the three men as they reentered the courtroom and resumed their places. He leaned toward DeeDee. “What think you?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

His partner had an uncanny and reliable talent for reading people and situations, and she had just validated the foreboding he was feeling.

Another bad sign-Mike Nelson kept his head averted and didn’t look in their direction.

Stan Adams sat down beside his client and patted the sleeve of Savich’s expensive suit.

Duncan ’s gut tightened with apprehension.

The judge stepped onto the bench and signaled the bailiff to ask the jury to return. He took his seat behind the podium and carefully arranged his robe. He scooted the tray holding a drinking glass and a carafe of water one-half inch to his right and adjusted the microphone, which needed no adjustment.

Once the jury had filed in and everyone was situated, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the delay, but a matter of importance had to be addressed immediately.”

Cato Laird was a popular judge, with the public and with the media, which he courted like a suitor. Nearing fifty, he had the physique of a thirty-year-old and the facial features of a movie star. In fact, a few years earlier he had played a cameo role of a judge in a movie filmed in Savannah.

Comfortable in front of cameras, he could be counted on to provide a sound bite whenever a news story revolved around crime, criminals, or jurisprudence. He was speaking in that well-known, often-heard silver-tongued tone now. “Mr. Adams has brought to my attention that during voir dire, juror number ten failed to disclose that her son is enrolled in the next class of candidate officers for the Savannah-Chatham Metropolitan Police Department.”

Duncan glanced at the jury box and noticed the empty chair in the second row.

“Oh, jeez,” DeeDee said under her breath.

“The juror has admitted as much to me,” Judge Laird said. “She didn’t intentionally try to deceive the court, she simply failed to recognize how that omission could affect the outcome of this trial.”

“What?”

DeeDee nudged Duncan, warning him to keep his voice down.

The judge looked in their direction, but continued.

“When seating a jury, attorneys for each side have an opportunity to eliminate any individuals who they feel have the potential of swaying the verdict. Mr. Adams is of the opinion that a juror whose family member will soon become a police officer may have a fundamental prejudice against any defendant in a criminal trial, but especially one accused of this particularly egregious slaying.”

He paused, then said, “I agree with counsel on this point and am therefore compelled to declare a mistrial.” He banged his gavel. “Jurors, you are dismissed. Mr. Adams, your client is free to go. Court is adjourned.”

Duncan came out of his chair. “You have got to be kidding!”

The judge’s gaze sought him out and, in a tone that could have cut a diamond, he said, “I assure you I am not kidding, Detective Hatcher.”

Duncan stepped into the aisle and walked up it as far as the railing. He pointed at Savich. “Your Honor, you cannot let him walk out of here.”

Mike Nelson was at his elbow, speaking under his breath. “Dunk, calm down.”

“You can retry the case, Mr. Nelson,” the judge said as he stood and prepared to leave. “But I advise you to have more solid evidence before you do.” He glanced at Duncan, adding, “Or more credible testimony.”

Duncan saw red. “You think I’m lying?”

“ Duncan.”

DeeDee had come up behind him and taken hold of his arm, trying to pull him back down the aisle toward the exit, but he yanked his arm free.

“The pistol was real. It was practically smoking. The woman was real. She jumped to her feet when I came in and-”

The judge banged his gavel, silencing him. “You can testify at the next trial. If there is one.”

Suddenly Savich was in front of him, filling his field of vision, smiling. “You blew it again, Hatcher.”

Mike Nelson grabbed Duncan ’s arm to keep him from vaulting over the railing. “I’m gonna nail you, you son of a bitch. Etch it into your skin. Tattoo it on your ass. I’m gonna nail you.”

His voice rife with menace, Savich said, “I’ll be seeing you. Soon.” Then he blew Duncan an air kiss.

Adams hastily ushered his client past Duncan, who looked toward the judge. “How can you let him go?”

“Not I, Detective Hatcher, the law.”

“You’re the law. Or rather you’re supposed to be.”

“ Duncan, shut up,” DeeDee hissed. “We’ll redouble our search for Lucille Jones. Maybe the weapon will turn up. We’ll get Savich sooner or later.”

“We could have had him sooner,” he said, making no attempt to lower his voice. “We could have had him today. We could have had him right fucking now if we’d had a judge who sides with cops more than he sides with criminals.”

“Oh hell,” DeeDee groaned.

“Detective Hatcher.” Judge Laird leaned upon the podium and glared at Duncan. As though addressing him from a burning bush, he said, “I’m willing to do you a favor and overlook that statement because I understand the level of your frustration.”

“You don’t understand jack shit. And if you wanted to do me a favor, Your Honor, you would have replaced that juror instead of declaring a mistrial. If you wanted to do me a favor, you would have given us an even chance of putting this murderer out of commission for good.”

Every muscle in the judge’s handsome face tensed, but his voice remained remarkably controlled. “I advise you to leave this courtroom now, before you say something for which I’ll be forced to hold you in contempt.”

Duncan aimed his index finger at the exit door through which Savich and his attorney had just passed. “Savich is thumbing his nose at you, too, same as he is at me. He loves killing people, and you just handed him a free pass to go out and kill some more.”

“I ruled as the law dictates.”

“No, what you did-”

“ Duncan, please,” DeeDee said.

“-is crap on me. You crapped on the people who elected you because they believed your promise to be tough on criminals like Savich. You crapped on Detective Bowen here, and on the DA’s office, and on everybody else who’s ever tried to nail this bastard. That’s what you did. Your Honor.”

“ ‘Hands up.’ ”

“What?”

“Seven-letter word for surrender.”

DeeDee gaped at Duncan as he situated himself in the passenger seat of her car and buckled his seat belt. “Forty-eight hours in jail, and that’s the first thing you have to say?”

“I had a lot of time to think about it.”

“ ‘Hands up’ is two words, genius.”

“Still works, I bet.”

“We’ll never know. I threw the puzzle away.”

“Couldn’t finish?” he teased, knowing that it irked her because he could normally finish a puzzle long before she could. He had a knack for them; she didn’t.

“No, I threw it away because I didn’t want any reminders of your overplayed scene in the courtroom.” She left the detention center parking lot and headed toward downtown. “You let your mouth overload your ass.”

He sat brooding, saying nothing.

“Look, Duncan, I understand why you want Savich. We all want Savich. He’s evil incarnate. But to verbally abuse a judge in his own courtroom? That’s crazy. You damaged yourself as well as the department.” She shot him a glance. “Of course it’s not my place to lecture. You’re the senior partner.”