He gave a nod and nuzzled her neck. “You’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me.”
“Do you think that someday we’ll actually be able to lay down on a bed together and not make love?”
“Maybe someday. Not soon.”
“Get in the shower, Conner,” she said. “I’ll get a pot of coffee going. You need to get on your way. And thank you. Even if it’s just a few hours with you, it means everything to me.”
Almost an hour later, he reluctantly left her at her front door and began his drive to Sacramento. Once he reached Clear Lake he phoned Max at the D.A.’s office and told them he was running a little late, but en route.
By ten he was walking into the district attorney’s complex. Max came out of his office to meet him in the reception area and escort him in.
Even though Max—Ray Maxwell, officially—had caused him a lot of personal complications by relying on him to testify in this trial, Conner liked the guy. He was young for a D.A.—under fifty—and no question about it, he was decent and honest. Judging the pictures in his office, he was also a happily married father of two. Conner could sense a certain commanding nature in Max, accentuated by his dark hair barely touched by silver at the temples, but today there was obvious warmth, as well. And he never for a second doubted Max’s gratitude.
“Good to see you, Conner. You won’t be Conner on the stand, by the way. However, there’s no legal trouble with your name change. Once you’ve testified, there’s a judge who will sign off on the petition immediately. Thanks for coming so quickly. I take it your family is doing well?”
“Katie and the boys seem fine and she’s decided to stay in Vermont, at least for now,” Conner said. “How long is this going to take?”
“The prosecution presents first,” he said. “We’ll prep you over the next couple of days and run your testimony by Friday at the latest. With any luck, sooner. Then you’re free to go, but understand you can be recalled by the defense, in which case you’ll have to return. Which brings us to the next item—you’ve had some more time to think about it now. Have you thought of anything they might bring up to discredit you?”
He frowned and shook his head. “I think we went over all this. I had a traffic ticket—speeding. Seven years ago. I paid my taxes on time, took my sister and nephews to church once in a while, never got arrested. No mental illness in the family that I know of and I don’t take any drugs, prescription or otherwise.”
“And never visited a massage parlor or strip joint?”
“Never had the time. I’m not saying I’m above that sort of thing,” Conner said with a grin. “I just never had the time. I had a business and a family.”
“You’re sure?”
“Trust me, I’d remember.”
“Because your ex-wife was an occasional visitor to The Blue Door, one of Dickie’s more notorious clubs. One in which Regis Mathis was a silent partner.”
“Yeah,” Conner said. “Not a big surprise. I told you about her. What does that have to do with me?”
“While you were still married, it turns out,” Max said.
He was shocked into silence, but then an immediate huff of laughter escaped him. “I take that back. Consider me surprised. Of course I didn’t know that. Still, what’s that got to do with me?”
“No telling,” Max said. “They haven’t listed her as a witness, but the information that our only witness’s wife frequented the victim’s club—that turned up. Whether they’ll use it, we don’t know.”
“How could they use it?”
“Oh, let’s use our imagination on that,” Max said. “How about—you’re a very jealous man and you had a motive for killing the owner of one of the clubs your wife frequented for extramarital sex.”
“Wow,” Conner said. “No offense, but I’m glad I don’t have to think like a prosecutor. That would never have occurred to me. I never hurt my ex, never hurt the kid I caught her with, never knew she went to clubs. I’m not all that surprised, but I didn’t know.”
“If there’s anything…”
“Max, I’m such a straight arrow I’ve missed half my life, working and taking care of my sister and her kids. In fact, if I hadn’t been taking out the trash after closing the store, this wouldn’t be happening to me.”
Max showed him a half smile. “Every prosecutor knows he’s telling the jury a story—‘Here’s what happened.’ Then the defense takes over and tells a different story—‘Here’s what really happened.’ In some ways this is predictable—I usually try to run the police testimony first because they’re well-trained witnesses. Then the eyewitnesses and finally, the forensic experts. Even though we have powerful forensics, the defense will undoubtedly cite cases in which evidence was mishandled or misinterpreted, trying to discredit the science.” He gave a shrug. “Even though an eyewitness account is often the least reliable, you’re our ace. Exactly why we’ve gone to some trouble to keep you out of harm’s way. This isn’t going to be a long trial—five to seven days, then deliberation.”
“It can’t be over soon enough,” Conner said.
“Hang in there. I need to sit you down with the A.D.A. for a few hours today and tomorrow, throw you a few possible curves and prepare you for the kind of questions they might ask if they decide to cross-examine or recall you. You up to that?”
“I guess it’s what I’m here for.”
“We have you booked at the Hilton. I have a couple of off-duty cops who can stay with you if…”
“You think I’m in danger right this minute?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. We suppose you could be at risk. We only go to these lengths when there’s been a direct threat, and there was a direct threat. But—”
“Look, if you could put someone in a room across the hall or something, I wouldn’t argue with that. But there haven’t been any other threats that I’m aware of. Have you heard of any?”
“Nothing,” Max said, shaking his head.
“Then let’s do the prep. I have a couple of favors to ask.”
“Name them.”
“Katie and I have done some thinking and talking about this—we’re going to sell the Sacramento properties. After the trial, we’d like both houses—mine and hers—emptied and furnishings and belongings put in crated storage. Then we’d like to sell the houses. The lot the hardware store was built on has been listed, but it’s a bad time for real estate. We’ll be patient, but we’re starting over after this. We’ll take possession of our household goods when we’ve settled permanently and split the proceeds from the land sale and insurance money from the fire. We’re going to do it all in the name of Conner Danson—I’m the executor anyway and our dad died a long time ago. Katie knows I’ll always see she’s taken care of. Can you help me do that?”
“No problem. You want to go through the houses and make sure you’ve taken everything you don’t want in storage?”
“Katie took her late husband’s mementos but yes, I’ll take a run through both houses. My folks left behind a lot of stuff I’ll just be pitching in the end, but for now, let’s crate it up. I’ll contract a cleaning crew and painters to get the houses ready for sale. Let’s just get it done. I’m for moving on.”
Max smiled. “Brie said she thought you were settling in up north.”
“It’s a whole new life, Max. Much as it kills me to say this, I might not have discovered how much I needed a change if this whole fiasco hadn’t happened, from Samantha to the killing in my alley. So, let’s get our business taken care of so I can get back to it.”
Max put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll do it, buddy. No one deserves it more.”
A couple of consultants and an assistant district attorney spent a few hours on Monday morning and again on Tuesday morning firing questions at Conner that might never be asked by the defense, but they were offensive enough to make him angry and eventually wring an outburst from him.
“Isn’t it true that you knew your wife was a frequent visitor at The Blue Door, a bar thinly disguised as a strip club that was, in reality, an adult sex club?”
“No.”
“How many times did you go to that club?”
“Never heard of it before I became a witness.”
“How many times?”
“Never heard of it, never went there.”
“And if I could produce a charge receipt from your credit card showing you had been there with your wife before the murder…?”
“It wouldn’t be mine,” Conner said.
“Are you aware of the consequences of perjury?”
“I said I didn’t even know about it much less go there!”
“Yet your wife went there while you were still married?”
“So I hear!”
“Are you alleging that your wife went alone to this couples sex club prior to your divorce and you had no knowledge of it?”
“I have no idea if she went alone! She didn’t go with me!”
“Then what would you suggest as the reason for your divorce?”
“A nineteen-year-old college kid who delivered bottled water!” Conner stormed.
“Back to the night in question. Was there a light behind the store, in the alley where you allegedly witnessed the crime?”
“His headlights were on,” Conner said.
“Answer the question, please.”
“No! No light behind the store. There was one, but it wasn’t on. His headlights were on!”
“And you say he walked in front of the car?”
“Yes.”
“So the headlights hit him where? Right about the level of his thighs?”
“The police found blood in his car!”
“Okay, okay, this is the reason for these questions, Conner,” the A.D.A. said. “We don’t know what will be asked, but if it’s going to set you off, let’s let the anger out here, during the prep, not on the stand. Just try to hold it together and answer the question without elaborating. Yes or no, whenever possible.”
It went like that on and off for two long mornings.
When he was finished on Tuesday afternoon, he drove to the house in which he grew up, a police officer in an unmarked car following him. Conner seriously doubted that Regis Mathis had anyone sitting surveillance on his empty house a couple of days before the trial, but he used caution. Conner wanted to look around the property and pick up a couple of things. He was cautious and observant.
His folks had bought this house the year he was born—thirty-five years ago. It had been a small three-bedroom on a large lot—the size of the lot remained a value to this day. When Katie came along, his dad had remodeled and built an addition, doubling the size of the kitchen and living room, adding a bedroom and bathroom. It was a process that Conner barely remembered but his dad had reminded him frequently that it had taken about three years to complete since he’d done it mostly alone.
After their parents had died, Katie lived there with him until she got married. Then she came back to live with him in that house again when Charlie deployed. When Charlie was killed, Katie stayed with him, like it was a foregone conclusion.
Eventually, she’d found a small three-bedroom not that far from Conner and together they’d bought it. It was in both their names. And even though Conner had been somewhat relieved not to be awakened in the night by a teething baby, he had been very lonely when she left. He’d been happy for her—she’d seemed to be getting on with life. But it had been a little too quiet.
“Do you think that someday we’ll actually be able to lay down on a bed together and not make love?”
“Maybe someday. Not soon.”
“Get in the shower, Conner,” she said. “I’ll get a pot of coffee going. You need to get on your way. And thank you. Even if it’s just a few hours with you, it means everything to me.”
Almost an hour later, he reluctantly left her at her front door and began his drive to Sacramento. Once he reached Clear Lake he phoned Max at the D.A.’s office and told them he was running a little late, but en route.
By ten he was walking into the district attorney’s complex. Max came out of his office to meet him in the reception area and escort him in.
Even though Max—Ray Maxwell, officially—had caused him a lot of personal complications by relying on him to testify in this trial, Conner liked the guy. He was young for a D.A.—under fifty—and no question about it, he was decent and honest. Judging the pictures in his office, he was also a happily married father of two. Conner could sense a certain commanding nature in Max, accentuated by his dark hair barely touched by silver at the temples, but today there was obvious warmth, as well. And he never for a second doubted Max’s gratitude.
“Good to see you, Conner. You won’t be Conner on the stand, by the way. However, there’s no legal trouble with your name change. Once you’ve testified, there’s a judge who will sign off on the petition immediately. Thanks for coming so quickly. I take it your family is doing well?”
“Katie and the boys seem fine and she’s decided to stay in Vermont, at least for now,” Conner said. “How long is this going to take?”
“The prosecution presents first,” he said. “We’ll prep you over the next couple of days and run your testimony by Friday at the latest. With any luck, sooner. Then you’re free to go, but understand you can be recalled by the defense, in which case you’ll have to return. Which brings us to the next item—you’ve had some more time to think about it now. Have you thought of anything they might bring up to discredit you?”
He frowned and shook his head. “I think we went over all this. I had a traffic ticket—speeding. Seven years ago. I paid my taxes on time, took my sister and nephews to church once in a while, never got arrested. No mental illness in the family that I know of and I don’t take any drugs, prescription or otherwise.”
“And never visited a massage parlor or strip joint?”
“Never had the time. I’m not saying I’m above that sort of thing,” Conner said with a grin. “I just never had the time. I had a business and a family.”
“You’re sure?”
“Trust me, I’d remember.”
“Because your ex-wife was an occasional visitor to The Blue Door, one of Dickie’s more notorious clubs. One in which Regis Mathis was a silent partner.”
“Yeah,” Conner said. “Not a big surprise. I told you about her. What does that have to do with me?”
“While you were still married, it turns out,” Max said.
He was shocked into silence, but then an immediate huff of laughter escaped him. “I take that back. Consider me surprised. Of course I didn’t know that. Still, what’s that got to do with me?”
“No telling,” Max said. “They haven’t listed her as a witness, but the information that our only witness’s wife frequented the victim’s club—that turned up. Whether they’ll use it, we don’t know.”
“How could they use it?”
“Oh, let’s use our imagination on that,” Max said. “How about—you’re a very jealous man and you had a motive for killing the owner of one of the clubs your wife frequented for extramarital sex.”
“Wow,” Conner said. “No offense, but I’m glad I don’t have to think like a prosecutor. That would never have occurred to me. I never hurt my ex, never hurt the kid I caught her with, never knew she went to clubs. I’m not all that surprised, but I didn’t know.”
“If there’s anything…”
“Max, I’m such a straight arrow I’ve missed half my life, working and taking care of my sister and her kids. In fact, if I hadn’t been taking out the trash after closing the store, this wouldn’t be happening to me.”
Max showed him a half smile. “Every prosecutor knows he’s telling the jury a story—‘Here’s what happened.’ Then the defense takes over and tells a different story—‘Here’s what really happened.’ In some ways this is predictable—I usually try to run the police testimony first because they’re well-trained witnesses. Then the eyewitnesses and finally, the forensic experts. Even though we have powerful forensics, the defense will undoubtedly cite cases in which evidence was mishandled or misinterpreted, trying to discredit the science.” He gave a shrug. “Even though an eyewitness account is often the least reliable, you’re our ace. Exactly why we’ve gone to some trouble to keep you out of harm’s way. This isn’t going to be a long trial—five to seven days, then deliberation.”
“It can’t be over soon enough,” Conner said.
“Hang in there. I need to sit you down with the A.D.A. for a few hours today and tomorrow, throw you a few possible curves and prepare you for the kind of questions they might ask if they decide to cross-examine or recall you. You up to that?”
“I guess it’s what I’m here for.”
“We have you booked at the Hilton. I have a couple of off-duty cops who can stay with you if…”
“You think I’m in danger right this minute?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. We suppose you could be at risk. We only go to these lengths when there’s been a direct threat, and there was a direct threat. But—”
“Look, if you could put someone in a room across the hall or something, I wouldn’t argue with that. But there haven’t been any other threats that I’m aware of. Have you heard of any?”
“Nothing,” Max said, shaking his head.
“Then let’s do the prep. I have a couple of favors to ask.”
“Name them.”
“Katie and I have done some thinking and talking about this—we’re going to sell the Sacramento properties. After the trial, we’d like both houses—mine and hers—emptied and furnishings and belongings put in crated storage. Then we’d like to sell the houses. The lot the hardware store was built on has been listed, but it’s a bad time for real estate. We’ll be patient, but we’re starting over after this. We’ll take possession of our household goods when we’ve settled permanently and split the proceeds from the land sale and insurance money from the fire. We’re going to do it all in the name of Conner Danson—I’m the executor anyway and our dad died a long time ago. Katie knows I’ll always see she’s taken care of. Can you help me do that?”
“No problem. You want to go through the houses and make sure you’ve taken everything you don’t want in storage?”
“Katie took her late husband’s mementos but yes, I’ll take a run through both houses. My folks left behind a lot of stuff I’ll just be pitching in the end, but for now, let’s crate it up. I’ll contract a cleaning crew and painters to get the houses ready for sale. Let’s just get it done. I’m for moving on.”
Max smiled. “Brie said she thought you were settling in up north.”
“It’s a whole new life, Max. Much as it kills me to say this, I might not have discovered how much I needed a change if this whole fiasco hadn’t happened, from Samantha to the killing in my alley. So, let’s get our business taken care of so I can get back to it.”
Max put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll do it, buddy. No one deserves it more.”
A couple of consultants and an assistant district attorney spent a few hours on Monday morning and again on Tuesday morning firing questions at Conner that might never be asked by the defense, but they were offensive enough to make him angry and eventually wring an outburst from him.
“Isn’t it true that you knew your wife was a frequent visitor at The Blue Door, a bar thinly disguised as a strip club that was, in reality, an adult sex club?”
“No.”
“How many times did you go to that club?”
“Never heard of it before I became a witness.”
“How many times?”
“Never heard of it, never went there.”
“And if I could produce a charge receipt from your credit card showing you had been there with your wife before the murder…?”
“It wouldn’t be mine,” Conner said.
“Are you aware of the consequences of perjury?”
“I said I didn’t even know about it much less go there!”
“Yet your wife went there while you were still married?”
“So I hear!”
“Are you alleging that your wife went alone to this couples sex club prior to your divorce and you had no knowledge of it?”
“I have no idea if she went alone! She didn’t go with me!”
“Then what would you suggest as the reason for your divorce?”
“A nineteen-year-old college kid who delivered bottled water!” Conner stormed.
“Back to the night in question. Was there a light behind the store, in the alley where you allegedly witnessed the crime?”
“His headlights were on,” Conner said.
“Answer the question, please.”
“No! No light behind the store. There was one, but it wasn’t on. His headlights were on!”
“And you say he walked in front of the car?”
“Yes.”
“So the headlights hit him where? Right about the level of his thighs?”
“The police found blood in his car!”
“Okay, okay, this is the reason for these questions, Conner,” the A.D.A. said. “We don’t know what will be asked, but if it’s going to set you off, let’s let the anger out here, during the prep, not on the stand. Just try to hold it together and answer the question without elaborating. Yes or no, whenever possible.”
It went like that on and off for two long mornings.
When he was finished on Tuesday afternoon, he drove to the house in which he grew up, a police officer in an unmarked car following him. Conner seriously doubted that Regis Mathis had anyone sitting surveillance on his empty house a couple of days before the trial, but he used caution. Conner wanted to look around the property and pick up a couple of things. He was cautious and observant.
His folks had bought this house the year he was born—thirty-five years ago. It had been a small three-bedroom on a large lot—the size of the lot remained a value to this day. When Katie came along, his dad had remodeled and built an addition, doubling the size of the kitchen and living room, adding a bedroom and bathroom. It was a process that Conner barely remembered but his dad had reminded him frequently that it had taken about three years to complete since he’d done it mostly alone.
After their parents had died, Katie lived there with him until she got married. Then she came back to live with him in that house again when Charlie deployed. When Charlie was killed, Katie stayed with him, like it was a foregone conclusion.
Eventually, she’d found a small three-bedroom not that far from Conner and together they’d bought it. It was in both their names. And even though Conner had been somewhat relieved not to be awakened in the night by a teething baby, he had been very lonely when she left. He’d been happy for her—she’d seemed to be getting on with life. But it had been a little too quiet.
