While the reporters continued to fire questions at the men, a confident and smiling Regis Mathis walked away from the cameras, giving friendly waves as he got into the backseat of an expensive town car with a couple of his lawyers. A group that appeared to be his family, two younger men, a mature woman and a very young woman, entered the town car behind Mathis’s.
Preacher turned down the volume. Leslie sank onto a bar stool, looking pale.
“You all right?” Jack asked.
She turned dark liquid eyes up to his face. “He doesn’t look very worried.”
“Mr. Mathis has been to court before,” Brie said. “He knows how to act. Try not to worry. I know the district attorney. He’s a brilliant man.”
“Why isn’t there some kind of gag on him?” Leslie asked. “How can he be allowed to talk to the reporters about evidence that’s going to come up?”
“There’s more than one way to play that hand, Leslie. I don’t have any idea what the D.A.’s strategy is, but you can believe if he didn’t want to hear what Mathis has to say to the press, he’d find a way to gag him. You probably just heard part of his defense—old blood, forensic errors, maybe it was someone else driving his car, et cetera. That’s not to say there won’t be surprises, but…” The color wasn’t coming into her cheeks, so Brie said, “Jack, give her a drink.”
“Coming up.”
“Don’t panic yet,” Brie said.
Leslie took a sip of her wine. “When can I go ahead and panic?”
“I’ll give you a call when it’s time,” Brie said.
“Paul,” Leslie said. “I think I might have to take tomorrow off. Hang around the TV.”
“Want to watch at my house?” Brie asked. “I have good satellite reception.”
“I’d rather be home, near the phone, but my TV reception is iffy.”
“Call him tonight,” Brie said. “Tell him where you’ll be. Court doesn’t convene until 9:00 a.m., so don’t rush. Come when you can.”
“I’ll be there by nine.”
“Understandable,” Brie said.
Several hours later, when it was late, Leslie called Conner’s cell phone. He answered, “Hey, baby.”
“Conner, I can’t get you off my mind. And you didn’t call.”
He sighed. “I thought maybe I shouldn’t tonight. I’m testifying tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, Conner, why couldn’t you call? Did they ask you not to?”
“No, but I didn’t want to drag you into this drama. Les, I’m not coming back this weekend. I’m not going anyplace I can be followed until it’s all over. Until there’s no chance I’ll be recalled.”
“I understand. Conner, I saw him on TV. The man you’re testifying against. Talking to reporters.”
“I saw it, too,” he said. “Apparently I’m testifying against a sainted soul whom the police have been trying to trap for one reason or another for years....”
“Oh, Conner…”
“He’s convincing before he even opens his mouth,” Conner said. “And then he’s even more convincing. Max says we have to trust the system. He says there’s good, solid evidence. But they’re going to claim I couldn’t have seen his face.”
“But you did....”
“I did. He looked rumpled and messed up that night. He didn’t have that classy, sophisticated, starched look to him. He looked like a furious guy who didn’t have an ounce of guilt about what he’d done. He was covered with blood from moving the body. I’ll never forget it. And when he was walking back to his car…he moved slowly. Leisurely. Like the whole thing had been just another chore, like he was completely justified.”
“Conner…”
“He’s got a good game face,” Conner said. “I’m working on mine.”
“I hate that you’re going through this alone,” she said.
“Alone is the only way I want to get it done. I don’t want anyone I love even close to this mess. And it is a mess.”
“I’m staying home from work tomorrow, watching the news from Brie’s house because she has better reception than I do. So if you’re looking for me, that’s where I’ll be. And, well, if it means anything, I’m really proud of you.”
“It means everything, Les.” He paused. “I want you to get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow after it’s over.”
After Conner called Max and told him about Samantha’s veiled threat, the D.A. said that he’d already heard from the police officer escort, and, unfortunately, she was going to be taken into custody. “I just want to make it clear, Max, I’m sure she wasn’t acting on the behalf of the defense team. I’m sure that was meant to manipulate me. She’s been trying to reconcile with me for two years and I’ve been ignoring her.”
“Sadly for her, her motive isn’t an issue,” Max said.
Conner was told exactly what to wear to court—a light blue oxford button-down without a tie, and tan pants, pressed with a sharp crease. Brown shoes. Ordinary clothes on an ordinary guy. The irony was—he already had those clothes, and it was exactly what he would’ve chosen. Max, who was very well turned out, wanted him to look like a blue-collar kind of guy whom the jury would believe and empathize with.
Conner was a blue-collar guy. Since the crime and the fire, he’d had occasion to look over his net worth, trying to figure out what to do next, and while he had quite the nice nest egg to start over with, it wasn’t as though he had brilliantly built a fortune. He’d worked a business he’d inherited and had a pot of money from insurance—not his first choice of how to become financially sound. The sale of the lot and two houses would put him in a higher category, even after splitting it with Katie—but he couldn’t claim much of that came from his business prowess.
He did have some business savvy, however. He was giving more and more thought to a small hardware store in the area between Virgin River and the coast. He could get Paul and his subs anything they needed; he could provide building and repair items for the town and outlying areas. He might buy a motorcycle to take Leslie for long rides in spring and summer.
He hoped to God he’d get to the point of making some of those decisions soon. This hiatus for the sake of a testimony was getting old.
Today’s cop was Scott, a homicide detective getting a little overtime. They had room-service breakfast together in Conner’s room and made small talk. Scott was a sports nut, never missed a televised ball game. When breakfast was done, and it was time to head for the courthouse, Scott asked, “You doing okay, buddy?”
“Ready for this to be over,” Conner said. And then, for no particular reason, he said, “You know, I’ve been laying low in this small town, working construction, and after a lot of years of putting in too many hours, life slowed down a little. And I met someone. You married, Scott?”
“Eleven years,” he said. “Two kids.”
“I’m thirty-five,” Conner said. “I’d like to be able to say that someday.”
Scott clamped a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be over soon. Let’s get going.”
“Today I don’t feel like sneaking in the back door,” Conner said.
“Anything you want, bud. Just don’t get caught by the reporters. I don’t know what Mathis’s game is, but you’re not to talk to anyone.”
“I know. I understand. I don’t want to talk to them. Ever. But Mathis had me threatened and my store burned down. I’m tired of letting him think he worries me. He walks in the front door, head up, no problem looking me in the eye. Fine. Game on.”
Scott gave him a little smile. “Good for you, bud.”
It didn’t take them long to arrive at the courthouse and park the car. They walked around the block and headed for the glut of people and cars out front. Conner marveled at how quickly he’d come to recognize some of the featured players. It was barely eight-thirty, and there were lots of people showing up for many court cases in addition to this big trial, but still he managed to spot the lawyers—prosecution and defense—hurrying into the building with briefcases. People he remembered from the gallery were either hanging around outside or quickly going inside—the brassy-looking women, the priests, men in expensive suits. There were the reporters, of course, easy to spot by their cameramen and camcorders and microphones. And of course there were a lot of uniformed and plainclothes police around, but as Conner had already learned, cops testified every day. The courthouse and area surrounding was full of them, coming and going.
Then the car service pulled up. Of course Regis Mathis and his high-priced attorneys and family couldn’t be expected to drive themselves to court—they arrived in three Lincolns driven by uniformed drivers. In case anyone had forgotten these people were rich and influential. The doors opened on the first two in the line, emitting Mathis and lawyers from the first, and behind them, the family.
Conner stopped on the sidewalk with Scott beside him. “No scene,” Scott said into his ear.
“Of course not,” Conner said. “Just watching the parade.”
“Stay out of the way of the reporters,” Scott said.
Conner vaguely noticed a white SUV blocking the street on the other side of the Lincolns, letting someone out.
Mathis stepped out of the car like arriving royalty, lifting his hand in a wave to the press. He and one of his lawyers waited for the family to meet them before they all made a grand entrance into the courthouse.
But they didn’t make it that far. One of the women Conner recognized from the day before was suddenly standing in front of them. Her back being to Conner and Scott, he didn’t know anything was happening. In one split second he wondered if the woman wanted to talk to Mathis.
And then there was the sound of gunfire. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Mathis crumbled. His lawyer crumbled. One of his sons fell.
Scott pushed Conner to the ground and covered his body with his own, but Conner lifted his head to look out, to see what was happening. There was more gunfire and Conner wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Then next thing Conner knew, Scott moved enough for him to see the young woman was tackled by two very large, uniformed police officers, and immediately following that, there was a rush of people swarming the area. A couple of men ran to the SUV, but an officer, with gun extended toward the driver, blocked it from moving. That’s when he noticed that even though Scott was lying on top of him, he had his gun out, too, leveled in the direction of the shooting.
“Holy shit,” Scott muttered, pulling Conner roughly to his feet. While Conner instinctively started in the direction of the melee, Scott strong-armed him in the direction of the courthouse doors, wrestling him inside.
“What the hell?” Conner asked.
“Shooting,” he said. Scott pulled out his cell phone and plunked in some numbers. “415A in progress in front of the courthouse. Wounded. Looks like they might have one in custody. It’s a mess of people out there.” He leveled a steely gaze at Conner. “Do. Not. Move.”
Scott stepped out of the building, but only for a second. Then he was back. The sound of sirens seemed to accompany him.
“Did you get help?” Conner asked him.
He gave a nod. “There’s more help than we need out there. Every person with a cell phone on the courthouse steps or on the sidewalk called it in. Looks like they have the woman with the gun on the ground, disarmed. And there are a couple of guys who decided to get away, too, who are detained, but I have no idea if they’re part of this.”
Conner poked a finger in his chest. “You wearing a vest?”
Preacher turned down the volume. Leslie sank onto a bar stool, looking pale.
“You all right?” Jack asked.
She turned dark liquid eyes up to his face. “He doesn’t look very worried.”
“Mr. Mathis has been to court before,” Brie said. “He knows how to act. Try not to worry. I know the district attorney. He’s a brilliant man.”
“Why isn’t there some kind of gag on him?” Leslie asked. “How can he be allowed to talk to the reporters about evidence that’s going to come up?”
“There’s more than one way to play that hand, Leslie. I don’t have any idea what the D.A.’s strategy is, but you can believe if he didn’t want to hear what Mathis has to say to the press, he’d find a way to gag him. You probably just heard part of his defense—old blood, forensic errors, maybe it was someone else driving his car, et cetera. That’s not to say there won’t be surprises, but…” The color wasn’t coming into her cheeks, so Brie said, “Jack, give her a drink.”
“Coming up.”
“Don’t panic yet,” Brie said.
Leslie took a sip of her wine. “When can I go ahead and panic?”
“I’ll give you a call when it’s time,” Brie said.
“Paul,” Leslie said. “I think I might have to take tomorrow off. Hang around the TV.”
“Want to watch at my house?” Brie asked. “I have good satellite reception.”
“I’d rather be home, near the phone, but my TV reception is iffy.”
“Call him tonight,” Brie said. “Tell him where you’ll be. Court doesn’t convene until 9:00 a.m., so don’t rush. Come when you can.”
“I’ll be there by nine.”
“Understandable,” Brie said.
Several hours later, when it was late, Leslie called Conner’s cell phone. He answered, “Hey, baby.”
“Conner, I can’t get you off my mind. And you didn’t call.”
He sighed. “I thought maybe I shouldn’t tonight. I’m testifying tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, Conner, why couldn’t you call? Did they ask you not to?”
“No, but I didn’t want to drag you into this drama. Les, I’m not coming back this weekend. I’m not going anyplace I can be followed until it’s all over. Until there’s no chance I’ll be recalled.”
“I understand. Conner, I saw him on TV. The man you’re testifying against. Talking to reporters.”
“I saw it, too,” he said. “Apparently I’m testifying against a sainted soul whom the police have been trying to trap for one reason or another for years....”
“Oh, Conner…”
“He’s convincing before he even opens his mouth,” Conner said. “And then he’s even more convincing. Max says we have to trust the system. He says there’s good, solid evidence. But they’re going to claim I couldn’t have seen his face.”
“But you did....”
“I did. He looked rumpled and messed up that night. He didn’t have that classy, sophisticated, starched look to him. He looked like a furious guy who didn’t have an ounce of guilt about what he’d done. He was covered with blood from moving the body. I’ll never forget it. And when he was walking back to his car…he moved slowly. Leisurely. Like the whole thing had been just another chore, like he was completely justified.”
“Conner…”
“He’s got a good game face,” Conner said. “I’m working on mine.”
“I hate that you’re going through this alone,” she said.
“Alone is the only way I want to get it done. I don’t want anyone I love even close to this mess. And it is a mess.”
“I’m staying home from work tomorrow, watching the news from Brie’s house because she has better reception than I do. So if you’re looking for me, that’s where I’ll be. And, well, if it means anything, I’m really proud of you.”
“It means everything, Les.” He paused. “I want you to get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow after it’s over.”
After Conner called Max and told him about Samantha’s veiled threat, the D.A. said that he’d already heard from the police officer escort, and, unfortunately, she was going to be taken into custody. “I just want to make it clear, Max, I’m sure she wasn’t acting on the behalf of the defense team. I’m sure that was meant to manipulate me. She’s been trying to reconcile with me for two years and I’ve been ignoring her.”
“Sadly for her, her motive isn’t an issue,” Max said.
Conner was told exactly what to wear to court—a light blue oxford button-down without a tie, and tan pants, pressed with a sharp crease. Brown shoes. Ordinary clothes on an ordinary guy. The irony was—he already had those clothes, and it was exactly what he would’ve chosen. Max, who was very well turned out, wanted him to look like a blue-collar kind of guy whom the jury would believe and empathize with.
Conner was a blue-collar guy. Since the crime and the fire, he’d had occasion to look over his net worth, trying to figure out what to do next, and while he had quite the nice nest egg to start over with, it wasn’t as though he had brilliantly built a fortune. He’d worked a business he’d inherited and had a pot of money from insurance—not his first choice of how to become financially sound. The sale of the lot and two houses would put him in a higher category, even after splitting it with Katie—but he couldn’t claim much of that came from his business prowess.
He did have some business savvy, however. He was giving more and more thought to a small hardware store in the area between Virgin River and the coast. He could get Paul and his subs anything they needed; he could provide building and repair items for the town and outlying areas. He might buy a motorcycle to take Leslie for long rides in spring and summer.
He hoped to God he’d get to the point of making some of those decisions soon. This hiatus for the sake of a testimony was getting old.
Today’s cop was Scott, a homicide detective getting a little overtime. They had room-service breakfast together in Conner’s room and made small talk. Scott was a sports nut, never missed a televised ball game. When breakfast was done, and it was time to head for the courthouse, Scott asked, “You doing okay, buddy?”
“Ready for this to be over,” Conner said. And then, for no particular reason, he said, “You know, I’ve been laying low in this small town, working construction, and after a lot of years of putting in too many hours, life slowed down a little. And I met someone. You married, Scott?”
“Eleven years,” he said. “Two kids.”
“I’m thirty-five,” Conner said. “I’d like to be able to say that someday.”
Scott clamped a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be over soon. Let’s get going.”
“Today I don’t feel like sneaking in the back door,” Conner said.
“Anything you want, bud. Just don’t get caught by the reporters. I don’t know what Mathis’s game is, but you’re not to talk to anyone.”
“I know. I understand. I don’t want to talk to them. Ever. But Mathis had me threatened and my store burned down. I’m tired of letting him think he worries me. He walks in the front door, head up, no problem looking me in the eye. Fine. Game on.”
Scott gave him a little smile. “Good for you, bud.”
It didn’t take them long to arrive at the courthouse and park the car. They walked around the block and headed for the glut of people and cars out front. Conner marveled at how quickly he’d come to recognize some of the featured players. It was barely eight-thirty, and there were lots of people showing up for many court cases in addition to this big trial, but still he managed to spot the lawyers—prosecution and defense—hurrying into the building with briefcases. People he remembered from the gallery were either hanging around outside or quickly going inside—the brassy-looking women, the priests, men in expensive suits. There were the reporters, of course, easy to spot by their cameramen and camcorders and microphones. And of course there were a lot of uniformed and plainclothes police around, but as Conner had already learned, cops testified every day. The courthouse and area surrounding was full of them, coming and going.
Then the car service pulled up. Of course Regis Mathis and his high-priced attorneys and family couldn’t be expected to drive themselves to court—they arrived in three Lincolns driven by uniformed drivers. In case anyone had forgotten these people were rich and influential. The doors opened on the first two in the line, emitting Mathis and lawyers from the first, and behind them, the family.
Conner stopped on the sidewalk with Scott beside him. “No scene,” Scott said into his ear.
“Of course not,” Conner said. “Just watching the parade.”
“Stay out of the way of the reporters,” Scott said.
Conner vaguely noticed a white SUV blocking the street on the other side of the Lincolns, letting someone out.
Mathis stepped out of the car like arriving royalty, lifting his hand in a wave to the press. He and one of his lawyers waited for the family to meet them before they all made a grand entrance into the courthouse.
But they didn’t make it that far. One of the women Conner recognized from the day before was suddenly standing in front of them. Her back being to Conner and Scott, he didn’t know anything was happening. In one split second he wondered if the woman wanted to talk to Mathis.
And then there was the sound of gunfire. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Mathis crumbled. His lawyer crumbled. One of his sons fell.
Scott pushed Conner to the ground and covered his body with his own, but Conner lifted his head to look out, to see what was happening. There was more gunfire and Conner wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Then next thing Conner knew, Scott moved enough for him to see the young woman was tackled by two very large, uniformed police officers, and immediately following that, there was a rush of people swarming the area. A couple of men ran to the SUV, but an officer, with gun extended toward the driver, blocked it from moving. That’s when he noticed that even though Scott was lying on top of him, he had his gun out, too, leveled in the direction of the shooting.
“Holy shit,” Scott muttered, pulling Conner roughly to his feet. While Conner instinctively started in the direction of the melee, Scott strong-armed him in the direction of the courthouse doors, wrestling him inside.
“What the hell?” Conner asked.
“Shooting,” he said. Scott pulled out his cell phone and plunked in some numbers. “415A in progress in front of the courthouse. Wounded. Looks like they might have one in custody. It’s a mess of people out there.” He leveled a steely gaze at Conner. “Do. Not. Move.”
Scott stepped out of the building, but only for a second. Then he was back. The sound of sirens seemed to accompany him.
“Did you get help?” Conner asked him.
He gave a nod. “There’s more help than we need out there. Every person with a cell phone on the courthouse steps or on the sidewalk called it in. Looks like they have the woman with the gun on the ground, disarmed. And there are a couple of guys who decided to get away, too, who are detained, but I have no idea if they’re part of this.”
Conner poked a finger in his chest. “You wearing a vest?”
