“Not today. Not to court.”
“You covered me with your body!”
“Yeah, you lucky devil. It was instinct, that’s all. Let’s get you inside.” He pulled out his ID and escorted Conner through the metal detector. Scott showed his ID and badge and set off the alarms with his gun; the guards and marshals gave him a lot of attention before they passed him through. And then he took Conner not to the courtroom, but to the room where the A.D.A. met witnesses.
And there they sat.
Conner was in a state of shock for a good fifteen minutes before he finally said, “I thought if anyone got shot going up the courthouse steps, it would be me.”
Twenty
It was an hour before Scott was informed that court was canceled, and he relayed this message to Conner. “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“What happened?” Conner demanded.
“Details are fuzzy, but our defendant has been injured and is being treated. His injuries are serious. There were two other injuries, as well.”
“Can’t you get more information?”
“Eventually you’ll get information, but for right now court is canceled. Come on,” he said. “This time, the back door.”
“Yeah, you bet,” Conner said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Me, either,” Scott said. “And I’ve seen stuff. The homicide unit usually shows up after, not during.”
“You going to wear a vest from now on?”
“I wear a vest when I’m on a case, but this is court. I go to court all the time. I usually wear a tie!”
They took the elevator down to the ground level, through a bunch of corridors to an exit manned by marshals and out into the sunlight. They drove back to the hotel without talking, and Scott left Conner in his hotel room.
“I’m sure you’ll hear from the D.A.,” he said. “Just lock up and don’t open for anyone but me or the D.A.”
“Sure,” Conner said. “Thanks. Really.”
“Anytime, Conner,” he said. Then he grinned. “All in a day’s work.”
Alone in the hotel room, Conner looked at his watch. Almost ten and about an hour and a half of excitement under his belt. He turned on the TV, and unsurprisingly, the shooting at the courthouse was all the news. He watched for a half hour. Details were still sketchy, but two of the shooting victims were in surgery, one of them being Regis Mathis, both in critical condition. The third victim, his son, was treated and released. The woman in custody was a former girlfriend and employee of Dickie Randolph. The two men trying to get away appeared to be former employees of Randolph who didn’t want to be caught up in the drama.
The whole thing was captured on film, which the networks played over and over again. Conner strained to catch himself on film, but he didn’t seem to be there.
He sat there for an hour, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for someone to tell him what the disposition of the trial was now that the defendant was shot. It occurred to him that, obviously, someone took their pound of flesh from Regis Mathis. The woman with the gun—young. Pretty, if you put her in classier clothing and scraped a few layers of makeup off her face. Maybe she knew about the young Mathis woman? Maybe she knew what Mathis had done to avenge his daughter?
Maybe a lot of things. But Conner was done with this, at least for now. He called the front desk and asked for a bellman with a cart and a cab. And he moved out of his hotel room. He took a cab to the mall parking lot where the truck sat, unloaded his duffels into the backseat and the bed and began to drive. He would have cell service most of the way, until he got into the mountains.
He didn’t call anyone. He was waiting for his cell to ring and for Max to tell him to get right back to Sacramento. But until that happened, he drove north.
Leslie had driven all the way to Fortuna to pick up sticky buns and coffee to take to Brie’s house. She didn’t get there until about ten after nine and by that time when Brie answered the door, she had a shocked look on her face. “Les,” she said solemnly.
“What?”
“Conner’s okay, but there’s been a shooting at the courthouse.”
Leslie dropped the coffees, and they splattered all over the front walk and her feet. “Oh, God,” she said, not even bending to wipe the hot coffee off her feet.
“Conner is okay,” Brie repeated. “Come in, just leave that mess and come in.” Brie grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. “Someone shot the defendant and a couple of the people with him. Three were wounded and two are in surgery.”
“What did your lawyer friend say?”
“He’s waiting for information himself. He said to sit tight. Obviously Conner won’t be in court today. I’m sure you’ll hear from him when he has more details. Come in and sit down—there’s news coverage.”
Leslie walked in on shaky legs, sitting in the great room in front of Brie’s big screen, clutching her paper bag of sticky buns. “Are you sure it’s not Conner?”
“Absolutely sure. Max said he told the police escort to take him back to his hotel and he’s waiting for more information. When a shooting victim goes into surgery, it could be something easily treated or it could be serious. Max has no idea at this point. Max said when he knows where they stand with the continuation of the trial, he’ll call. Obviously, he has a lot on his plate right now.”
“Can I try Conner’s phone?”
“I tried calling him, Les. It went straight to voice mail, but I didn’t leave a message. I’m not sure if he just has nothing to say or if he has the phone turned off from when he was going to the courthouse. Let’s try to stay cool. He’s not hurt. He wasn’t involved. Someone went after the bad guy.”
They watched the same coverage over and over for two hours with no new information. Finally, at noon, Leslie had had enough. “I’m going to shop for some groceries and go home,” she said. “If I can stay busy making soup or something I might not lose my mind. My TV reception is spotty, but I have a phone. If there’s any new development, will you call me?”
“Of course. Will you be all right?”
“I have to be all right,” she said. “He’ll call me the second he has something to tell me. I know he will.”
Leslie went to Fortuna, bought beef, barley, fresh vegetables, flour, yeast, apples, butter, a few other things and headed home. She got a soup going, a bread rising, an apple pie in the works. She didn’t cook and bake to eat but to keep her hands busy and her mind free and her body in the house where the phone was.
She knew she’d hear from him.
Conner drove around Clear Lake and up the highway toward Humboldt County. He’d been on the road for four hours. Before he headed into the mountains, he pulled off the road and placed a call to Max.
“Did you notice I’m missing?” he asked.
“Frankly, I’ve been too busy for that,” Max said. “Where are you?”
“Just about back in Virgin River,” Conner said. “Any new developments?”
“A significant one. It hasn’t been released to the press yet, so please give it a few hours before you throw your freedom party. Mathis didn’t make it out of surgery. The bullet went through his heart—impossible to repair. His lawyer will recover, his son is fine and the shooter is in custody. Randolph’s girlfriend. Or whatever. Apparently you weren’t the only one to worry he wouldn’t be convicted. And Randolph did in fact dope up Mathis’s daughter.”
“God,” Conner said, shock and relief flooding through him.
“That’s right, my man. No more trial.”
“You don’t sound that happy.”
“No, I am. There’s at least one bad guy off the streets. He looked real upstanding, but he was a bad guy, you can trust me. But what the hell,” Max said. “I wanted to get him!”
Conner actually chuckled. “You’ll get the next one.”
“Wanna bet I’ll never have a witness with a conscience and balls like yours?” Max asked.
“Nope. Don’t want to take that bet. Been fun, buddy. Good luck.” And he clicked off and got back on the road.
He might’ve driven a little fast on the road up the mountain to Virgin River. The clock on the truck console said almost five o’clock, but there was plenty of sunshine left on this day and he was so damn glad he’d made a decision to just drive. He was done with this nightmare. Right after he reassured Leslie, he’d call Katie and tell her.
When he pulled into town, it was with an entirely new appreciation for the way the sunlight sifted through the tall trees and cast late-afternoon shadows along the street. There were a few cars at Jack’s, but no throbbing music—folks would be having a quiet, friendly beer or early dinner. The streets were still; dinner was being fixed in these houses. Tomorrow was Saturday—kids would be anticipating soccer and softball.
He turned down Leslie’s street. She’d been such a rock through this. It reminded him yet again how like his sister she was—she was brave. Stalwart, a word he hadn’t heard or used since his long-past military days.
He pulled up to her house and saw her on the porch. The second she saw his truck, she stood up from her chair, and he jumped out of the truck, coming around to her side. For a moment, he just looked at her. She was so beautiful with a soft smile for him.
Then he said it. “He’s dead, Les. Mathis didn’t survive a gunshot wound.”
Her hand came up to her open mouth, and a little squeak escaped her. Then she ran down the porch steps and flung herself into his arms.
For a while all he could do was kiss her and kiss her, changing the angle of his mouth to get a deeper kiss. Finally he broke away enough to ask, “Did you know what was going on down there? That he was shot on the courthouse steps? I didn’t call you on purpose—there wasn’t any solid information and I kind of made a run for it.”
She nodded. “Brie called about fifteen minutes ago. But why, Conner? Who would shoot him?”
“The victim’s girlfriend, or a reasonable facsimile. I talked to the D.A. less than an hour ago—he’s dead. No more trial. No more villain.”
“God, Conner. The one thing I never dared imagine.”
“It’s over, Les,” he whispered. “Over.”
She shook her head. “No, Conner. This is just the beginning.”
“Right,” he said, giving her a kiss, longer, deeper than before. “Our beginning.”
“You covered me with your body!”
“Yeah, you lucky devil. It was instinct, that’s all. Let’s get you inside.” He pulled out his ID and escorted Conner through the metal detector. Scott showed his ID and badge and set off the alarms with his gun; the guards and marshals gave him a lot of attention before they passed him through. And then he took Conner not to the courtroom, but to the room where the A.D.A. met witnesses.
And there they sat.
Conner was in a state of shock for a good fifteen minutes before he finally said, “I thought if anyone got shot going up the courthouse steps, it would be me.”
Twenty
It was an hour before Scott was informed that court was canceled, and he relayed this message to Conner. “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
“What happened?” Conner demanded.
“Details are fuzzy, but our defendant has been injured and is being treated. His injuries are serious. There were two other injuries, as well.”
“Can’t you get more information?”
“Eventually you’ll get information, but for right now court is canceled. Come on,” he said. “This time, the back door.”
“Yeah, you bet,” Conner said. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Me, either,” Scott said. “And I’ve seen stuff. The homicide unit usually shows up after, not during.”
“You going to wear a vest from now on?”
“I wear a vest when I’m on a case, but this is court. I go to court all the time. I usually wear a tie!”
They took the elevator down to the ground level, through a bunch of corridors to an exit manned by marshals and out into the sunlight. They drove back to the hotel without talking, and Scott left Conner in his hotel room.
“I’m sure you’ll hear from the D.A.,” he said. “Just lock up and don’t open for anyone but me or the D.A.”
“Sure,” Conner said. “Thanks. Really.”
“Anytime, Conner,” he said. Then he grinned. “All in a day’s work.”
Alone in the hotel room, Conner looked at his watch. Almost ten and about an hour and a half of excitement under his belt. He turned on the TV, and unsurprisingly, the shooting at the courthouse was all the news. He watched for a half hour. Details were still sketchy, but two of the shooting victims were in surgery, one of them being Regis Mathis, both in critical condition. The third victim, his son, was treated and released. The woman in custody was a former girlfriend and employee of Dickie Randolph. The two men trying to get away appeared to be former employees of Randolph who didn’t want to be caught up in the drama.
The whole thing was captured on film, which the networks played over and over again. Conner strained to catch himself on film, but he didn’t seem to be there.
He sat there for an hour, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for someone to tell him what the disposition of the trial was now that the defendant was shot. It occurred to him that, obviously, someone took their pound of flesh from Regis Mathis. The woman with the gun—young. Pretty, if you put her in classier clothing and scraped a few layers of makeup off her face. Maybe she knew about the young Mathis woman? Maybe she knew what Mathis had done to avenge his daughter?
Maybe a lot of things. But Conner was done with this, at least for now. He called the front desk and asked for a bellman with a cart and a cab. And he moved out of his hotel room. He took a cab to the mall parking lot where the truck sat, unloaded his duffels into the backseat and the bed and began to drive. He would have cell service most of the way, until he got into the mountains.
He didn’t call anyone. He was waiting for his cell to ring and for Max to tell him to get right back to Sacramento. But until that happened, he drove north.
Leslie had driven all the way to Fortuna to pick up sticky buns and coffee to take to Brie’s house. She didn’t get there until about ten after nine and by that time when Brie answered the door, she had a shocked look on her face. “Les,” she said solemnly.
“What?”
“Conner’s okay, but there’s been a shooting at the courthouse.”
Leslie dropped the coffees, and they splattered all over the front walk and her feet. “Oh, God,” she said, not even bending to wipe the hot coffee off her feet.
“Conner is okay,” Brie repeated. “Come in, just leave that mess and come in.” Brie grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. “Someone shot the defendant and a couple of the people with him. Three were wounded and two are in surgery.”
“What did your lawyer friend say?”
“He’s waiting for information himself. He said to sit tight. Obviously Conner won’t be in court today. I’m sure you’ll hear from him when he has more details. Come in and sit down—there’s news coverage.”
Leslie walked in on shaky legs, sitting in the great room in front of Brie’s big screen, clutching her paper bag of sticky buns. “Are you sure it’s not Conner?”
“Absolutely sure. Max said he told the police escort to take him back to his hotel and he’s waiting for more information. When a shooting victim goes into surgery, it could be something easily treated or it could be serious. Max has no idea at this point. Max said when he knows where they stand with the continuation of the trial, he’ll call. Obviously, he has a lot on his plate right now.”
“Can I try Conner’s phone?”
“I tried calling him, Les. It went straight to voice mail, but I didn’t leave a message. I’m not sure if he just has nothing to say or if he has the phone turned off from when he was going to the courthouse. Let’s try to stay cool. He’s not hurt. He wasn’t involved. Someone went after the bad guy.”
They watched the same coverage over and over for two hours with no new information. Finally, at noon, Leslie had had enough. “I’m going to shop for some groceries and go home,” she said. “If I can stay busy making soup or something I might not lose my mind. My TV reception is spotty, but I have a phone. If there’s any new development, will you call me?”
“Of course. Will you be all right?”
“I have to be all right,” she said. “He’ll call me the second he has something to tell me. I know he will.”
Leslie went to Fortuna, bought beef, barley, fresh vegetables, flour, yeast, apples, butter, a few other things and headed home. She got a soup going, a bread rising, an apple pie in the works. She didn’t cook and bake to eat but to keep her hands busy and her mind free and her body in the house where the phone was.
She knew she’d hear from him.
Conner drove around Clear Lake and up the highway toward Humboldt County. He’d been on the road for four hours. Before he headed into the mountains, he pulled off the road and placed a call to Max.
“Did you notice I’m missing?” he asked.
“Frankly, I’ve been too busy for that,” Max said. “Where are you?”
“Just about back in Virgin River,” Conner said. “Any new developments?”
“A significant one. It hasn’t been released to the press yet, so please give it a few hours before you throw your freedom party. Mathis didn’t make it out of surgery. The bullet went through his heart—impossible to repair. His lawyer will recover, his son is fine and the shooter is in custody. Randolph’s girlfriend. Or whatever. Apparently you weren’t the only one to worry he wouldn’t be convicted. And Randolph did in fact dope up Mathis’s daughter.”
“God,” Conner said, shock and relief flooding through him.
“That’s right, my man. No more trial.”
“You don’t sound that happy.”
“No, I am. There’s at least one bad guy off the streets. He looked real upstanding, but he was a bad guy, you can trust me. But what the hell,” Max said. “I wanted to get him!”
Conner actually chuckled. “You’ll get the next one.”
“Wanna bet I’ll never have a witness with a conscience and balls like yours?” Max asked.
“Nope. Don’t want to take that bet. Been fun, buddy. Good luck.” And he clicked off and got back on the road.
He might’ve driven a little fast on the road up the mountain to Virgin River. The clock on the truck console said almost five o’clock, but there was plenty of sunshine left on this day and he was so damn glad he’d made a decision to just drive. He was done with this nightmare. Right after he reassured Leslie, he’d call Katie and tell her.
When he pulled into town, it was with an entirely new appreciation for the way the sunlight sifted through the tall trees and cast late-afternoon shadows along the street. There were a few cars at Jack’s, but no throbbing music—folks would be having a quiet, friendly beer or early dinner. The streets were still; dinner was being fixed in these houses. Tomorrow was Saturday—kids would be anticipating soccer and softball.
He turned down Leslie’s street. She’d been such a rock through this. It reminded him yet again how like his sister she was—she was brave. Stalwart, a word he hadn’t heard or used since his long-past military days.
He pulled up to her house and saw her on the porch. The second she saw his truck, she stood up from her chair, and he jumped out of the truck, coming around to her side. For a moment, he just looked at her. She was so beautiful with a soft smile for him.
Then he said it. “He’s dead, Les. Mathis didn’t survive a gunshot wound.”
Her hand came up to her open mouth, and a little squeak escaped her. Then she ran down the porch steps and flung herself into his arms.
For a while all he could do was kiss her and kiss her, changing the angle of his mouth to get a deeper kiss. Finally he broke away enough to ask, “Did you know what was going on down there? That he was shot on the courthouse steps? I didn’t call you on purpose—there wasn’t any solid information and I kind of made a run for it.”
She nodded. “Brie called about fifteen minutes ago. But why, Conner? Who would shoot him?”
“The victim’s girlfriend, or a reasonable facsimile. I talked to the D.A. less than an hour ago—he’s dead. No more trial. No more villain.”
“God, Conner. The one thing I never dared imagine.”
“It’s over, Les,” he whispered. “Over.”
She shook her head. “No, Conner. This is just the beginning.”
“Right,” he said, giving her a kiss, longer, deeper than before. “Our beginning.”
