Dark Star: Confessions of a Rock Idol (43 page)

“The Miami-Dade PD are all over this thing, Everett,” Jerry assured me. “Zaney’s in a stolen vehicle. It’s a green 2002 Arctic Fox; basically, a pickup truck with a camper on back.”

“Stay here.” I rushed out of the hot, confining room.

Staggering ten or twelve steps, I bent over, hands on my knees.
Deep breaths.
Sweat running into my eyes and down the back of my neck, I swallowed back the bile. Breathing in, deep, I saw white stars.

Deep breaths. Take deep breaths.

Oh God—be with Karen. Save her, Lord. Please, please, please…save her.

“The camper was stolen from a Georgia couple at a rest area near Kendall along Highway 1,” Jerry said, now that I’d cooled and returned to the visitor’s tank with Jacob and him. “It was reported missing two days after Zaney escaped from here.”

“Do the cops know how serious this is?”

“Everybody knows, Everett.” Jacob stepped toward the glass between us. “I’ve laid out the whole thing for them: the roses, the fire, the night at Shawnee Lake. The cops here are supposed to get together with the Topeka PD.”

“The bottom line is, we’ve got to find the
camper,”
I insisted.

“The Miami-Dade PD is familiar with your trial, obviously, and they know the world’s eyes are on them,” said Jerry. “They want to find Karen. They’re searching all the local campsites, rest areas. There’s an APB out for Zaney. He can’t get far.”

Jacob looked at me, eyebrows raised. He held his big right hand up to the glass. I pressed my hand against his, with only the cool glass between us. Seeing this, Jerry raised his left hand and pressed it against the petition. I held my other hand up to his.

“Father, we’re speechless,” Jacob said. “All tapped out. Totally reliant on You. Totally surrendered. Watching You. Waiting. Counting on You to bring our girl home…safe.” He broke up, ever so quietly.

“Jesus,” Jerry intervened, “bring an end to this nightmare. Turn Zaney’s evil plans inward…on himself. Set Karen free, Father. Blanket her in peace. Let her be wise and strong. Recite Your Word to her right now as we speak. Let Your words fill her ears and mind and thoughts. Protect her from injury. Put Your angels all around her. In Jesus’ most powerful name we pray, amen.”

“Stay here, Everett.” Rockwell opened the metal door after Jerry and Jacob left. “Boone needs to see you one more time. He’ll be right in. Hang in there, man.”

With my hands clasped at my mouth and my elbows resting on the blue metal table in front of me, I saw something carved in the left-hand corner of the table, near the glass, that I’d never seen before.

The words read: Only Believe.

Those same words jumped out at me only this morning. The Bible said the daughter of a man named Jairus was sick. Jesus was on the way to help her. But along the way, some men informed Jesus and Jairus that the daughter had died. Jesus knew Jairus was frantic. And His words to the man felt like they were meant for me: “Do not be afraid any longer,
only believe.”

That is what I must do.

The papers and folders under Boone’s arm blew as he swung the door open. “Okay, Everett. Someone else spotted the camper.”

“Where?” I shot to my feet, grabbing the edge of the table.

“Small town called Sandpiper Cove, near Homestead. He’s gone now, but police are combing the area.”

My eyes shut and my head fell back.

“Everett, I’m sorry, but I need to talk to you about taking the stand.”

I snapped out of it. “I’m not testifying.”

“Since when?”

“Since Karen disappeared. I want to get this thing over with and get out of here.”

“There’s no guarantee you’re going anywhere.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“We could still file for a mistrial.”

“Brian, they may never find Zaney, or he may be dead when they do—and then where would we be?”

We searched each other for a moment through the glass.

“You haven’t changed your mind, have you?” I asked. “You don’t want me to testify, do you?”

“No, my best advice is still no.”

“And we’re not copping a guilty plea.”

“We’ve really passed that window,” he said. “It looks like it’s going to the jury.”

“What’s next? Dooley’s closing argument?”

“Tomorrow.”

I clenched a fist at Brian and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Bring it.”

I’d never seen anything like this. They said more than ten thousand people flooded the Miami-Dade Justice and Administration Center. They were inside the building, covering every square inch of the concrete and cobblestone outside the facility, and flowing down the streets in every direction.

News teams were having a difficult time maneuvering amid all the spectators.

The traffic, the people pressing against me, the questions firing from every direction, the signs with Karen’s picture on them—it was like a dream.

As I was escorted into courtroom B-3 by three officers, I searched out Mary and Jerry, Jacob and Sarah, Donald and Della. They were all seated together—close together. I made eye contact and smiled, glad to know they were there.

Brian shook my hand and gave me a sheet of white paper with black type on it. “This came via e-mail. Thought you would like to read it.”

Dear Mr. Lester,

Thank you for all your concern for Olivia. She is resting beside me here now as we watch the news of your loved one’s disappearance. Please know, during this difficult time, we are praying for you. God bless you. I hope you go free so you can come visit Olivia soon. We’ll pick a day when her father isn’t home!

Sincerely,

Claudia Gilbert

P.S. Your faith in God has been an inspiration to me. Thank you again.

Frank Dooley saved his finest suit for today, knowing he would be the focal point of the world’s wide-eyed gaze. It was a navy Armani with eye-popping red pinstripes and a matching red tie.

Dooley began his closing argument by plainly and powerfully explaining to the jury why the Miami-Dade district attorney’s office pursued murder in the first degree. “We believe that we can and
have
proven, without any doubt, that Everett Timothy Lester not only murdered Endora Crystal, but did so in premeditated fashion—purposefully, precisely, and with every intention of ending her life.

“You’ll hear Brian Boone go on and on, I’m certain, about ‘criminal hypnotherapy’ and the defense’s stance that Everett Lester was somehow—
without knowing it
—hypnotized before he shot Endora Crystal,” Dooley said, relaxed, practically laughing.

“Ladies and gentlemen, don’t you buy into that sham for one minute! Are you kidding me?
Hypnotism?
You talk about grasping at straws. And while we’re on the subject, why in heaven’s name would Endora Crystal want to hypnotize her very own boyfriend so he could, in turn, shoot her at close range? It makes no sense, even in Everett Lester’s mixed-up world. This defense is almost as weird as the hooligan who’s convinced his legal counsel to peddle it. I don’t even like to lower myself to address it, but I throw it out there to let you, the jurors, know that I find it sheer lunacy!”

Dooley acted as if he’d gotten the unimportant small talk out of the way. “People of the jury.” He folded his arms, walking directly in front of my table. “Everett Lester’s life is typical—typical, I tell you—of the bad boy turned religious zealot. Everything this man has ever done has been to the extreme, always extremes. He grew up a rebellious, hell-raising teen—outdoing all of his friends with his violence, his guns, his drugs, and his music.”

I didn’t even really care what this guy said. All I cared about was Karen—
living.

“His rock group, DeathStroke, reverted to extremes as well, becoming one of the rowdiest, most belligerent, vicious, antagonistic groups of its time. That’s this man’s life story, ladies and gentlemen. Do you understand? Extremes. Always extremes. When you think about it, it’s difficult to believe Everett Lester hasn’t landed himself in prison long before now.”

Boone wrote furiously, as did his assistants. The one juror, the black man, was staring me down again. But today he looked at a different person than he did yesterday. Part of me was missing today. He knew it. He could see it, and so could the other jurors. Yes, they had been sequestered. But both Frank Dooley and Brian Boone appeared to be playing their cards as though the jury had somehow heard the news of Karen’s disappearance.

“Everett Lester took divination to the extreme, hiring his own personal psychic—Madam Endora Crystal—to travel with him. He took guns to the extreme, collecting them, taking lessons, building his own shooting range. Do you see the pattern? Extremes. Always extremes.”

Jacob just exited the courtroom. He had his phone in his hand. Perhaps it was about Karen…

“Then came religion in this man’s life,” Dooley said with a smirk. “And the same thing happened. Extremes. Always extremes. We’ve heard it throughout this trial from many of his own character witnesses. Immediately he separated himself from close friends. Words like
Satan
and
gospel
started peppering his vocabulary. And here’s where we come to what really happened in this man’s life, people.” Dooley pulled his long, stiff cuffs toward the palm of each hand.

“Overnight
Everett Lester becomes a fundamentalist, right-wing, born-again Christian—and you know what? To him, his old life was evil. To him, his old friends were bad influences. To him, his old psychic—Endora Crystal—was
Satan!
It’s true; that’s what he thought. We’ve heard it implied in many ways throughout this trial.”

Jacob walked through the double doors at the back of the room and shook his head slightly at me as he returned to his seat.

“Extremes. Always extremes,” Dooley said, with his thumbs latched inside his suspender straps, standing directly in front of Judge Sprockett. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that Everett had a romantic relationship with Endora Crystal—a woman some fifteen years his senior? One witness told us Endora said Everett was, and I quote, ‘jealous and domineering.’

“What happened that day, last November 11, folks, is that Everett Lester had had enough. Enough of Endora as a psychic, enough of Endora as a secret lover, enough of Endora as a Satanist out to torment him and destroy his newfound religious life!”

This was like a major motion picture. The crowd was mesmerized.

“It was a combination of many things that drove Everett to get the .45 caliber Glock from his dresser drawer and gun down Endora Crystal in cold blood.”

Dooley made a gun with his hand and pointed it at me. “But the one thing that you
must
consider, above all else, is that Everett Lester acted consistently that day in November. He acted in the extreme, ladies and gentlemen, always in the extreme. Pulling the trigger to solve a problem. Extreme?
Yes!
Consistent with the rest of his life?
Yes, by all means!”

Dooley’s hand, shaped like a gun, was still pointed at me.

“People of the jury—” he pivoted toward the jury box and pointed his make-believe gun at each juror—“it now becomes
your
duty and
your
obligation to punish Everett Lester for his extreme behavior, for the cold-blooded, premeditated murder he committed last November. As you act, each one of you, I implore you…give him the
extreme
sentence he deserves. Give Everett Lester a murder one guilty verdict.”

Anyone who knew me, knew what I was thinking right then. My blank face. The vacancy behind my eyes.

All I care about is Karen.

This trial doesn’t matter anymore.

Say what you want, I’m in God’s hands now…and so is my wife-to-be.

34

DONALD CHAMBERS HAD A
small pad in his hands and a pencil behind his ear. Several guards and police officers surrounded us. We stood in a small, white holding area adjacent to courtroom B-3. The trial had recessed for lunch, but I wasn’t hungry. My family and friends were not permitted back here.

Chambers gave me a review of what he learned from his friends at Miami-Dade PD. “A green Arctic Fox camper with no license plates, but matching the description of the one stolen from the Georgia couple, was spotted at a rest area off Highway 1 near Kendall, then again at Sandpiper Cove.”

“By whom?” I asked. “Who spotted it?”

“The first time it was reported by a family on vacation,” Chambers said. “Two teens who had been following your case closely on TV spotted the SUV and had their dad call 911. The next time, a retired gentleman saw the camper at a Winn-Dixie.”

“Did they see Karen?”

“No one reported seeing her,” Chambers said. “But listen to this—the camper was spotted again
today
at a gas station in a little town called Leisure City. This time, the convenience store owner says he saw Zane Bender, even talked with him a minute. They’re looking at store surveillance tapes now to get a positive ID.”