Dread Champion (24 page)

Stan Breckshire called his first witness of the day—Victor Mendoza. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, his perfectly straight back betraying his discomfort at having to testify.With one last prayer Chelsea pushed aside her worries about Kerra so she could concentrate. Under questioning,Victor Mendoza admitted that he and his family had run the Mexican border into America when he was four years old. As an adult, he had become an American citizen. He told the court how loyal he was to the country that had taken him from poverty, offered him a good life.

Carefully then the prosecutor elicited every detail about how Victor Mendoza had seen Darren Welk planting a bush in his backyard at 4:20 a.m. on the night Shawna Welk was killed.How when he had realized the information might be relevant, he'd called police, fulfilling his duty as a citizen.

Victor's testimony filled in a missing puzzle piece for Chelsea. No wonder the detectives had come to the Welks' house with a search warrant to dig up the bush.

An hour later Stan Breckshire turned him over to the defense for cross-examination.

Terrance Clyde rose in one easy motion.Victor Mendoza shifted in the witness chair, as though gathering himself for an unwanted confrontation. He raised his chin with an air of forthrightness and watched the defense attorney approach.

“Good morning.” Terrance Clyde smiled briefly. Victor Mendoza gave a wary nod. “I have just a few questions for you. You estimated you were about seventy feet from the person you saw digging, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And it was dark with little moonlight.”

“That is true.”

“Further that the lantern that cast the long shadow was on the ground directly behind the digger.”

“Yes.”

Terrance Clyde brought a hand to his chin, thinking. Someone coughed. “So in other words, this figure that you saw was backlit?”

Victor Mendoza considered the word. “You could say that, yes.”

“Would you say the light was brighter around the person's feet or face?”

“His feet and legs. Since the lantern was on the ground.”

“Sure.” The attorney inhaled slowly, frowning at the carpet. “Then how did you see the person's face?”

“As I said, I didn't completely see his face. But I saw his build and height and enough of his features to recognize him as Darren Welk.”

“Did the fact that this digger was in Darren Welk's backyard help you reach that decision?”

“I am not sure.”

“If you had seen that figure at the same distance, lit the exact same way at night at any other location, say near your own house, would you have recognized the person as Darren Welk?”

Victor Mendoza fingered the starched collar of his shirt. “I do not know, sir. I can't answer the question, since that is not what happened.”

Chelsea liked that honest answer. She found Mr. Mendoza very believable.

“All right.” Terrance Clyde almost shrugged. “Let's try this.” He sauntered to his table and picked up an envelope.“May I approach?” he asked Judge Chanson.

Stan Breckshire pushed to his feet, requesting to see what was in the envelope. A short sidebar ensued, Stan arguing about the contents. Apparently, he lost. Sidebar over, Terrance Clyde approached the witness and showed him a photo. “Recognize this person?”

Victor Mendoza bent over the photo, a finger tracing its edge. “Yes. It's Darren Welk, very much as I saw him that night.”

“Where was this picture taken?”

“In his backyard. About where I saw him digging.”

“Would you say this photo was taken from about the same distance as that from which you saw the digger?”

“Yes, I think so.”

Pulling back the photo, the attorney handed Victor Mendoza another. “Recognize this man?”

Again Victor surveyed the photo with care. A minute passed.He bent closer. Chelsea looked from him to the defense attorney. Ter-rance Clyde stood with absolute composure, as if merely waiting for a bus. Finally Victor Mendoza's head came up. “I cannot be sure who this is.”

A nod. “Where was this picture taken?”

“I don't know. Looks like a house but I don't recognize it.”

“All right.” The attorney took back the photo, replaced it with a third. “Do you recognize this person?”

The witness's head bent a third time. “Yes. This is Darren Welk, again as I saw him that night.”

“And the photo was taken where?”

“In his backyard. About where I saw him.”

“Fine. Thank you.” Terrance Clyde now spread the three photos in front of Victor. “Just to be sure, you said this one and this one”— he pointed to the first and third—“are of Darren Welk, and you can't be certain of the identity of the middle one. Correct?”

Victor rechecked each one in turn. “Yes.”

“Would you please pick up the middle one, the one you don't recognize, and read the writing on the back?”

Victor's eyes lifted to the attorney, a new awareness glimmering. His jaw shifted as he surveyed Terrance Clyde with distrust. The atmosphere of the courtroom tensed. Chelsea noticed Milt Waking's hand poised above his notepad. Suddenly the reporter's gaze cut to hers, as if he'd felt her looking at him. She glanced away and her eyes fell on Brett. He sat bolt upright and still.

Too still.

A warning bell sounded in Chelsea's head. She tore her attention away from him and turned back to Victor Mendoza.

With obvious reluctance Victor picked up the middle photo, turned it over. “Bud Howershack.” Confusion and relief flicked across his face.

“Do you know Bud Howershack, one of the assistants in my office?”

“No.”

“No wonder you didn't recognize him,” Terrance Clyde said lightly.

An anxious titter ran through the courtroom.

“All right, how about photo one.”

Victor swallowed and picked up the first picture.“Darren Welk.”

“As you said,” the attorney commented. “Now. Photo three. The one you also recognized as Darren Welk.”

In that instant Chelsea knew what was coming.

Victor's chin shifted one way, then another.

“Mr.Mendoza?”

With an almost defiant flick of his wrist, he turned over the photo.

“Brett Welk.”

The three gray-haired women in the second row gasped. Every juror's head swiveled toward Brett, like those of spectators at a tennis match.His face drained. Chelsea saw the rise and fall of his chest. Kerra looked at him in shock, then turned a disgusted glare upon the defense attorney.

By the time Terrance Clyde was through with Victor Mendoza, the poor man was practically stammering. He'd had to admit that indeed the fact that the digger was in Darren Welk's backyard had helped lead to his identification.

Stan Breckshire could barely contain himself at the prosecution table and tried with much animation to redeem his witness during rebuttal. But the damage had been done.Victor Mendoza could not possibly be certain who he saw digging that night.

Chelsea could not push her fears away. Had he seen Brett Welk?

E
ARS BURNING
, B
RETT WAITED
. He'd told an anxious Kerra she was on her own for lunch; he had things to attend to.When the courtroom cleared, he accosted Terrance Clyde as the attorney placed papers in his briefcase. “What are you trying to do to me?” he demanded.

Terrance exchanged a knowing glance with Erica. She picked up a stack of folders and exited the premises.

“I'm trying to save your father's hide.” He slid a document into his case.

Brett grabbed the sleeve of the attorney's expensive jacket. “You don't have to sacrifice me to do that!”

“Let go of me,” Terrance said evenly.

Brett could have punched the man. He gripped the suit. Then jerked his fingers away.

“Thank you.”Terrance adjusted his jacket, considering Brett with a cool-as-a-cucumber expression. “Now. Do you want your dad found innocent … or don't you?”

“You know I do.”

“Then leave me to my business.”

“It's not just your business; it's mine too! I've got to live out there.”He flung out an arm.“You know how the reporters are going to hound me now?”

“Don't talk to reporters, Brett.”

“What do you think I am,
stupid?
”He swung away in frustration, then swung back. “Besides, I don't have to say a word. All they have to do is quote what they heard from you! If I'd known you were going to use that picture this way, I'd never have posed for it.” He glared at the attorney, breathing hard. “Is this what my father wanted you to do?”

Terrance's mouth firmed and Brett knew he'd hit a sore point. “I don't have to talk to you about my client,”Terrance said.“But I'll tell you one thing. Contrary to what you might think, my job is not to make either you or your father happy. My job is to do whatever I must so the jury will find him innocent. Reasonable doubt, Brett— that's what it's all about.”

Brett racked his brain for a comeback. The ground was shifting beneath his feet, and he wasn't quite sure where to jump.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get some lunch.”

Without another word Terrance lifted his briefcase from the table and glided toward the door.

J
UDGE
C
HANSON RESTED
an elbow on the large desk in her chambers, two fingers dug into her temple.Her lunch wasn't sitting well in her stomach, and her head hurt.“Tell me something good,” she said with a grimace.

Detective Jed Trutenning's mouth pulled upward.“Not much to tell.We're still working on it.”

She cast him a weary look. Couldn't
anything
go right with this case? This wasn't a trial, for heaven's sake; this was a circus. “What have you got?”

“Our interviews with interested parties haven't told us much. But we've discovered the phone the calls came from.”

“Well, that's something.”

“Phone booth on El Camino. That's how we traced it down.We'll stake it out in the evenings, asking anyone who shows up if they happened to use it on the night ofWednesday,August seventh. If we get real lucky, we'll find a witness who can identify the caller.”

“You'd have to be very lucky indeed,” the judge said dryly.

Jed shrugged. “Right now it's our best shot. I'll keep you informed.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“No problem.”The detective slipped out of her office with barely a sound. Judge Chanson leaned back tiredly in her chair and massaged her forehead.

W
HEN COURT RESUMED AFTER
lunch, Chelsea sat ready with a new pen and pad of paper, courtesy of Sidney. She'd realized she should be taking notes. If God wanted to use her in some special way during deliberation, she'd better at least be fully prepared.

Stan Breckshire called criminalist Bill Jaworski to the stand. Jaworski's massive frame filled the witness chair, elbows spilling over its sides. His jowls hung like folds of pie dough, and his striped tie barely covered his stomach.

Chelsea's pen flew as the criminalist explained his investigative work on the bloodstained blouse.Using charts to illustrate, Jaworski first detailed the process by which he determined that the blood belonged to Shawna Welk.

First, samples of blood from the blouse were compared with blood samples taken from Tracey Wilagher and her birth father, who had agreed to cooperate. “A child's DNA is fifty percent from the mother and fifty percent from the father,” Jaworski explained. Once Tracey's DNA bands from her father were determined, he compared her DNA with samples of blood taken from the blouse. He found bands that matched.“You can see the match from Tracey here”—he used a long pointer to indicate the band on his chart—“and from Shawna Welk here.”He moved the pointer over.

“Seeing the match between these two,we moved to the next step, which was to compare blood from the blouse with a sample taken from Lynn Trudy, Shawna Welk's sister. This is because siblings also will have matching bands.”He slid a chart from behind the first and placed it in front.“This chart shows the comparison of Lynn Trudy's blood with that taken from the blouse. Once again we had a clear match on certain bands.” He indicated them. “Together these tests demonstrate conclusively that the blood from the blouse is from Shawna Welk.”

The blood issue covered, Jaworski next explained how he had tested the grains of sand found on the blouse, using a large scanning electron microscope.He had compared this sand with grains he had taken from Breaker Beach. The results indicated a clear match. Then he'd compared sand found underneath the backseat of Darren Welk's car with grains picked from the blouse. Granted, the blouse still wore plenty of dirt from being buried, but the grains of sand had been easy to spot because of differing color and texture. Again, as the charts illustrated, the match was conclusive.

By the time Bill Jaworski left the stand, Chelsea had no doubt that the buried blouse had been stained with Shawna Welk's blood. And that the blouse had been transported to the Welks' house while lying underneath the backseat of Darren Welk's car.

Maybe Victor Mendoza had been right all along,Chelsea thought as court broke for the day. He
had
seen Darren Welk burying that blouse. At the moment, as she watched Kerra leave with Brett, she desperately wanted to believe that the defendant's son was completely innocent.

TWENTY-SIX

Another newspaper. Rogelio spotted it on the kitchen table as soon as he came in from work. He ignored it. The enticing smell of supper drifted from the oven, making his stomach rumble.

His grandmother was wearing one of her better housedresses. And her newest pair of sandals. “You going somewhere, Mama Yolanda?”

She picked up two pot holders. “Consuelo invited me over to watch some movies after supper. I said I would go. She will come get me soon, okay?”