Dread Champion (36 page)

Messages clicked on. The first was from an anxious-sounding Rogelio, left last night. The second was from an even more anxious Rogelio, left at eight o'clock this morning. The third had been recorded just two minutes ago. This time Rogelio's voice was a loud mixture of anger and panic.Milt winced and yanked the phone away from his ear.

“I want to hear from you, understand me! I want to know what you found out and what you're going to say in your report tonight. Plus what I should do then! You told me we'd talk some more about everything.Don't leave me hanging,Milt; I've got too much at stake!”

Oh, great.
Milt could have kicked himself. Not a good thing to forget to call Rogelio.What if the kid got tired of waiting and did something stupid like go to another reporter? He'd have to call as soon as Rogelio got home from work. Convince him to hang tight another day or two. This baby thing would have to wait; no way could he blow his cover with Tracey now.

At least Tracey hadn't called him. Now to make sure he kept her in line. He looked up her work number on a small notepad in his suit pocket and dialed.

“Halding's Dress Shop.”

“Tracey. It's Milt.”

“Hi!”

No suspicion in her tone. His eyes closed in relief. “I'm afraid I have some bad news,” he said. “I don't think I can see you tonight.”

“Oh.”

“I've got to do some interviews on another story.”

“When
can
I see you?” she asked in her lost-waif tone.

“I don't know. I'll call you back as soon as I can figure something out. I don't want to wait long.”

“Okay.”

“By the way,” he said, allowing irritation to creep into his voice, “why did you tell your aunt about us? She came at me today with both barrels.”

“I
didn't
tell her!”

“Then who did?”

Silence. “Okay,” she said quietly, “I did tell her. It was a mistake.”

Milt shook his head. This girl lied coming and going.“Yes, it was.

You're making it more difficult for me here. I want to keep seeing you, but you've got to keep quiet about us, understand?”

“Yes.” She sounded meek.

“Have you told anybody else?”

A pause.“No.”

Milt gestured in frustration. She
would
neglect to mention Maria to him. “Okay. But let me just warn you that if you do, others are likely to respond as your aunt did. They'll only make you miserable and get in our way. For both our sakes, I hope you won't talk to anyone like that.”

He cringed as he awaited her answer. Had he said too much?

“Milt, I'm not going to talk to
anybody
who's against you, believe me. I threw my aunt out, didn't I?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softening, “you did.”

When he disconnected the line a few moments later, he suddenly realized how hungry he was.

FORTY-FOUR

The afternoon had seemed interminable to Chelsea. Yet another witness had testified about hearing Shawna in an argument with Tracey. Then defense counsel had called Peter Chesterton, a former sheriff with Monterey County, who spoke at great lengths about the shoddy job the department had done in investigating the disappearance of Shawna Welk. They had prematurely focused on Darren Welk, he said, then never followed up on other possible suspects after their interview with him.

Stan Breckshire was fighting back hard in his cross-examination. Hadn't the witness been let go from the Monterey sheriff 's department? Wasn't he in fact a disgruntled former employee who'd had a hard time finding other work?

During break Chelsea leaned against the sink in the women's bathroom and closed her eyes.Her mind swirled with the testimony. The video of Darren Welk certainly made him look guilty, but she could not shake her suspicion of his son. How could anyone know with absolute certainty what had happened to Shawna that night? What if someone else
had
killed her? Someone like Brett?

Oh, God, please give me wisdom! Idon't know what to think. And Kerra is with him all the time! Protect her, Lord, protect her.…

When the jury resumed their seats for the last part of the day, Chelsea was still praying.

R
OGELIO BANGED DOWN
the phone and glared out the kitchen window. From the living room filtered the sound of the television, already tuned to Channel Seven in preparation for their anxiously awaited news report. Rogelio shoved to his feet, marched to the set, and smacked it off. Reeling back into the kitchen, he dropped into his chair.

Mama Yolanda did not even look up from her tortilla making. “Does not sound like good news,” she said mildly.

“It isn't.Milt's not going to run the story tonight. Says he needs ‘more information.'” The last two words were a sneer.

Mama Yolanda set aside one tortilla and began rolling out another. “You think he is not telling the truth?”

“I don't know
what
to think!” He ran a hand through his hair. “He doesn't care about Roselita; all he cares about is getting a story. He'll make decisions based on that, not on what's best for us.”

“The story's gotten bigger than we ever imagined,”
Milt had told him.
“Ihave to run down more facts and put this all together.”
From the way he'd made it sound, he may need another couple of days. Milt had pleaded with him to hang in there, even if the story did not air until the jury was deliberating.

“Maybe so.”Mama Yolanda picked up the rolling pin and aimed it in another direction. “But God will watch over us.”

Rogelio sighed in exasperation. How could she be so sure about everything? After all he'd gone through to prepare Kristin, now he'd have to tell her the story wasn't airing tonight. And he had no indication it would air tomorrow. Kristin's emotions seemed about as balanced as a little kid standing on one foot.How long was she going to put up with this?

“Well, God can do all the watching over us he wants,” he growled, “but Milt Waking is watching out for Milt Waking. And I'll tell you something: I'm not going to wait for him much longer!”

T
ERRANCE CLYDE STRETCHED IN
his hard chair as he watched Darren drop into his seat on the other side of the glass. His client regarded him with silent suspicion, tongue pushed between his teeth and upper lip.

“You brought Brett into it again,” he said at length. “I
told
you not to do that.”

Here it came. Terrance shrugged.“Barely. There was far more testimony about arguments with boyfriends and Tracey than about arguments with him.”

“One witness is one too many.”

“What do you want, Darren?” Terrance's voice rose. “You want me to get you out of here or not?”

“What I want,” Darren declared through his teeth, “is to walk out of this hellhole and go back to my ranch and my
son.
”

“That's what I'm trying to accomplish.”

“I don't want my son sacrificed to do it!”

Terrance leaned toward the glass.“Darren, hear me. For the hundredth time. Any suspicion laid on Brett or anybody else will go
nowhere
once the trial's over. But it could raise enough reasonable doubt to get you off.”

“Suspicion follows you; it's hard to get rid of.”

“What matters is that you'll both be free.”

“Yeah, so's O. J.”

Terrance shook his head wearily. Arched back against the chair. “That's hardly a comparison.” They glared at each other.

“Let me testify,” Darren said.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I've
told
you why. Breckshire would kill you on cross.”

“I'd handle him.”

“Not in a million years. He'd dance and punch.”

“I'd handle him.”

“Darren!” Terrance smacked his palms against the edge of the table.“Fine then. Tell me, Mr.Welk, did you fight in public with your wife?”

Silence.

“Did
you?”

“Yes, okay? So what?”

“Did you run around with women?”

“A few.” Darren blinked in defiance.

“Did you hit Shawna that night on the beach?”

Darren's mouth hardened. “I didn't mean to; I was drunk.”

“Oh, drinking makes you hit people, does it?”

“No!”

“You just said it did.”Cynicism oiled Terrance's words. “Just how does drinking affect you? Are you nicer? Or meaner?”

Darren shoved his arms into a fold.

“Would you like me to call some folks to testify about how you behave when you're drunk, Mr.Welk?”

“Okay, so I get a little testy.”

“A ‘little testy,'” Terrance mocked. “Testy enough to make your wife bleed all over her silk blouse?”

“She was hardly hurt.”

“How about the tooth? Did you knock that out, too? And— here's a great one—let's talk about the blouse turning up in your backyard.”

“I—”

“And do explain, Mr.Welk, your very convenient loss of memory
after
your wife began to bleed. After that let's talk about the footprints in the sand.And while we're at it, let's replay the video of your interview sentence by sentence so you can explain all your lies! Let the jury see one more time all those guilty expressions on your—”

“All right, all right!” Darren threw out his hands. Futility slumped him in his chair.

Slowly Terrance straightened. “And that,” he said quietly, “is why you will not testify, and why
I
am handling this case.”He pushed back his chair and stood. “Breckshire will finish his cross-examination of Peter Chesterton tomorrow morning. I'll shore the guy back up on redirect; I think the jury's willing to believe his testimony. Then we'll go to closing remarks. I'll put it all together for the jury then.With a little luck you'll be out of here soon. But keep quiet while I talk, Darren”—Terrance pointed a finger at his client—“and let me do my job.”

He turned away from his client, still hunched in the chair, and left the tiny room.

FORTY-FIVE

Kerra sat on the rock beside Brett and cried. Tears had filled her eyes the moment she'd slid into her car. The day had been agony. Holding herself together during court, forcing herself to appear impassive while that awful man testified about Brett's argument with Shawna. It seemed as if every eye in the courtroom had been turned on them, analyzing, watching for the least suspicious movement.

“Oh, Kerra, I never should have told you,” Brett said soothingly.

“Yes, you should have. I don't know how you bore it alone for so long. You
had
to tell me.”

Her throat closed. Brett hugged her as she cried against his chest. “I'm sorry,” she hiccuped after a few moments. “You'd think I'd be done by now.”

“It's okay.” He smoothed her hair. Finally she sat up and wiped her face, sniffling.

“Do you know,” she said, “that's the first time in over a year I've cried about anything other than Dave's death?”

Brett smiled sadly.

She exhaled, tried to steady her breathing.“Know what else?” She pulled away a strand of hair that was stuck to her cheek.“Ever since last weekend I haven't seen the accident in my head.” She focused on the bay, dwelling on that fact. “Aunt Chelsea told me she felt sure God wanted me to visit so he could help me move on with my life. I think so, too. But I think he knew all this would happen and that I'd end up with you.”

“You think he put us together?”

“I don't know. Frankly, I never asked him. All I know is, you needed me and I needed you.”

“That's for sure.”He gazed out over the tree-covered hills, utter weariness on his face.

It struck her then how self-centered she was being. So focused on her feelings, her fears. Brett needed her far more than she needed him right now.He was practically drowning in his own anxiety and guilt. In her heart she knew Brett needed more than just her to help him through.He was seeking spiritually, whether he fully realized it or not.How wrong, how
selfish,
she was to hold back her knowledge of that truth.

“You know what I think we should do?” she heard herself say. “I think we should pray.”How rusty the word sounded on her tongue. She remembered how joyous she'd been after she found Christ.How she'd shared her faith with Dave.How they'd begun to pray together, laying a deeper, stronger foundation for their relationship.

Brett looked at her, nonplussed.“How?”

“Does that mean you want to?”

“Yeah, I guess. But I don't know what I'm supposed to say.”

“Brett,” she ventured,“we've talked about how a person can reach up to God in response to him.You can do that right now if you want. To tell the truth, I need to get back to him myself. I think we should do that, plus ask for his help in all this mess. Goodness knows we're not doing too well on our own.”

He pondered her words. “Okay.”

She took his hand. “I'll start.” She hesitated, words snagging on her lips. It had been so long. “Dear Jesus,” she began,“we need you. Please lead us through this hard time. And as for me, I'm sorry for falling away from you. Help me be close to you like I was before.”

She fell silent. “You want to say anything?” she asked Brett quietly.

“Uh, yeah.” She heard him swallow. “God. Thank you for Kerra. Thank you for what she told me about you. If it's true—well, I mean, I'm sure it's true—help me to follow you.You reached out to me, so I'll reach back.”He pressed her fingers. “I guess that's it.”

“Amen,” she said.

“Amen.”

They looked at each other.

“Am I supposed to feel anything?” he asked.

“Not necessarily. But you will if you keep talking to him.At least I sure did.”

He nodded. Then sighed. “It didn't exactly take away all our problems, did it.”