Dread Champion (37 page)

“No.”Kerra rubbed his thumb. “But I know it'll help us through them. Somehow, Brett, some way, God's going to see us through this.”

M
ILT STEPPED INTO HIS
town home with a sigh.He plunked down his laptop and threw his suit coat over the back of the couch, followed by his tie. It was seven thirty, his evening report had aired, and his stomach was grumbling.He'd been running on nervous energy and too little sleep.

He'd received two more emails from Maria. They hadn't been full of substance, but they'd sure been full of frustration and anger. He'd written her back, playing the confused, love-crazed Tracey. Hadn't been too hard, after he'd watched the girl in action two nights in a row.He hoped he'd said just enough to keep Maria on her cyberspace toes.

He poured a glass of wine and headed for his computer, chuckling to himself. And he thought he'd had a coup last year with the Chelsea Adams exclusive. That success, together with his scoops in this trial,wouldn't begin to match the glory he was bound for in the next few days. Once he got this all worked out, he would single-handedly bring the entire Salad King trial to its knees. His ratings would shoot the moon! Offers from television stations would whirl around him like Tasmanian devils.

Milt set down his glass and booted up the computer, idly pondering how ironic his future coverage of Tracey Wilagher's murder trial would be. He logged on to his email, making small popping sounds with his mouth as he waited. Ah, there it was. Another note from his lovely Maria.

He clicked it happily, brought a fist to his chin and read.

The fist slackened. His hand fell to his lap.

The words refused to sink in. He shook his head. Read it again. Read it a third time. And a fourth.

The message rooted him to his chair.Milt Waking's stomach sank to his toes.

PART 3

PURPOSE

I am God, and there is no other;
I am God, and there is none like me.
I make known the end from the beginning,
from ancient times, what is still to come.

I say: My purpose will stand,
and I will do all that I please.

Isaiah 46:9–10

THURSDAY, AUGUST 15

FORTY-SIX

Milt dressed for court on automatic, exhaustion and excitement fighting in his veins. He had barely slept all night. For hours he lay thinking, figuring, putting the last pieces of the puzzle together. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, he had formulated a plan. Whether it would work or not remained to be seen. The only thing he wasn't sure about was Lynn Trudy. But he would take no chances there.

One immediate thing to do. Before leaving for court, he fired up his computer and wrote a final email to Maria. It had been fun, but all good things must come to an end.

I've made my decision. It looks like the case will go to the jury by the end of tomorrow. They will deliberate through the weekend. Everyone agrees they won't take long to find Darren guilty—probably by Saturday afternoon. I'll be at the courthouse so I can get the death certificate from the judge right after the verdict. Then Milt and I are out of here. I'm not even saying where.He's paying for our trip. Somewhere along the way we'll have the insurance money wired to us. T
WO MILLION
dollars. Small payback, wouldn't you say?

Don't bother trying to contact me anymore. I won't be checking emails. I won't even be home.

Been nice talking to you.

Tracey

Milt cocked his head, surveying the last line. He hadn't planned on it but he liked the sarcasm. He smiled, pleased with himself.

He hit the send button. Two minutes later he was in his car, headed for the freeway.

C
HELSEA WATCHED
S
TAN
B
RECKSHIRE
pace, brow furrowed in concentration. The prosecutor's hair stuck out in all directions, from his frequent head scratching. His tie was askew. His closing argument had begun immediately after the morning break, and he was now summing up. He'd gone over every piece of evidence, explaining with waving arms and staccato words why the jury could do nothing else but find Darren Welk guilty of second-degree murder. Chelsea drank in the words, desperately hoping they would put an end to her questions. She was so close to believing Darren Welk was guilty, but something continued to nag her.Her pen was poised over the piece of paper she'd headed
Facts to Support Guilt.

Stan drew up in front of the jury box and spread his hands. “As you can see, everything fits, ladies and gentlemen. Everything.We have Lonnie Broward's testimony about Darren and Shawna Welk's escalating argument. We have Tracey Wilagher's testimony, with quite precise timing as to when she received the desperate plea for help from her mother, when she arrived at the beach, and when she returned to the house. We have the bill from Shawna Welk's cell phone to support Tracey's testimony about receiving the phone call from her mother. All the timing, and Tracey's explanation of the partial footprints she saw on wet sand, coincides with the testimony of Dr. Gaston, the expert in currents and tides.He told you almost to the inch how far the water had receded between high tide and when those footprints were made.”

Lonnie B.,
Chelsea wrote in her notes.
Tracey precise timing. Cell phone bill. Footprints.

Stan's pacing resumed, his fingers jabbing the air.

“Then of course we have the blouse. Evidence clearly shows that it was transported underneath the seat of Darren Welk's car. DNA evidence proves that the blood on the blouse belongs to Shawna Welk.And we have a witness,Victor Mendoza, who has proved himself reliable and trustworthy through twenty years of service at his employment.He saw Darren Welk bury that blouse in his backyard in the middle of the night.

“You heard Dr. Gaston testify as to the hazardous conditions of the rip currents on Breaker Beach. In fact, he told you about the sign on the beach warning people of the danger.You heard further testimony as to the horrifying shark attack on Eddie Hunt in nearby waters.We have the remains of Shawna Welk's body, the piece of fabric and her tooth that washed up onshore. ‘As good as a fingerprint,' her dentist said of that tooth, due to its unusual qualities.”

Chelsea noted all these items.

Stan slid to a halt, leaning toward the jury with a confidential air. “Now. Defense counsel will try to convince you, even after all this evidence, that because Shawna Welk's body was never found, you can't be completely sure she is dead.”He shook his head in disbelief. “He will try to convince you that she must have simply ‘disappeared,' perhaps with some unnamed boyfriend.
I
say, given the facts that we know about Breaker Beach, its currents, the outgoing tide, plus the presence of a great white shark, it's little wonder her body was never found. In fact, it would have taken a miracle for her body to be discovered. Again, remember Dr. Gaston's testimony about the large sign on the beach, written in English and Spanish: ‘Danger' in capital letters in a big yellow triangle. ‘Wading and swimming unsafe.' Shawna Welk's body would have been swept out to sea in very little time.”

The prosecutor's eyes cruised the jury, from Clay to Tak to Chelsea. She looked back without blinking.

“I may not have a grisly photo of Shawna Welk's remains. All the more fortunate for you.Who among you would enjoy seeing it? But in no less way, she is crying out from her watery grave to tell you what happened in the early-morning hours of February sixteenth. Through her blood on the last blouse she wore, she is crying out. Through the blouse itself, buried by her husband, she is crying out. Through a piece of fabric washed up on the beach, she is crying out. She cries out to you through the one part of her body that we do have—her tooth. She cries out through her half footprint that went into the water and, tragically, did not come out again.

“And who is the
only
person who could be responsible for her death?” Stan turned and pointed toward the defense table. “Darren Welk, her husband.Who argued with her on the beach in front of two witnesses? Darren Welk.Who hit her, made her bleed? Darren Welk.Who was the last person to see her alive? Darren Welk.Who admitted to police that he'd buried her bloody blouse? The man who had promised before God to love, honor, and protect her—her husband, Darren Welk.”

Chelsea stole a glance at Kerra.Her face was pale but her jaw was determinedly set. Her expression spoke volumes. She'd cast her lot with Brett Welk, no matter the outcome. Chelsea felt sick as she imagined the effect of a guilty verdict on her relationship with her niece.Would Kerra ever forgive her?

Lord, what are you going to do about that? Idon't want to lose my niece!

“I'm asking each of you,” Stan concluded,“to heed the desperate pleas of Shawna Welk. And to find the man who hit her, killed her, and threw her body upon the wild waters of Breaker Beach in the middle of the night
guilty
of murder in the second degree.No other verdict would serve justice in this case.”He ducked his head in a curt nod. “Thank you.”

A collective breath sighed through the courtroom. Chelsea lay down her pen and flexed her fingers. She glanced about the room, noting reactions. Judge Chanson shifted in her chair. Reporters scribbled final notes. Hesta Naples coughed delicately, a fist to her mouth. One of the three gray-haired women who always sat in the second row whispered in her friend's ear. The other woman whispered back.

“All right.” The judge fiddled with the chain of her glasses as she checked the clock.“We've gone a little overtime, so let's cut our lunch break short and be back here in forty-five minutes. Mr. Clyde, I assume you will be ready to begin at one o'clock?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Court dismissed.”

R
OGELIO DROVE TOWARD
his house during lunch break, smelling his own sweat in the hot breeze through his car's open windows.He'd
had
it, his anger having built with every minute that morning. This waiting was about to drive him crazy! He parked quickly, got out and slammed the door. Inside the house he marched straight for the kitchen.

“Mijo,
why are you home?” Mama Yolanda pushed herself up from the couch and turned off the TV. “I'll make you some lunch.”

He picked up the phone, punching in the memorized numbers.

“Milt Waking.”

Finally! “This is Rogelio,” he spat. “What are you doin', man?”

A pause. For a second Rogelio wondered if the guy had forgotten who he was. “Oh. I've been meaning to call you.”

“Yeah, right. Is the story going to be on the news tonight, yes or no? And don't lie to me, because I've had enough of it!”

“No, Rogelio. The answer is no.”

He punched the air.
“Why?”

“I told you before. I've found much more. Give me two days; that's all I ask.”

“I don't have two days!”

“Yes, you do!”Milt sounded desperate. “Do you want your baby or not? If you do, you'd better just sit tight. Because if you do anything stupid, we could both lose everything.”

“What've you got to lose? I'm the only loser here.”

“Rogelio.”Milt breathed into the phone. “Please. Do what I ask. Two days.”

“Two days is
Saturday.

“I know. Two days.”

Rogelio slammed his fist against a cabinet. He didn't trust Milt, but what choice did he have? Who else
could
he trust anyway? He had no clue what to do.

Forgetting Mama Yolanda's presence, he cursed aloud and banged down the phone.

FORTY-SEVEN

Chelsea could see Stan Breckshire's nervousness in his silently drumming fingers. Terrance Clyde rose from the defense table with confidence and strode to the podium. He took his time there, positioning his notes before him just so.He rubbed his temple thoughtfully, eyes squinting above the jurors' heads, as if he were reading something on the back wall. Chelsea could feel the anticipation as all waited for him to begin.

She headed a new piece of paper.
Facts to Support Innocence.

“This is a tragic case of a marriage,” the attorney declared in a quiet tone. “A marriage based on lies and deceit. The husband running around with other women, the wife having affairs with other men. A marriage of volatility, jealousy, upheaval, and unhappiness, full of argument, strife, and distrust.

“This is
not
a case of murder.”

Terrance Clyde looked to Gloria, Tak, then B. B.

“The prosecution would have you believe that the absence of any real proof that Shawna Welk is dead is of no consequence. That is absurd. The
very first
requirement in proving murder, as you will hear the judge tell you in her instructions, is to prove that, quote, ‘a human being was killed.'”

Proof of murder?
Chelsea wrote.

The defense attorney's voice boomed through the courtroom as for the next hour he tore down point after point made by the prosecution. Shawna Welk's constant stream of boyfriends proved she was unhappy in her marriage. Who could be absolutely sure that she hadn't linked up with yet another man and made her escape? There were no witnesses to this alleged murder. Terrance threw out one scenario after another. Darren Welk had admitted that he'd hit Shawna in the heat of an argument. Perhaps her tooth had been knocked out at that time as well.What if Shawna staged the footprint, wading into the water and coming back out somewhere along the edge of the beach in a place that Tracey could not easily see on a night with little moon? She could have torn her pants and thrown the piece of fabric plus her knocked-out tooth into the receding tide in hopes that they would later wash up onshore.

As for the question of whether Shawna would leave Tracey, apparently the mother-daughter relationship wasn't everything Tracey Wilagher had made it out to be. The two had been seen fighting. Shawna had screamed at her daughter, slapped her. Tracey was now an adult and didn't need the constant care of a mother. And Shawna was known to be manipulative, demanding. “Angry as she was at her husband,”Terrance declared, “bleeding from a wound he had caused, she may well have thought,
This is my chance and I'm taking it; I'm out of here.”