Dread Champion (40 page)

He watched her swallow. She was trying to keep up a brave front, but he knew she was scared spitless.

“For the hundredth time,” she said through gritted teeth,“I didn't do it.Why would I threaten two jurors to get them to vote not guilty? I want Darren Welk to
pay
for killing my sister. If I could, I'd strangle him myself!”

Trutenning tapped the paper with his finger. “We have the call records from the phone booth to both houses. At the right times. Our witness just identified you.You're dead in the water, Ms. Trudy.”

“I didn't do it.”

“Like I told you, it may go easier for you if you'd just tell us who gave you the contact information.”

“Ididn't do it.”

Welch leaned back with an exasperated sigh. “I'm getting tired of this. Put her in a cell.Maybe she'll talk tomorrow.”

“You can't keep me!” Lynn's face turned crimson.

“What planet are you on?”Welch shot back. “Because of you, a whole jury's been sequestered.You've caused a lot of people a whole lot of trouble.We didn't gather this clear evidence against you to let you hit the streets and disappear. You're not going anywhere.”

Lynn let loose a string of curses, followed by, “I want a lawyer.”

Trutenning's heart sagged. “Fine.” He pushed back his chair and stood, Welch following suit. “I've had enough of you for today. You call yourself a lawyer, Ms. Trudy.He'll tell you just how much trouble you're in.”

H
ER HEART THUMPING,
Chelsea watched Clay gather the folded pieces of paper in a small pile. All she could hope at this moment was that she wouldn't be the only one.

“All right, here goes.”He picked up the first piece and unfolded it. “Guilty.” Carefully he placed it to one side. Picked up a second. “Guilty.” Chelsea's mouth ran dry as he continued down the pile. Guilty. Guilty. Then four more in a row, all guilty.He picked up the ninth, unfolded it. Gazed at it for a second. “Not guilty.” Chelsea heard more than one disappointed sigh.Well, so what? she wanted to say aloud. How often did juries agree from the outset anyway?

The tenth vote was guilty. And the eleventh. Chelsea held her breath as Clay picked up the last one. “Guilty.”

“Hey, not bad,” B. B. commented with a nervous laugh. “Eleven to one.”

Clay leaned over the table. “Quite amazing for a first vote, I'd say.” He cast his eyes around the group. “Would the person who voted not guilty like to come forward? Maybe then we could discuss your reasons.”

Heads turned, eleven pairs of eyes searching for a move, an indication on someone's face. Chelsea took a deep breath. “It's me.”

Silence. Chelsea felt the stares, the accusations.

Sylvia waved a hand. “Oh, okay.” Did her voice carry a forced lightness? “What are you thinking, Chelsea?”

What
was
she thinking? Once again, desperately, Chelsea searched for clear logical reasoning behind her choice.
Help me know what to say, Lord!
She gripped her pen. “I think Brett Welk buried the blouse.”

B. B. gawked and Latonia pulled her chin back in surprise.Mike Bariston surveyed her with his protruding eyes. The expressions on these and other faces told Chelsea all she needed to know. They'd heard about her niece and Brett, all right. They'd probably half-expected her not-guilty vote. But now she'd thrown them a curve ball in accusing Brett himself.

Henry spread his hands.“How'd he do that?”

Chelsea put her pen down, forced her mind into clear thinking. “I think it's as Terrance Clyde suggested. Brett put his father to bed. Then he buried the blouse.”

“But where did he get it?” Sylvia asked.

“He probably found it under the seat in his father's car. Remember what Tracey said? Brett went downstairs after his father showed up, and he came back ‘visibly shaken'. The defense reminded us of that. I think for whatever reason he went to check his father's car. He saw the bloody blouse and it really shook him up. He knew it was evidence staring him in the face. After he put his father and Tracey in their beds, he buried it to protect his dad.”

“Then why wouldn't Darren Welk say so?” Tak demanded.

“Because he didn't want to get his son in trouble.”Chelsea shook her head. “The ironic thing is, Brett would have buried the blouse to protect his dad, but that very move caused his dad's arrest, because Victor Mendoza saw him.”

“Okay, wait a minute.” Clay held up a hand. “You know what, I can see the logic in that. I think it's plausible. Still, it doesn't change one fact. Darren Welk killed his wife. Brett may have tried to help cover it up, but in the end, so what? Sounds to me like your very argument supports Darren Welk's guilt.”

Chelsea searched for an answer. “Well, we don't know where Brett was at the time of Shawna's death. What if he
was
at the beach?”

“How could he have been?” Clay replied. “First of all, there was no way for him to know his dad and stepmom were going to that beach. It's clear from testimony that the trip was Darren Welk's last-minute idea. Second, I have it right here in my notes. …” He shuffled through his stack of papers until he reached some stapled sheets near the bottom. He lifted them up, flipped through them. “Here it is. Tracey said that when she was driving to the beach, she did not see any cars coming from that direction. If Brett had been at the beach, he'd have passed her coming home.”

“What if he went home a different way?”

Clay dropped his notes. “That beach is pretty remote. Doesn't sound like there are too many ways to get there.”

He's right,
Chelsea thought. So why couldn't she change her mind?

“You know, there is one thing about that blouse that bothers me.” Victor Chavarria smiled self-consciously. “You have to forgive me; I'm retired, you see. And one of the things I do in my spare time is read mystery novels. Now here I am, in a real-life mystery. Anyway, here is my question.Where was the blouse when Tracey went to the beach?”

Clay tilted his head, thinking.

Sylvia frowned. “It was in Darren Welk's car, right?” She looked around the table.

“But when did he put it there?”Victor pressed. “As you can see, I took lots of notes, too.”He riffled his pad of paper. “And I remember very clearly that Tracey said she saw a half shoe print in the wet sand coming out of the water, which led to a trail in the dry sand that went over to the campfire area, where Darren was asleep. Now, he supposedly followed Shawna down to the water when she went to wash her blouse.What I believe happened is just the scenario the prosecutor gave in his closing remarks.At that point they continued fighting. Darren hit her more. And he ended up killing her. She fell into the water, and the pull of the tide plus the rip current quickly drew her out. By the time Tracey reached the beach, Shawna probably wasn't that far adrift, but just far enough not to be seen in the dark waters with a crescent moon. Sad, thinking about that.” He rubbed a thumb against the table. “At any rate, Darren, obviously very drunk and now spent of energy, then staggered over toward the fire, fell into the sand, and passed out. So I ask you—where was the blouse?”

“I don't think it happened that way.” Henry Slatus shuffled through his notes. “I figure Darren saw what he'd done, saw the blouse left in the shallow water as evidence, and was of sound enough mind to stuff it under the seat of his car.”

“Then why would he go back to the fire after that?”

“How does one explain a drunken mind?”Henry said. “You say his energy was spent when he was in the water. I say it was finally spent after he'd hidden the blouse. He shuffled back to the place of warmth near the fire and passed out.”

“Drunks don't need warmth,” Chelsea commented. “The alcohol makes them feel hot enough.”

Hesta stared at her with pursed lips, as if wondering how Chelsea might know. Chelsea could have kicked herself. The argument had turned away from her; why hadn't she just kept quiet?

Sylvia leaned back and folded her arms. “Well. I suppose you have a point there,Victor.”

“But what difference does all this make?” Tak demanded. He looked at Victor. “Even with your questions, you still voted guilty.”

Victor nodded slowly. “That's true. Because when I weigh all the other evidence, it points to Darren Welk's guilt.We simply have no indication that anyone else was at that beach when Shawna was killed. Still”—he shrugged—“this is a point that bothers me. One of those little Agatha Christie points.”

B. B. and Gloria smiled at him. The room fell silent again, save for Henry's knocking one knuckle against the table.

“Okay.” Clay looked to Chelsea. “So you believe Brett buried the blouse, which maybe he did. And we don't know where he was at the time Shawna was killed. Can you give us some reason to believe he was at the beach? Like how he knew to be there and how he got back?”

Chelsea swallowed.“Not really.”

Clay raised a hand, palm up. “Then what's the problem?”

“Brett knows something,” she blurted. “I watched his face during the trial. He just looks guilty of something.”

“Fine,” Clay shot back. “At the most, he's guilty of burying the blouse and trying to protect his dad. Does that change Darren Welk's guilt?”

Chelsea bit the inside of her lip. “I still just don't think I can vote guilty,” she said quietly.

“Why?”

“I …” Chelsea could hear the blood whoosh through her head. “I wish I could tell you. There's … something.”

As soon as the words were out, Chelsea wished them back with all her might. She sounded so vague, so lame, even to her own ears.

“Is this about one of your visions?” Tak demanded suddenly, derision coating the last word.

The air chilled. Chelsea felt it and knew everyone else did, too.A line had been crossed, the unspoken now spoken. And it certainly hadn't taken very long. It was almost as if Tak had been waiting to accost her. In that moment understanding hit Chelsea like lightning. In that moment she realized that God had far bigger plans in this deliberation room than merely deciding the outcome of the trial. For these plans he had placed her on the jury.

The Lord is with me like aDread Champion…

“No,” she said.

“Really?” His eyes pierced hers. “Then why can't you explain yourself?”

“I just have to get my thoughts in order.Maybe I will be able to—”

“Are you telling us your vote has nothing to do with thoughts from your god?”

Chelsea's spine tingled. “I'm voting my conscience. I'm voting what I feel.”

“It has to be based on some logic.” Tak laced his long, thin fingers. “Just what would that be?”

“What about what happened after we were dismissed?” Gloria turned to Chelsea accusingly, as if she'd been waiting for the most opportune moment to mention the subject. “You almost seemed to go into some kind of trance for a couple seconds when we all stood up. You even had your eyes closed.”

“So what? She probably got up too fast,” Sylvia put in. “Can we get back to business here?”

“We
are
talking business,”Tak insisted.“We are talking about the one person who was most questioned by the judge, because of her beliefs, before this trial ever began.Now this person votes not guilty. That would be fine in itself
if
she had a reason. But she cannot seem to give us one.”He leveled a glare at Chelsea, waiting.

She couldn't respond.

“Chelsea,” Clay said, an edge in his voice, “you need to answer.”

Irritation swept over her. She did not care for the man's tone. And she wasn't going to stand silent before the accusations of some college student. “I have voted not guilty because I feel it's right, at this moment in time. If you want to change my mind, please, let's keep discussing it.”

She leaned back in her chair, hoping they wouldn't see the pulse pounding in her neck.
Lord
, she silently begged,
give me the strength to stand firm.

M
ILT LEANED AGAINST HIS
car and dialed his home number on the cell phone. All during lunch he'd thought about Lynn Trudy. He still couldn't figure out why Detective Trutenning would hone in on her. Made no sense at all.

The phone rang once in his ear.He knew Tracey would be checking the Caller ID for his cell phone number. She answered on the third ring.

“Hello.”

“Hi.” He painted softness into his tone. “Guess who I ran into this morning.”He told her about Lynn's confronting him in the hall. “It's a good thing you're hiding out,” he said. “She'd be all over you if you were here.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Tracey sighed. “I'm
sick
of her. I'm sick of everybody. Except you, I mean,” she added hastily.

“Mm.Well, just hang in there. The jury started deliberating just before lunch. I don't expect anything to happen today, but I have to hang around just in case.”

Tracey rattled off questions and he answered halfheartedly, his mind on other things.Milt did not tell her about Detective Truten-ning. If Lynn had been involved in the jury calls, he had no idea how much Tracey knew. No use getting her out of kilter just yet. She could just hear it on his newscast that evening. By then he'd be home to keep an eye on her. Heaven knew, keeping Tracey Wilagher calm for the moment was his main concern.Keeping her calm … and setting his trap.

FIFTY-TWO

As the afternoon wore on,Chelsea floundered to defend her position, back ramrod straight and head pounding. The air in the jury room hung thick and tense. All eyes were on her, all arguments thrown her way. Beside her,Antonio seeped animosity. So did Hesta and Tak and Latonia. Clay took to speaking to her as if she were a half-witted child. Henry just shook his head. She couldn't believe how impatient they were with her. From their reactions, one would have thought she'd been the only holdout for days.