Dread Champion (42 page)

She washed and dried her small plate at the kitchen sink, then returned it to the cabinet. As she hurried toward the bathroom to brush her teeth, the phone rang.

“Oh, forget you.” She kept moving, then slid to a halt.Maybe it was her daughter, Caroline, who often called on the weekend. Pivoting toward the counter, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello.”

A male voice grated in her ears. “Ms. Cline.”

“Yes?”

“Enrico Delgadia.”

Janet's heart froze. For a moment she couldn't move. Then slowly she reached for the counter and steadied herself.

“I have a little problem I thought you might help me with.”Del-gadia spoke quietly, as if he expected her cooperation at the mere raising of his little finger. “It has come to my attention that a number of days ago you requested some paperwork about the adoption of my daughter, from social services in Sacramento.”

“Who told you that?” Janet blurted. Surely not Pat, her friend and colleague who'd sent the paper.

“I have friends in many places,” he replied, oiling the words with meaning.“My friend has been unable to discover the reason for your curiosity about these papers, however. And it does seem odd to me, after so much time has gone by. I would be most grateful if you would tell me the reason for your inquiry.”

She gripped the phone, searching for an answer.

“Ms. Cline?”

“I just wanted to follow up on a few things, that's all.”

“I see. And you found nothing amiss, I hope.”

“Of course not. Nothing at all.”

He made a sound in his throat.“Why is it that you first requested only certain papers of the file? Namely the father's relinquishment form.”

“Really, I—”

“Surely you understand my concern.We have had the child for seven months.My wife adores her. Shawna Welk insisted everything was in order. I would be most upset to hear that there is a problem.”

Janet's heart pounded. She opened her mouth but no sound would come.

“Are you there, Ms. Cline?”

“Yes,” she croaked.

“Good. I have no doubt,” he continued in a mild tone that would cut steel,“that you will tell me the truth. So I can let you get to work. Such an attractive building your office is in, by the way. Your home is attractive also. Lovely flowers out front. You obviously take great pride in your house.” He exhaled slowly. “But surely not as much pride as you take in your daughter, Caroline.Moved to Fresno with her new husband, hasn't she? Lives on Baker Street?”

Janet's veins turned to ice.Her head seemed to detach itself from the rest of her body. This could not be happening. She swallowed, snatched a breath. “What do you
want?”

“Information, nothing more,” he replied.“Now, please.
Why
did you want to see the relinquishment?”

Janet's mind whirled with a dozen lies, but none that could assure the safety of her only child.
Oh, Rogelio
, she thought.
What am Iabout to do to you?

“The birth father came to see me with his copy. There were … some issues.”

“Oh? First you say no problems; now you tell me there are issues.”His voice turned to flint. “I do not care for people who play games with me, Ms. Cline. I suggest for your sake that you tell me all you know.”

Any resolve she had left drained out her feet. In a trembling voice Janet told him, without giving him Rogelio's name.When she finished, the line was deadly quiet.

“You are quite sure the father has told no one else?”

“I'm sure. As I said, I convinced him to wait.”

He gave a low laugh that chilled her to the bone. “That was wise of you, Ms. Cline. But hear me. My wife is fragile. I will not allow her to be upset by this unfortunate misunderstanding. I will do anything to protect my family, do you understand?
Anything.
Now. I have a copy of the father's relinquishment right here.Your signature is on it.”He paused. “Of course, you
do
remember signing it.”

It was not a question. Janet closed her eyes. How had he gotten a copy of that paper in a closed adoption? Images of Rogelio's determined face flickered through her mind, followed by the realization of all she had to lose. Her fingernails dug into her palm.

“Ms. Cline? I really must insist that you respond.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “I signed it.”

“Ah. I knew it. You'll not hear from the father on this matter again, by the way. He has realized how complicated a baby would make his life.”

Janet closed her eyes, sickness for Rogelio mixing with relief.No doubt he'd been threatened, too. Still, she rationalized, he had his whole life ahead of him. How much easier to just let this be.

“However,” Delgadia continued smoothly,“on the off chance that this question should arise again, I stand assured that you will remember your signature?”

She thought of Rogelio's little girl, being raised by this despicable man. For a moment she wanted to stand up to him, make him pay for what he'd done. Then she thought of her own daughter.

“Yes. I'll remember.”

“Very good,” he said oh-so-pleasantly. “I will not forget your kindness.”

Nausea rolled through her stomach.

“You have a nice day, Ms. Cline.” The dial tone sounded in her ear.

Janet dropped the phone like a firebrand, stumbled to the sink, and threw up.

FIFTY-FIVE

“All right.” Clay thumped his hand on his notes. The sound seemed to shoot right through Chelsea.“I wanted to start off easy this morning, go over some of the basic facts just to get today's discussion going on better terms than we did yesterday. Everybody seems a little calmer after a good night's sleep, and I hope it stays that way. Before we move on, anybody have anything to add at this point?”

Silence. Eleven pairs of eyes glanced at Chelsea. They all knew what was coming next.

Why, Lord? Why can't I change my vote?
As soon as she sat in her chair an hour ago, she'd sensed God's strong leading to stand firm. She could not understand it. Surely she wasn't hearing God right. Why would he send her a vision about Kerra in danger, only to leave her stuck in here?

To guide you to pray,
came the answer.

No. Chelsea didn't want to pray. She was sick to death of praying day after day while she was stuck and unable to
do
anything. And while she was at it, she was sick to death of visions and being used by God and … everything.

“Well then.”Clay turned his full attention upon her.“Ms.Adams, we now come back to you. You are still the only holdout.”

Fear and weakness frothed hotly through Chelsea's veins. She could not do this. “Could I just have a quick break first?” she asked. When the reluctant nod came, she aimed a smile around the table, then headed for the bathroom.

She locked the door and sagged against it.
Please, God, just let me go home. Ineed to help Kerra! Please talk to me.

She pressed her palms together and brought them to her lips. She waited for a different answer than she'd heard before, but none came. Truth was, she
did
still have doubts about exactly how the murder happened. If she changed her vote, she would not be following her conscience, only her fears.

So what? she cried silently.Who cared about Darren Welk and this trial?
Her
first concerns were for Kerra.

That wasn't true. Her first concern was doing what God asked her to do.

“No, it isn't!” she whispered aloud. “Or yes, it is, but I'm just hearing him wrong!”

She leaned her head back against the door, fighting with herself and fighting with God. For the life of her she could not understand why God would place her in this position.

Help me, Lord! I've had all I can take.

In the next moment a calm began to settle over her. Chelsea stood warily, still pressed against the door, afraid to believe too soon that God was covering her with peace. But as her breathing steadied, she sensed also a strength and focus of will. She gave herself over to it, letting it carry her along like a warm river current.

Thank you, Lord, thank you! Give me more!

The strength continued to flow through her. Chelsea reveled in it, filled with thankfulness. Then she began to pray. For Kerra, for herself, for Brett and Milt. For the deliberations she now needed to continue.

When she resumed her seat at the jury table two minutes later, she rested placid eyes momentarily upon the hard gaze of Tak. “Thanks for that time,” she said. “Okay. I'm hoping we can resolve this, as I know you all are, too.”

M
ILT LEANED AGAINST A PILLAR
in the quiet courthouse hallway, trying in vain to appear his normal, collected self. He'd have liked to MILT have enjoyed a better night's sleep, but keeping Tracey calm had nearly worn him to a frazzle. She'd met him at the doorway the minute he got home last night, fuming and stomping about his report on Lynn Trudy.When had he found out? Why hadn't he told her right away? Had Lynn really called those jurors? Why would she? Tracey stormed around his town house until he was sure she was about to break something. Took him a while to figure out she wasn't mad at
him.
She was furious to think what Lynn might have done. “It doesn't make any sense!” she kept yelling, which matched Milt's sentiments exactly.

One thing seemed sure. Tracey had known nothing about those calls.Which seemed logical, the more he thought about it.Milt had lain awake in the night trying to run down possible scenarios of Lynn's involvement. The only thing he'd come up with is that the detectives must be chasing a red herring.

Milt shifted his position against the pillar. Vaguely his eyes cruised over the scattered groups that waited. The Three Fates perched on the nearest bench like a trio of vultures, greedily eyeing every bit of motion. “We'll sit here all week if we have to,” one of them had told him. “Never missed a day yet. Not about to miss the ending.” Brett and Kerra waited fitfully like a pair of chugging engines at the end of the farthest bench, away from everyone. Now and then a reporter sauntered in their direction, only to be turned away with an apparent “No comment.” Numerous television reporters loitered impatiently, but Bill was the only cameraman present. The other teams were no doubt hanging around the news vans lining the curb outside the courthouse. Stan Breckshire paced the other side of the hall like a caged tiger. Erica's high heels clicked in her own pacing, although she tried to be more suave about the whole thing.At the moment Terrance Clyde was nowhere to be seen.

Milt's cell phone rang. Ron was on the line.

“I just called to check,” his news director said. “It's on time.”

Milt exhaled in relief.

“I'm sending Gary to keep an eye out. I've made sure he'll be able to get through security.He doesn't know what's up. But I've told him what to look for. And that his job depends on doing this right.”

Gary was the station's newest eager reporter. “Okay. I'll be waiting.”

Milt disconnected and checked his watch. Ten thirty. In a little over two hours, if things went according to plan, he'd call Tracey to the courthouse. How serendipitous that Lynn Trudy was presently indisposed, he thought. He wouldn't have to worry about keeping her away from Tracey in that short time span. On the other hand, it was a shame Lynn couldn't be around to see the show. Milt would have loved to see her face.

In sheer nervous energy he checked his watch again. He was almost home free.
Come on, jurors, just keep at it for two more hours… .

FIFTY-SIX

Salad King Trial Goes to Jury

Rogelio read the story, then thwacked the paper angrily on the table. The article said the jury might decide a verdict as soon as today, and still Milt was doing nothing. Rogelio paced about the kitchen, muttering under his breath.Milt was not going to come through for him; he might as well face it. He was going to have to do something on his own. Brett Welk's words flitted through his mind:
“Don't trust that guy.”
He should have listened.

The phone rang. Rogelio jumped for it, hoping it was Milt.

“Rogelio Sanchez?”

“Yeah.”

“This is Enrico Delgadia. You and I have a little matter to settle.” Rogelio's knees nearly buckled.

Delgadia got right to the point. Janet Cline had “graciously” told him everything. She had assured him that Rogelio was wrong about the witness signatures. In light of her story, Rogelio had no recourse but to drop the whole foolish notion of trying to undo a seven-month-long adoption.And by the way, Delgadia was certain that his grandmother, Yolanda, and Kristin, the baby's mother, would be most grateful for him to make this “wise decision.”

Fear rose in Rogelio with every word.What had he gotten his family into? His heart turned over, then hammered against his chest. Had Janet really turned against him?

She'd probably had no choice.

“As much as you want to protect your loved ones,”Delgadia continued in his ice-cold tone,“understand that I will protect mine. This is far from a business matter.You have crossed the line into my personal life. I intend to resolve this
today.
I want that form that you have.”

Rogelio was speechless. In desperation he slammed down the receiver.

Seconds later it rang again.

Mama Yolanda shuffled into the kitchen, her slippers making a soft
shoosh shoosh
against the tile. She took one look at his face and halted.
“Qui es, mijo?”

He stared at the phone, its shrill rings jangling every nerve.What to do, what to do? If he ignored Delgadia, what might happen to Mama Yolanda or Kristin? It rang again and again until Rogelio's ears nearly burst with the noise.He snatched it up, then put it to his ear as if it were a snake.

“I make a very bad enemy, Rogelio.” Delgadia's voice was deadly.