Dread Champion (47 page)

Air snagged in Milt's throat. His entire body shook. He forced himself to look off into the distance as if deep in thought. In his peripheral vision he saw the woman ask the deputy sheriff a question. He pointed to the second floor.

She stepped onto the escalator and began gliding up. Milt glanced toward Tracey. She was rising from the bench.

No!

Tracey stretched, shooting him an impatient look. Then began pacing aimlessly.

The woman hit the top of the escalator. Her eyes locked on to Tracey like a laser beam.

Come on, come on,
Milt begged silently.

Features hardening, she propelled herself into stealthy motion, a lioness stalking her prey.Milt's mouth dried out. Quietly he followed far behind her.He saw Rogelio pull to his feet and aim for the top of the escalator.When the woman was fifteen feet away from Tracey, Milt flicked his thumb upward at Bill. Immediately Bill raised his camera and began filming her back. Tracey glanced up, saw the woman, the camera. Her face creased with surprise, then blanched. She froze, her bottom lip sagging open.

The woman pulled up, shoulders tensing. She stared at Tracey's ghosted cheeks, then swung a startled look over her shoulder. Milt sped up, closing the distance. She reacted, then cringed like a cornered animal.He slid to a halt beside her, turning so Bill could film his profile. He'd rehearsed his line for the last two days.

“Right on time,” he sneered. “Just as I planned.”

For an instant nobody moved. The camera whirred.

The woman launched into a run toward the escalator, flat heels clacking like an accelerating freight train. Bill jumped out of her way, still filming. “Brett!”Milt cried as Tracey swept after her.Milt caught Tracey's arm and yanked, jerking her off her feet. She went down with a thud. Brett catapulted out of the conference room, saw Tracey scrambling up, and grabbed her shoulders. She kicked and fought like a banshee. Brett locked both arms around her waist, teeth gritted.

Rogelio blocked the escalator. The woman rammed into him as if her life depended on it, nearly knocking him down the stairs.Milt lurched behind her, threw his arms around her waist and pulled. She jabbed both elbows into his stomach. “Oof!” His grip loosened. Rogelio leaped for her and they tumbled to the floor. She shot a knee into his groin. He yelled in pain and rolled off. Milt caught one of her flailing legs, then fell on top of her. She squirmed violently beneath him. Teeth sank through his jacket into his wrist. Rogelio scrabbled toward them like a crab. Purple-faced, he lifted his victim off the floor, yanked her arms behind her back, and held on.

Milt swayed to his feet, holding his wrist. Off to the side he could see Bill filming. Somebody was yelling inanely—“I got you, I
got
you!”Milt realized the voice was his own.

On the first floor the deputy sheriff and security guard leaped toward the escalator. “No, no!”Milt called down. “She's mine!” The woman struggled against Rogelio, kicking wildly.Milt jumped out of her way and grabbed her shoulder, all reason falling from his head. “Into the courtroom, into the courtroom!” he screeched.He dragged her across the floor with Rogelio's help. They reached the courtroom door.

The deputy sheriff and security guard hit the top of the escalator.

Milt let go of her with one hand and yanked open the door. “Stop!” the deputy cried. The three of them fell into the courtroom like a bundle of feuding cats. Every head in the room snapped in their direction. The Three Fates gasped as one. Stan Breckshire shoved to his feet. The heavyset bailiff sprang forward.

The deputy burst through the door, Bill filming at his heels.

“Your Honor!” Milt yelled, lungs puffing like billows. “I bring you Shawna Welk, risen from the dead!”

SIXTY TWO

Jed Trutenning sauntered into the small interrogation room with the swagger of a gunman in a saloon. His partner, Gary Welch, followed close behind. Lynn Trudy slouched in her seat, surveying them with narrowed eyes. Her hair spikes were askew, her lips pale, and the remnants of her makeup smeared. Apparently, jail didn't agree with her. The thought almost made Jed smile.

Gary chugged out a seat and sat down. Jed opened the manila folder in his hand and extracted a stack of papers. He placed them on the table, then smacked them with his palm. He pulled out his chair and sighed into it. Sniffed. Regarded Lynn Trudy almost with indifference.

“Congratulations.Nothing quite like a resurrection in the family.”

Lynn's mouth slacked. She held herself very still.

“You remember Shawna. Your dead sister.”

She swallowed.

Jed had to admit she was good. He cleared his throat with a rata-tat. “She was booked right here in our fine county jail this after-sixty- noon, along with your niece.We've made sure to keep you all apart. Wouldn't want the party to get too loud.”

Lynn's resolve melted like wax in flame. She dropped her chin to her chest. Jed let her sit a minute.

“You're looking at all kinds of new charges, this time from Monterey County. Insurance fraud, false—”

“I didn't know anything about it!” She yanked her head up.“Not one thing!”

Jed exchanged a glance with Gary, then picked up the top piece of paper in the stack, held it out far enough to read it. “Email,” he informed Lynn. “From Shawna Welk, a.k.a.Maria, to Milt Waking, a.k.a. Tracey Wilagher.” Lynn's eyes bugged. “Wednesday, August fourteenth. ‘For the last time,
think what you're doing!
Lynn says she tried to set you straight, and you threw her out of your apartment like some maniac.And don't be mad at me for telling her. I did it so she'd keep an eye on you. But
never
did I expect this! You
cannot
be with that reporter! Do I have to come back from the grave myself and knock you straight?'”

Jed flicked the paper across the table. “You can keep this copy; we've got plenty. In fact,we've got all the other emails from Shawna, courtesy of Milt Waking.We've looked at his email account. All the electronic originals are still there.We'll be looking at ‘Maria's' too. In short, we've got all we need to prove you were a part of your sister's little scheme.”

Lynn jerked her head to stare sightlessly at the floor, lips pressed. Jed waited her out. Gary tapped a forefinger on the table.

“I didn't do any of it,” she said tonelessly. “I only knew a month before the trial. Shawna called me.”

As the hidden camera recorded, Lynn eventually told what she knew.Cornered as she was, she didn't bother asking for her attorney. A mistake for their side, Jed thought.

Shawna had called Lynn only once, Lynn said. From then on, she and Lynn had corresponded by email, Shawna using the name Rachel. Tracey's emails were beginning to worry Shawna. Only a month to go before the trial, and Tracey seemed about to break under the strain. Shawna wanted Lynn to come to the trial. Keep an eye on Tracey
and
on the case.

“What was in it for you?” Gary asked.

For a moment Lynn balked. “A hundred thousand dollars,” she said quietly.
“If
we got a guilty verdict.”

The money would come out of Tracey's two million dollars. Tracey meanwhile had no clue that Shawna had contacted her aunt.

Lynn kept her gaze on the table. “When Shawna told me Tracey had taken up with Milt Waking, I had to try to stop her. That's when Tracey found out that I knew.”

“Her insurance money,” Jed pressed. “Going to you and her mother.”

Lynn shrugged. “Shawna had Tracey under her thumb. Tracey never could think much for herself.”

As for the details of staging the crime, Lynn claimed she knew nothing. Shawna had never wanted to write details in an email. As with Shawna's emails to Tracey, until things started to fall apart, the posts between her and Lynn had been carefully worded. “Shawna was always worried about them falling into the wrong hands,” Lynn explained, “even though we deleted them immediately.”

Jed shot a disgusted glance at Gary.Weren't these women some trio? All the lies and deceit, each one looking out for herself.

He switched subjects with a detective's ploy—assuming facts not yet admitted. “How did you get the two jury members' names and numbers?”

A smug expression flicked across Lynn's face.
Idiot,
thought Jed.
She's half proud of herself.

“Stan Breckshire and I talked about the jurors.Who we liked, who might be a problem. I don't even think he realized he used their names. But there were too many Lowes and Brackens in the phone book to find the right numbers. I followed Candy home one night and Irene the next to get their addresses.”

“Why'd you do it?”

Lynn shook her head.“Those women looked too soft.” She glared at him as if he were to blame. “Obvious defense jurors. I had to get them out of there.”

Jed ogled her. “Out of there? You told them to vote not guilty.”

Her eyes rose toward the ceiling. “How stupid do I look? I knew they'd go running to the judge, and all she could do was kick 'em off.”

“So … you were just trying to cover your tracks. Thought you were smarter than the system.” Jed couldn't resist the sarcasm. “Smarter than the D.A.”

She lifted her chin, eyes ablaze.“Had you fooled for quite a while, didn't I.”

Jed stroked his jaw.He hoped the two detectives who'd come up from Monterey were having as much luck with Tracey. She'd probably bleed confessions about Shawna like a stuck pig if they offered to drop some of her charges. “The only fool in this room,” he declared to Lynn Trudy, “is sitting in your chair.”

“I
COULDN'T
HELP
IT
!” Tracey screamed as tears tracked down her flushed cheeks. She jumped out of her seat, paced to the wall, and pounded it. “It was all my
mother's
fault. She told me what to do every second!” She leaned her forehead against the wall and broke into fresh sobs of fury. “I hate Milt Waking. I
hate
him!”

Stan Breckshire was about to come unglued. He tapped his pen against the table, exchanging glances with the two Monterey County detectives. Douglas Draker's muscular arms were folded, his face grim, as he watched Tracey's tirade. Les Kelly's expression exuded impatience. Bad enough, Stan ragged to himself, that his case had just exploded like a heap of dynamite. Bad enough that the detectives had been yanked from their days off to tear up here from Salinas. That, and the ruin of their murder investigation, hadn't exactly made them pleasurable company.
Now
this loony bin girl—who'd once been his own witness—was wearing Stan's nerves to a complete frazzle. She'd already signed the deal he offered her. Given the circumstances, what choice did she have? Stan couldn't let her sashay out a free woman, but he had lessened numerous charges, even though he'd just as soon lock her up and throw away the key.

Now all she had to do was
talk.
And all she was managing to do was convulse.

He raised his eyebrows at Draker with the silent message, “You going to do something about this or not?”He knew Draker's M.O.: wait 'em out.Well, Stan had endured all the waiting he could handle.

He shoved back his chair. “Tracey!” He stalked to her side and poked her hard in the shoulder. “I'm leaving and I'm taking my deal with me.What do I care about details? I've got living proof in a jail cell!”

He swiveled back to the table and snatched up the papers. Tracey's cries died like a wounded animal's.He scowled at her.“My, aren't we quiet all of a sudden. You going to talk to me?”

“Yes,” she said in a pitiable voice, sniffing. Stan detested her.

“Then sit down.” He pointed to her chair. “I want it from start to finish.”

Tracey huffed into her seat. Stan started to pace out of sheer habit. Draker gave him a look and he sat down.

For the next half hour they listened to Tracey's halting story.

Her mother, she told them, was already looking for a way to disappear. Mom knew she'd botched the papers for Delgadia's adoption, and feared for her safety should he ever find out. Plus she was miserably unhappy in the marriage.Who wouldn't be, married to Darren Welk? Then there was the two-million-dollar life insurance policy. She wanted desperately to fake her own death but didn't know how.

Then came the night at the beach.When Darren hit her mom in the jaw, she fell and cut her forehead on a piece of metal in the sand. In fury she flung the metal into the ocean. The wound bled a lot, dripping onto her blouse. She took off the blouse to wash the blood away in the water. Darren followed her and they kept arguing. He hit her again in the jaw, almost knocking a tooth out. The blouse fell from her hand. Then, drunk as a skunk, he veered away toward the fire and passed out on the sand. Mom was livid. And scared. His drinking problem was leading to worse and worse problems.

That's when the idea struck her.

She stood in the water, thinking everything through. She studied the tracks she and Darren had made through the sand, and their wet footprints. Couldn't spoil that. She splashed through the shallow water to the far end of the bay before heading back up the beach. Then she called Tracey on her cell phone and told her to bring the money Delgadia had paid for the baby—four hundred thousand dollars sitting in a locked box in her office.

“All
of it,” Tracey spat. “I had to beg her to leave me a couple thousand just to live. And besides that, I was sick that night.”

Her mom also told Tracey to bring a change of clothes, a baseball cap, and a pair of scissors. While Tracey was driving to the beach, her mom stuffed the blouse under the seat in Darren's car, tore her pants, and worked her loose tooth until she could pull it.

She went back into the water at the end of the bay and waded to the area near her footprint. She threw the piece of fabric, her underwear, and the tooth into the quiet inlet protected by the rocks, hoping they would wash up on the beach in a day or two. The underwear must have gotten pulled out to sea.