by A R Kennedy
Cecilia looked away. It was painful to look at.
“Those are not a few injuries.
“That is a woman who was beaten.
“Without escape.” He paused and looked again at the close-up photo of Cecilia’s beaten face. The jurors did as well.
“In this state, one is allowed to use justifiable force. What is justifiable?” He looked at each juror, knowing they were asking themselves that question.
“Mr. Briscoe is right. She did manage to get free. By fighting for her life, using every ounce of energy she could, she got free. And she risked her life to run back out.
“But Mr. Briscoe left out one thing.
“She ran back out to save her companion.
“Her best friend.
“Her dog, Ferris.”
Sewell revealed a picture of Ferris. The golden retriever’s head was tilted to the right and his tongue was hanging out.
The crowd “ahhed.”
Briscoe rolled his eyes.
Cecilia left the courthouse with her defense team. The police had permitted the driver to park in front of the courthouse while he waited for his passengers to take them away for lunch.
The prosecutor was a few steps behind them. Wyatt held the door open for Cecilia and she was overwhelmed by the size and sound of the crowd. Their muffled chants could be heard as they approached the door. There was a roar as they exited the courthouse. It hit her as if it were a wall and she froze in the doorway. There were some boos, some hisses, and an equal number of cheers when they saw her. “Cecilia, move,” Wyatt told her for the second time today.
Looking down at her feet, clad in the cobalt blue heels Joey had fixed, she willed herself to move. She was forced to tell herself “left, right, left, right” to walk. Focused on moving her feet, getting herself to the car, she was no longer aware of anything, or anyone, else.
Cecilia felt pressure on her back. She silently cursed, figuring it was Wyatt trying to get her to move faster. The pressure increased to a push. She heard someone yell, “Gun!” The push increased to a shove. She hit the ground hard. The pressure of someone’s weight on her back pinned her to the ground. He kept her down, protecting her from the bullets, as the gunman emptied his clip.
When the gunfire ended, she opened her eyes to find Holden an inch from her face. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Unable to speak, she nodded yes.
Keeping his hand on her back to keep her safely on the ground, Owens looked around the scene. Pugliese had a gun trained on the gunman. Officer Margaret Monty was putting handcuffs on him. “Under control?” he asked Vinnie.
“Yes, Chief,” he answered, his eyes never leaving the gunman.
Not knowing if this was a lone gunman, Owens instructed everyone to get up, but stay low, and get back into the courthouse.
Owens helped Cecilia up. He held most of her weight as they ran back into the courthouse, following Briscoe, Marcy, Abigail, Michael, and Wyatt.
He helped her to a bench. Owens appraised everyone. They all answered they were physically fine. The two teams retreated to separate corners.
Owens knelt in front of Cecilia. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, still unable to speak.
She looked down at her shoes. The pretty cobalt heels she bought that Ferris had broken and Joey had fixed. The heel was broken again. This time the left one. But Joey wasn’t here to fix it.
“My heel…My heel broke,” she mumbled, pointing to the broken shoe. She felt her body starting to shake.
He took off his jacket and wrapped it firmly around her, rubbing her arms and trying to warm her up. “It’ll be okay. You’re just in shock. I don’t think anyone was hurt.”
“Owens!” someone shouted from deeper in the courthouse.
He made to get up but stopped when she spoke and looked him in the eye. “Thank you.”
He smiled, glad she was able to speak again. He stood and straightened his uniform. “Just doing my job, ma’am.” He motioned for someone in the defense team to sit with her but they were too engrossed in their conversation to see.
Cecilia reached for his hand, lightly touching his fingers. Her fingers were soft against his calloused hand. He returned to her eye level. “I miss you,” she whispered.
“I miss you, too,” he whispered back.
Holden got up when they called his name again. He tapped Wyatt on his shoulder as he passed. “Can you go sit with her? I think she’s in shock.”
“I think we all are,” Wyatt answered. He went toward her, noting her new police jacket.
“Nice job. I was almost killed out there,” Briscoe snapped as Owens walked by.
“We were all almost killed out there,” Owens reminded him.
“You are supposed to be protecting me,” he yelled, pointing to himself.
“I’m supposed to be protecting the public. I am not your personal bodyguard.”
“Judge’s chambers now,” the bailiff instructed them. “You too, Sewell.”
Owens made sure to keep several feet ahead, avoiding further conversation with the prosecutor.
“Heard we had some lunchtime excitement,” Judge Lowe said between bites of his tuna fish sandwich.
“It’s under control, Your Honor,” Owens said. “The suspect is being taken to the station. I’m headed over to question him soon.”
“Under control?” Lowe asked. “My courthouse has been shot up. Do you know how expensive it will be to repair the marble?”
Surprised by the question, Owens looked at each attorney before answering. “No, sir.”
“A lot. So, Chief Owens, this is not under control.” He pushed the remaining portion of his sandwich away. “How did a gunman get in the courthouse?”
“He was outside, Your Honor. He didn’t get in the courthouse.”
“He fired at people exiting. Close enough,” he retorted.
“We can’t inspect everyone outside. Only the people entering the courthouse.”
“Well, that needs to change,” Judge Lowe ordered.
“They’re on public ground, Your Honor. We can’t stop and frisk everyone in the area.”
“Why not?” he yelled.
Owens looked to the two lawyers for help. They remained silent. “Because it’s illegal, sir.”
Owens saw Briscoe smirk and knew he’d enjoy the backlash Owens was about to get from the judge.
The smirk quickly faded when Wyatt intervened. “But you could cordon off an area in front of the courthouse. Keep all the protestors in that area and anyone who wants in must be checked. Like Times Square on New Year’s Eve.”
“This is not a party, Mr. Sewell,” Judge Lowe snapped.
“No, but it needs to contained,” Owens interjected. “I’ll call Sheriff Winkins at the State Police. See if he can help, send me some officers.”
CHAPTER 45
“What do we know?” Owens asked upon arriving at the station. Pugliese was waiting outside the interview room.
“We pretty much caught him red-handed,” Pugliese answered.
“True. Why does he want to talk to me?” While on the phone to the sheriff, he’d received word over the radio that the suspect wanted to talk to him.
“Oh…he likes talking. Since he’s arrived, he’s been talking and crying and screaming and—”
“I get it,” Owens interrupted. He held his hand out for the file Vinnie was holding. It contained everything they had on the gunman.
“It’s Gabbert’s older brother,” Pugliese told him.
Owens looked up. He had gotten a look at the shooter, not a great look, but a look. He hadn’t recognized him. “That wasn’t Ray.”
“Oh not Ray Ray of Ray’s Motors.” Vinnie started singing the dealership’s jingle. Once you started singing it, you couldn’t stop. So Owens gave him the thirty seconds to complete it. “It’s his older half brother. He doesn’t live here in Folley.”
“You read him his rights?” Owens asked.
“Of course.�
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File in hand, Owens entered the interrogation room. He found the suspect, leaning on the table, his head in his hands. He looked up when he heard the chief enter. “Can we move this along?” he asked. “I need to be with my mother.”
Owens sat across from him and glanced at the file. “You won’t be going anywhere anytime soon, Nicholas Anhel.”
“Really?” he asked. “They said I didn’t hit anyone.”
Owens looked at him. He couldn’t be serious. “You can’t go around shooting at people.”
“I wasn’t shooting at people,” he tried to explain. “Just her.”
Once Holden knew the shooter was a relation to Bobby, he knew Cecilia was the target. But he didn’t like hearing it. Holden got up to leave. Nothing else could be garnered from the interview and he wasn’t sure how long he could hold his temper across from a man who tried to kill Cecilia.
“I need to get back to my mother. She’s distraught. She can’t eat, she can’t sleep. All she does is cry. I don’t know what to do,” Nicholas told him.
“And you think shooting at the courthouse is a good idea?”
“She wants the trial over. Put that woman away. Why isn’t it first-degree murder anyway? She killed him in cold blood. He was only running through her yard. A shortcut.”
Cecilia’s home was not a shortcut to anywhere.
Owens returned to the chair and sat. “Where have you been getting your news on the incident?”
“Just what my mom tells me.”
Owens sighed. He could only imagine the biased story she had told him. “Sir, when was the last time you saw your brother?”
“Last Christmas.” Or, as Holden calculated it, six arrests ago.
“And what has your mother told you about Robert’s run-ins with the law?”
“Youthful indiscretions. Boys being boys.”
Holden shook his head at Nicholas’s ignorance.
“Come on,” Nicholas said. “Bobby was just being a teenage boy.”
“I’m sorry, Nicholas, but you’ve been misinformed. I think you should have had an honest conversation with your uncle, the mayor.” Owens got back up and walked to the door.
“Fine. Call him. He’ll get me out of here and back to my mother.”
“He can’t help you now.” Owens reached for the doorknob. “Did you honestly think you’d be leaving here tonight? Every media outlet has you on video shooting at police officers, the prosecutor, and a celebrity attorney.”
“Well, I was aiming for the murderer,” he explained.
“You’re lucky you’re not a murderer.”
Owens left the interview room and thought, If only Cecilia had been as good a shot as Nicholas, none of us would be here.
Holden made a few laps around the neighborhood before turning down the small roadway to the reservoir. He parked his truck and got out, wearing his typical rendezvous attire.
Dressed head to toe in black, headlamp on, he hopped over the wire fence, marking the perimeter of the Chandler land, and jogged toward Cecilia’s home. He deftly maneuvered around the fallen trees and mounting fallen leaves in the area. He checked over his shoulder to ensure he left no tracks.
As he got to the Chandler fence, he flipped the headlamp off and headed to the sliding glass door. The headlamp was no longer necessary. The home was well lit. Holden had found that when people were afraid, they put lights on. By the looks of it, Cecilia must be terrified. Every light in the house was on. He shouldn’t be surprised. Being shot at was terrifying. Holden knew from personal experience.
Dodging the perimeter of the motion sensor light, he jogged toward the back door. Ferris made a short bark, which was out of character. Ferris was not a watchdog.
Holden typically found Ferris sitting, or standing, at the back door, waiting for him during his visits to see Cecilia. Tonight, he heard a large smack against the glass and Cecilia scream, “Ferris!” Holden quickened his pace to the door but stopped when he heard a man’s voice.
“Geez, is he okay?” the man asked.
Standing next to the glass door, pinned against the house and out of sight, Holden saw Ferris looking for him. Cecilia rubbed his head. “Yeah, I think he’s fine.”
Michael, dressed in a robe and flannel bottoms, came into view and also checked the dog.
“What the,” Holden whispered.
Michael looked out the glass door. “You think someone is out there?”
Holden didn’t move.
“No, the light would go on if there was,” Cecilia told him.
“Maybe he has to go the bathroom.” Michael went to open the door but Cecilia put her hand on his. Holden tensed.
“No, let’s wait,” she told him. “You want that cup of coffee?” She prayed she could get Michael away from the door. Cecilia knew the only reason Ferris would run to the door like that, and knew Holden wouldn’t want to be caught in her backyard.
Michael made a final look out the glass door and answered, “Yes, please.”
Holden counted to five and ran back the way he came. He ripped off his black T-shirt and put his flannel long-sleeved shirt back on. He slammed the car into gear and headed to the hotel. Sewell needed to know that his assistant was acting inappropriately with a client.
He made a left onto the Chandler street. Getting to the main road, he stopped. He couldn’t go to the hotel. He couldn’t tell Sewell about Michael. He shouldn’t know himself. He’d never be able to explain the inappropriate behavior without divulging his own inappropriate behavior.
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. What would Sewell do with the knowledge? Remove Michael from the case? How would he explain it? The media was all over this case. It was a scandal Holden doubted Sewell could keep private.
Holden turned right, toward the station and away from the hotel.
Sewell, and his team, was Cecilia’s best chance for freedom.
Michael and Cecilia were sitting at the kitchen island, drinking their beverages. Abigail was upstairs talking on her phone. Cecilia thought it was her girlfriend but Abigail was thin on details. Wyatt was also upstairs, taking a shower. She’d never met a man who took longer in the bathroom.
Ferris sat at her feet, looking out the sliding door onto the backyard. “I still think he has to go the bathroom,” Michael commented.
Cecilia glanced at her watch. Ten minutes had passed since Ferris had crashed into the glass door. It was enough time for Holden to get away, if that was what had excited Ferris.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” She got up and let him out. Ferris stepped onto the patio and looked around.
“You’re a strange dog,” Michael told him. “Go make potty, or whatever.” Ferris stood there and tilted his head to the right and then to the left.
Cecilia jumped when the doorbell rang.
“Who is that at this hour?” Michael asked.
“I…I don’t know.” They walked to the front door and Cecilia looked out to find Officer Pugliese. “It’s okay, Michael. It’s the police.” He returned to the kitchen, trying to shoo Ferris to go to the bathroom.
“Everything okay?” she asked when she opened the door.
“It’s not okay, if the police are here, Cecilia,” Wyatt said, from the top of the stairs.
Cecilia motioned for Pugliese to enter. Pugliese did little to hide his shock as Wyatt strode down the stairs in his sleepwear.
“Don’t you think it’s inappropriate for you to visit Mrs. Chandler?” Wyatt asked. “You are on the witness stand tomorrow morning. That is, if you and your police department can keep Mrs. Chandler safe and get her into the courtroom alive in the morning.”
“Wyatt,” Cecilia said, “I don’t think that’ll happen again.” She looked to Pugliese for confirmation. “You don’t think that’ll happen again, do you?”
“Well…” Vinnie answered, considering a response. Wyatt headed to the kitchen and Vinnie tracked him. “Is that a dressing gown?” Pugliese whispered to Cecilia.
&n
bsp; “I don’t know,” she answered. “I was afraid to ask. I’ve never seen such an outfit.”
“What is he—” Pugliese started to ask Cecilia. “Late-night strategy session?” he asked, hoping that was the answer.
“That is none of your concern, Officer,” Wyatt answered. “Your concern should be that you should not be visiting my client without contacting me first.”
“And you should not be sleeping with your client,” Pugliese snapped.
Cecilia gasped and Wyatt laughed.
“They lost their rooms at the hotel to the jury,” Cecilia told him. “That’s why he’s here. All of them are staying here.”
“Oh good.” Pugliese sighed in relief. “I did not want to report to the judge that you’re sleeping with your client, Mr. Sewell.”
Wyatt sat on a stool at the kitchen island. “What has you so concerned that you are visiting this late?”
“Ferris.”
Ferris pawed at the glass door and Cecilia opened the door to let him back in. He ran to Pugliese, knocking over an empty stool in his route. Pugliese smiled and patted him on his head. Satisfied, Ferris ran to the counter that held his biscuit jar and waited until Cecilia gave him one, then he ran off to his bed.
“What are you concerned about with Ferris?” Cecilia asked.
“Has someone threatened Ferris?” Wyatt asked.
“No. I think we’ve all learned people are a little nuts about this case. Someone shot at you today. You think they’d be above poisoning Ferris?” he asked Cecilia.
Cecilia looked at the men in the room, hoping she had misheard. “He…he was shooting at me?”
“Yes,” Pugliese answered.
“We were hoping he was aiming for Briscoe,” Michael said. He went into his wallet. “I owe Abigail five bucks.”
Pugliese ignored the inappropriate wager. “It’s not private knowledge where you live. I’m afraid someone might try to hurt Ferris.”
“Hurt Ferris?” she asked. She walked over to Ferris and patted him on his back. “How?”
The list that ran through Vinnie’s mind was lengthy and he hesitated, hoping to give the least offensive answer. “I’ve seen neighbor disputes where someone throws poisoned meat into a yard.”