PRAISE FOR
THE NOVELS OF
GALLATIN WARFIELD
“Forcefully written.”
—San Francisco Chronicle
“The very finest suspense-packed legal thriller of the year. This is one page-turner that you have to read twice. Warfield has taken the high ground in the expert clarity of this tour de force.”
—New England Review of Books
“Zooms to the head of the lawyer-author class….Packed with firsthand knowledge and expertise that only a high-powered lawyer would have. The battle between lawyers Gardner and King is a classic: Ali vs. Frazier in the courtroom.”
—James Patterson, New York Times bestselling author of Kiss the Girls
“Warfield’s authority in the courtroom and the clarity of his prose sustain this promising debut.”
—Milwaukee Journal
“An exceptionally fine novel… Warfield is an exciting new writer, possessed of originality, imagination, and unique narrative skills. A very good read.”
—Nelson DeMille, New York Times bestselling author of Spencerville
“The subject matter leaps from today’s headlines. This is good reading that will make a great movie.”
—Sunday Advocate (LA)
“The plot hurdles forward in huge strides… a well-crafted legal thriller.”
—Potamic Magazine (MD)
“SILENT SON brings a new twist to the murder mystery.”
—Book Browsing
“It’s not easy to carve out a niche in the increasingly crowded field of legal thrillers and you have to admire the ingenuity of War field’s approach.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Meticulous depiction of a prosecution of a crime from its commission to the trial.”
—Baltimore Sun
“Credible, absorbing… legal know-how and polished narrative skills anchor this courtroom thriller.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Exciting and fascinating… takes you deep inside the characters and the legal system.”
—Larry Bond, New York Times bestselling author of Cauldron
Also by Gallatin Warfield
STATE V. JUSTICE
Published by
WARNER BOOKS
For my mother,
Caroline Kirwan Warfield,
an artist in her own right.
Copyright
Publisher’s note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 1994 by Gallatin Warfield
All rights reserved.
Warner Books, Inc.
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com
First eBook Edition: September 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-56729-9
Contents
PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF GALLATIN WARFIELD
Also by Gallatin Warfield
Copyright
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
prologue
Part One: Whispers in the Wind
one
two
three
Part Two: Suspicions
four
five
six
Part Three: Suspects
seven
eight
nine
Part Four: Dealing with the Devil
ten
eleven
twelve
Part Five: Stratagem
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
Part Six: Confrontation
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
Part Seven: Revelations
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to express my sincere gratitude to Larry Kirshbaum, president and CEO of Warner Books, for his tireless efforts in the editing of this book. He was a thoughtful and patient mentor who encouraged me to do my best. Thank you for having faith in me.
I would also like to thank my agent, Artie Pine, and my editor, Joan Sanger, for their steadfast support and assistance throughout. Their labors have been truly appreciated.
In addition, I would like to thank friends and colleagues everywhere for their warm reception of State v. Justice. Your letters and comments were duly noted, and adjustments made, where appropriate. Thank you all.
And finally, I wish to thank my wife, Diana, for being there when I needed her, allowing me the luxury of writing through the long hours of countless days. To her I say, I love you.
—G.W.
They drew all manner of things—
everything that begins with an m…
such as mousetraps,and the moon,
and memory….
—Lewis Carroll
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
prologue
The young man entered the store, and on appearance alone, his intentions were innocent. Or so it seemed to Addie Bowers standing behind the counter. When the small brass bell above the door tinkled, she looked up from her newspaper and smiled. A customer at last. It had been a slow day so far.
Her husband, Henry, was busy restocking canned goods on the shelves above the soft drink cooler. When the bell rang, he didn’t even turn around. Addie would handle it, just as she had done for the last forty-two years in the small grocery and dry goods shop that stood on a lonely stretch of Mountain Road.
“Hello.” Addie’s blue-eyed smile was like pale sunshine on a spring day. “What can I get for you this afternoon?”
The man approached the counter, but said nothing. His gaze shifted to a row of pump-action 12 gauges in the gun rack.
Addie’s smile continued. “Interested in a gun?”
Henry had stopped his restocking chores. He was a gentleman of the old school, kind, trusting, and soft-spoken, but he held his strength in reserve. He had been a front-line infantryman in the war, and had taken his share of incoming shells. That had left him with a certain cynicism that Addie didn’t possess. He could always smell an enemy approaching.
Henry lowered himself from the stepping-stool and walked toward the counter. Something didn’t feel right.
“You’re gonna need some ID,” Henry said from behind the customer’s back.
The man whipped around suddenly, and shoved his hand into a military-style fatigue coat. Then he pulled out a large black handgun and pointed it at Henry.
The old man’s eyes widened with surprise. “What the hell…”
Addie began to shake. “Don’t hurt him,” she whispered.
“Where’d you get that?” Henry said, canting his head toward the giant pistol.
The man shrugged, then moved to the side. He motioned Henry to join his wife with a few abrupt flips of the gun barrel. Then he yelled toward the front door. “You comin’?”
There was a pause, and then a second man cautiously entered the room and joined the group.
“You must be crazy,” Henry said to the first man. “Stone crazy. And you…” He looked accusingly at the companion. “You…”
The gunman remained silent, and his companion stepped back, awaiting orders.
The gunman motioned Addie and Henry toward the back wall with another quick jerk of his gun-hand.
Addie’s sudden intake of breath sounded like a sob.
“You got no need for that,” Henry pleaded.
T
he gunman looked him coldly in the eye, and raised his weapon.
“Please…” Addie begged. “Please just take the money.” Her voice trembled when she spoke, and Henry reached over and gently took her hand.
“The money,” Addie whispered again.
But the gunman kept them moving toward the deep recess of the store, passing up the cash register on the way.
* * *
The school bus was in a state of controlled bedlam. Ellen Fahrnam had taken her second-grade class to the Crystal Grotto limestone cave for a field trip, and now they were winding down Mountain Road toward town. In late May, when the school year was about to close, trips like this eased the transition to summer vacation. Teachers and kids got to leave the classroom on company time and explore the countryside.
As the bus rocked around the curves, the back rows began pumping up and down with excitement. Miss Fahrnam had said they could stop off at the Bowers Corner grocery store for a soft drink, and maybe Mr. Henry and Miss Addie would let them visit the small petting zoo behind the store.
The ringleader of the impromptu wave in the seats was eight-year-old Granville Lawson, son of the prosecuting attorney for the county, Gardner Lawson. A blond-haired boy with a crop of freckles across his nose, Granville was a pint-sized perpetual motion machine.
“Goin’ down to Bowers’! Goin’ down to Bowers’!” he chanted, as his seat-mates picked up the refrain. The store was one of his favorite places, and he couldn’t keep still. It had been months since he and Dad had stopped by there. He always got a lemon lollipop from Miss Addie, and Mr. Henry let him open the rabbit cage and hold his choice of long-eared creatures.
“Okay, kids, we’re almost there!” Miss Farhnam shouted over the din. “Let’s put on our polite faces and stop the noise!”
The bouncing slowed, but one boy kept moving as if the order had not been given. Granville had recognized the fruit grove at Sandy Junction. It wouldn’t be long now! Just two more big curves, a patch of woods, and they’d be there. Granville interrupted a bounce to get his bearings. The bunnies were waiting.
Henry had been ordered to kneel on the floor, and when he hesitated, the gun was pointed at Addie.
“Don’t hurt her,” Henry said.
The threat worked. Henry did what he was told.
Addie was prodded down beside him. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice quaking.
Henry was silent. He now knew exactly what lay ahead. He turned to look at his wife, his expression strangely calm. “Ad, I love you,” he said softly. He was still holding her hand, and he squeezed her fingers as he spoke.
The gun barrel was pressed to the back of his head. He could see the reflection of horror in Addie’s eyes as the weapon clicked.
The bus pulled into the parking lot beside the store. It was empty and quiet. The road was clear of traffic also, nothing moving in either direction. It was a normal Thursday afternoon in the western end of the county. The farmers were off haying their stock, and the office workers were still at their jobs in town, fifteen miles to the east. Bowers Corner was deserted.
Miss Fahrnam had restricted the flow at the door of the bus as the kids crowded to get out. But somehow Granville had twisted his way to the head of the line. He was the self-appointed leader of the expedition. He and his dad were regular customers of the store. He promised the other kids deals on sodas and candy, and bragged about his expertise with the rabbits. This qualified him to lead the charge into the front door.
Henry’s body was sprawled face down on the floor, and Addie was convulsed with hysterics, trying to revive him.
The gunman grabbed her shoulder and tried to pull her back, but she kept grappling with her husband’s lifeless form.
She was finally yanked back to a kneeling position.
“Why?” she screamed. “Why are you doing this?”
The weapon clicked again.
Granville had broken from the pack, and was up on the porch before Miss Fahrnam could assemble the group into an orderly column.
“Granville Lawson!” the teacher called. “Come back here!”
The boy had his hand on the door handle. He was a good child. Respectful. Polite. He usually followed the rules. But he had a streak of impulsiveness that sometimes pushed him across the line. Today he couldn’t wait. He had to be first.
The door popped open, and the bell clanged a single ping. Light footsteps flew across the floor, and suddenly stopped.
“Miss Ad—?” Granville was face-to-face with the kneeling Addie. He looked up, to a shadowy figure behind his elderly friend, then back to her eyes.
A gentle greeting somehow squeezed through her tears. And then, as Granville watched in horror, the gun went off.
Part One
WHISPERS
IN THE WIND
one
It was 5:00 P.M., and State’s Attorney Gardner Lawson was still in court. A three-week arson trial was finally winding down, and the defense was about to rest its case after their last alibi witness was finished telling his bogus story to the twelve men and women sitting in judgment. Gardner had meticulously maneuvered the defendant, a three-time convicted arsonist, toward conviction, and the only thing left now was the coup de grace.
Gardner stood up. He was forty-two years old, but his body was lean and toned. His eyes were dark brown, and his black hair was laced with silver threads. Well tailored, confident, self-assured, he looked like a trial lawyer. He always commanded attention when he spoke, and this had won him multiple terms as the elected State’s Attorney, as well as a brilliant courtroom record.
“Mr. Karr, you say that you saw the defendant at the Mill House sometime around nine P.M., is that correct?” Gardner walked toward the witness stand as he spoke.
“Yup,” the witness said nervously.
“And what were you doing at the time?” Gardner rested his arms on the rail and eyeballed the man behind it defiantly.
“Uh. Just hangin’ out. That’s all.”
Gardner shot a glance at the jury. They had heard this same patter before, from six other witnesses. Six other hard drinkers who spent all their time and money guzzling booze at the Mill House bar.
“Did you happen to consume any alcoholic beverages while you were there?”
“Objection,” Public Defender Rollie Amos said halfheartedly. He’d made the same objection before, but it had been overruled every time. Alcohol impairment is a fair avenue of inquiry, but if he kept quiet his client could accuse him of lying down on the job.
“Witness may answer,” Judge Simmons said wearily. He knew that the defense attorney had to play the objection game. A lawyer had to protect his client, but he had to protect himself also. If he failed to raise a point, his own client could attack him later for incompetence.
“Uh, might’a had a beer or two,” the witness mumbled.
Gardner gave the jury a skeptical look. “One or two beers?”
The witness shrugged. “Sumpthin’ like that…”
Gardner walked to the trial table and picked up a piece of paper. Then he flashed it by the defense attorney and handed it to the witness. “How about ten beers, Mr. Karr? Isn’t that what you really drank that night?”
The witness squirmed in his seat. Gardner had just confronted him with his bar bill.
“Uh, this ain’t right,” he finally said.
Gardner took the paper from his hand and held it aloft. “Are you denying you drank ten beers?”
Karr was caught. If he denied it, he’d be a liar, and if he agreed, he’d be a drunk. He decided to hedge. “I jus’ said that bill ain’t right.”
Gardner plunked it on the rail and pointed to the top. “It’s got your name right here: Bill Karr. What’s wrong with it?”
The witness was outmatched, but he was not going to quit. “They got the number wrong. Wrote it down wrong…”
Gardner pushed in close. “We have the bartender on call, Mr. Karr. Think before you answer again. How many beers did you
have that night?”
The witness squirmed again, but didn’t answer. His options were gone.
“How many, Mr. Karr?” Gardner repeated.
The witness remained silent, his face down.
Gardner tossed the bar bill on his trial table, glanced at the jury, and sat down. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
The courtroom was sparsely sprinkled with spectators. The victims of the arson were there, and a few retired townies. But other than that, the seats were empty.
Gardner had been too wrapped up in his work to notice county police Sergeant Joseph Brown enter the courtroom. “Brownie” was a detective in the department and close personal friend of the prosecutor. The black officer had put his life on the line many times for Gardner, and there was no question that Gardner would reciprocate in an instant.
Brownie moved to the front row and sat down. As Gardner worked the witness, Brownie tried to catch his attention.
Gardner finally noticed the officer when he returned to his seat. As their eyes met, an icy hand seized Gardner’s heart. Brownie’s face looked like a wrought-iron mask. He’d seen that expression before, on Brownie, and on others. The bad news look.
Gardner swallowed and motioned Brownie forward. Something devastating had just happened. “Brownie?”
The officer grimaced. “There was a shooting out at Bowers Corner,” he whispered. “Bowers both dead…”
Gardner paled. The Bowers. Addie and Henry, dead. He looked to Brownie for a softening of his eyes, but there was an even darker expression of pain. Gardner’s heart began to race. There was more…
“And?” Gardner tensed against the words.
“There was another victim…” Brownie was stalling. “Still alive, but med-evaced to shock-trauma…” There were tears in the officer’s eyes.
Silent Son Page 1