Dread Champion

by Brandilyn Collins

  “Usually not, no.”

  “Thank you, sir; that is all.” Erica shot a look at the jury, as if to say, “The sky is not falling.”

  “Oh, one more thing.” She turned back to Vanderling.“Were you at Breaker Beach the night of February 15?”

  He looked surprised.“No.”

  “Do you have any idea what happened to Shawna Welk?”

  “No.”

  “No proof or even the slightest bit of evidence that a great white shark, who doesn’t like to bite humans, ate Mrs.Welk but somehow managed to miss one tooth?” The cynicism fairly dripped off her tongue.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

  Erica let the answer hang in the air. Then she marched back to the defense table, stabbing Stan Breckshire with an outraged glance.

  The courtroom rustled. Jury members sat back in their chairs. Reporters scribbled. Brett hoped against hope that Erica’s disdain-filled tactics would work.

  THIRTY-THREE

  “The people call Eddie Hunt.”

  Chelsea watched Stan Breckshire eye the courtroom door with vindictive determination. The prosecutor was not adept at hiding his emotions. She could tell he was seething from the defense attorney’s cross-examination of Mr.Vanderling.

  The bailiff pulled the door open. Eddie Hunt, a craggy-faced young man with blond hair, stepped into the courtroom. Chelsea’s heart immediately went out to him. Eddie slowly made his way down the aisle, favoring his right leg. Stan Breckshire fastened an empathetic look upon his face as Eddie took the oath, then seated himself awkwardly in the witness chair.

  Chelsea headed a new piece of paper with his name.

  Stan laced and unlaced his fingers. “Thank you for coming,Mr. Hunt,” he said gravely. “I hope this will not be too difficult for you.”

  The young man nodded. “Sure, okay.”

  Eddie looked like such a sun-kissed California kid, Chelsea thought. He was probably only a decade older than her own son Michael.

  “How old are you?” Stan asked, as if he’d read Chelsea’s mind.

  “Twenty-three.”

  “And what do you do?”

  “I work at a store in Santa Cruz that sells surfing and scuba equipment.”

  “Do you take part in these activities yourself?”

  Pain creased Eddie’s face. “I used to surf. I hope someday I can do it again. Right now I don’t even go in the ocean.”

  “Could you tell us why that is?” Stan asked.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Eddie seemed to gather himself. His eyes drifted beyond Stan. Chelsea’s pen poised over her pad of paper.“It was on a Sunday earlier this year. February tenth.… ”

  EDDIE AND HIS BEST FRIEND , Ryan, had totally lucked out. Ryan’s father had just bought abeautiful new forty-three-foot yacht, and he said they could use it for the evening. Ryan rustled up acouple of newly hired girls who worked with him at Mad Al’s Restaurant. Getting them to say yes to the date wasn’t too hard, considering the plush cruiser they were promised. If the rest of the crew hadn’t had to work that dinner shift, Ryan and Eddie would have had three or four girls apiece.

  The foursome eased out of the dock at Moss Landing at about four in the afternoon, Ryan at the helm.He’d grown up piloting his wealthy father’s succession of crafts over the years and was not afraid of handling this one. It was a typical February day—chilly and overcast.Eddie wore his favorite jacket over a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Jessica and Christy came bundled up to beat the band. Ryan laughed at them, asking them where did they think they were going, Canada? His jacket was no more than a light windbreaker.

  They set out to sea about acouple of miles, then turned to cruise up Monterey Bay. When they reached Santa Cruz, they turned south again. Off Zmudowski State Beach, Ryan killed the motor and lowered the anchor.

  They lounged in the cabin, each drinking a few beers, the extra-large pizza that Christy had brought keeping warm in the oven. Cutup Ryan was in fine form, telling jokes, making the girls laugh until their stomachs hurt. Ryan was like that. People tended to flow toward him like a river to the sea. Eddie started to feel a bit left out. It was stupid, of course. Childish. Still, Christy was supposed to be his date, and all she seemed to be doing was laughing at Ryan’s stories. What she needed was a little diversion.

  “I think I’ll go for a swim,” Eddie announced, pushing to his feet with a determined look. “Anybody want to come?”

  Christy ogled him. “Are you crazy? That water’s freezing!”

  “So? I’m used to it. Isurf all year ’round, you know.”

  “Yeah, with a wet suit.” Ryan gave him a look that said, “What are you doin’, man?”

  Eddie stared back in defiance. He wasn’t about to back down now.

  Stupid, stupid.

  “Wow, really?” Christy said. “You surf alot?”

  Eddie shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Iheard it’s so hard to learn.”

  “Well, I’ve been at it a few years.”

  “Come on, Eddie, sit down,” Ryan said. “We’ll eat soon.”

  “Guess I need to work up an appetite then.” The boat rocked gently as Eddie surveyed the blue gray water. He really didn’t want to do this.

  “You gonna swim in your clothes?” Ryan popped the top off another can of beer. “You go right ahead. I’ll keep these two company.” He grinned and raised his eyebrows. Christy giggled.

  Eddie almost changed his mind, hearing that comment. If only he had.

  “No way; I’m not sitting around in wet clothes.” He unbuttoned his jacket and threw it on a cushioned bench. Took off his shirt.Christy’s deep green eyes settled appreciatively on his muscles. Eddie pretended not to notice. Then nonchalantly he unzipped his jeans and slid them off.

  “Woohoo!” Jessica called.

  Christy dropped her jaw in surprise. Then she raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Take it off, take it all off,” she chanted.

  “Sorry, girls.” Eddie snapped the waistband of his underwear.“These’ll have to stay.”

  “Eddie, you’re nuts.” Ryan swigged his beer. “Go on then, freeze your tail off.”

  “I’ll tell you what.” Christy gave him aheat-soaked look through her chestnut bangs. “Just swim around the boat a few times, then come on back.”

  “I’ll do that. But you all have to come out of the cabin,” Eddie insisted. “If I’m going in that water, the least you can do is stand back there and watch.”

  Ryan rolled his eyes, then followed Eddie to the open end of the boat, girls in tow.Without a word Ryan unsnapped the bands holding up the ladder, then let it unfold into the water with a small splash.

  Eddie didn’t wait to lose his nerve. He hopped on the first rung, then plunged into the water.

  The cold hit him like apunch in the gut. He sank beneath the surface, then quickly kicked his way up again, flinging his head out of the water with a loud whoop.

  “Go, Eddie!” Christy cheered as he began his first swim around, keeping close to the boat. Man, it was cold. He cut through the waves like a wolverine on speed and was soon back where he began. He stopped to tread water.

  “One more!” Eddie grinned up at the girls. Christy gave him asly wink.

  It happened in the space of an instant.His right foot bumped something solid. Then astinging pain hit him below the knee. He heard a muffled snap. The pain shot up his leg and through every nerve until his entire body pulsed with it. He listed sideways. He tried kicking his feet, but his right leg flopped strangely.

  “Ashark!” Christy shrieked. “Eddie!”

  Then Jessica screamed and Ryan screamed. Eddie’s own cries mixed with theirs until the whole world was screaming. The water ran blood red. Eddie flailed, sinking below the surface. He came up choking, yelling for help. Ryan leaped into the ocean, hooked an arm around Eddie’s neck, and dragged him to the ladder.

  The world faded to black.

  CHELSEA’S EYES WERE CLOSED. She’d hardly taken one note. So vividly cou
ld she picture Eddie in the water, the blood, his terror. Just imagine if that were her own son… .

  “What was the extent of your injuries?” Stan prompted quietly.

  Eddie sucked in a breath. “I lost my right leg below the knee.”

  A horrified sibilance whisked through the courtroom.

  “Are you now walking with a prosthesis?”

  “Yeah. I just got it a couple months ago. Still getting used to it.” He forced a grin.

  “I see.” Stan rubbed his palms together. “Just one more thing, Eddie.You mentioned you haven’t been in the ocean since this accident. Are you unable to surf with the prosthesis?”

  A frown creased Eddie’s forehead. “No, I could learn to do it, I suppose. It’s just that …”He raised a self-conscious shoulder. “After what happened, I haven’t been interested in going back in the ocean yet. I’ll get there. But not this summer.”

  Stan nodded. “I understand, Eddie. I certainly understand.” Grimly he turned to the defense table. “Your witness.”

  Erica didn’t even bother to stand up. That wasn’t right, Chelsea thought. How could the woman be so cold?

  “Mr.Hunt,”Erica said matter-of-factly, “I am sorry for your loss. Your story seems to indicate that the shark bit you just once, is that correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And then what did it do?”

  “Uh, Christy told me she saw it swimming away right afterward. That’s when Ryan jumped in the water.”

  “So one experimental bite and then it left?”

  Eddie considered Erica for a drawn-out moment, his face darkening. “Heck of an experiment, don’t you think?” he said tightly.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I lost my leg. I’d have bled to death if I’d been out there alone.”

  “Yes, Mr. Hunt; that did not sound as I intended it.” Erica’s face flushed and she bent low over her notes to hide it. Stan appeared pleased as punch.

  Erica flicked busily through her notes.When she looked up, the flush on her cheeks had faded.“No more questions.”

  Court recessed for the day. As she stood to file out for another long evening, Chelsea saw the look Erica threw at Stan Breckshire. It could have withered stone.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Standing on the San Mateo County Courthouse steps,Milt Waking wrapped up his live report, then beat feet toward his car.

  “Where you going so fast? Have a hot date?” his cameraman called after him.

  “Hot, hot!”

  He could hear Bill’s chuckles. “Go get her,Waking!”

  At his car Milt took off his suit coat and laid it in the backseat. Checked his watch as he slid inside. Five fifty. It would take him about an hour and a half to reach Salinas. He snatched up his cell phone, drew from his pocket a piece of paper with a phone number, and punched it in.Amazing the difference an afternoon could bring, he thought as the phone began to ring.Under his tutorship, Rogelio Sanchez, gardener from Salinas, had returned home to play undercover detective.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s me. Did you get the address?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great.What is it?”He wrote it down as Rogelio told him. “She didn’t see you?”

  “No. I waited outside the dress shop, like you said. Followed her home, keeping a few cars back.”

  “Rogelio, I believe you’re on the verge of a shining new career.”

  The kid gave a quiet snort. It was the first time Milt had heard him come anywhere near a laugh.

  “Okay, I’m on my way. I’ll call you after I’ve talked to her.”

  “You’d better, man.”

  Milt hung up, started his car with gusto, and took off for the freeway.

  “GOD WANTS TO BE your heavenly Father.” For the hundredth time Kerra’s words echoed in Brett’s mind as he followed the police officer toward the little room in which he was allowed to visit his dad. The words quickened his heart, brought to him a sense of hope he had not previously known. Still, even if Kerra was right, God was somewhere up there while Brett was stuck on earth with all its craziness. Right now he’d settle for a little more understanding from his real father.

  Hey, God, if you’re listening—

  The policeman opened the door to the visiting room.“He’s waiting for you. Fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  —help me with this father in front of me.

  Brett stepped across the threshold. His father sat on the other side of the glass separation, hands on his thighs. They picked up their phones.“Hi, Dad.”

  “You’ve been mighty busy, I hear.” Disapproval tinged Darren Welk’s voice. “You haven’t been to see me in five days.”

  So much for a happy greeting. The room smelled of dust, stale smoke, and despondence. Brett hated this room.He slumped in his chair wearily.

  “You’ve sure managed to stir the waters.”His dad considered him as if he were some kind of moron. “First those two phone calls to jurors T. C. thought he could sway our way. And now what’s this about taking up with a juror’s niece? Not just any juror, mind you, but that religious nut.”

  “She’s not a religious nut.” The words shot from Brett’s mouth before he could stop them.

  His father stared. “How do you know? You manage to talk to her too?”

  Brett’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Of course not. I just know because of the way Kerra talks about her.”

  “Kerra, is it? The blond girl you’ve been sitting with.”

  Protectiveness rose in Brett. He didn’t like the sound of Kerra’s name on his father’s lips. “Yeah.”Brett could say no more about her. How could he even begin? “And as for the phone calls—”

  “I don’t want to hear your flimsy explanations.”His father swept out an impatient hand.

  “Dad—”

  “Forget it, Brett; it’s done.” He blew out air. “In the end maybe it’s not such a bad thing.Now we’ve got your favorite aunt up there.” He narrowed his eyes. “You think anything you planted in Kerra’s head got through to the woman before their phone calls were cut?”

  The words hit Brett’s chest like darts.He gripped the phone.How could he have been so stupid not to realize the way his dad would view things?

  “Well?”

  “Kerra never talked to her aunt about the trial, Dad.” His voice was low. “I knew that from the very beginning.”

  Silence.

  “You mean to tell me your relationship with this gal has nothing to do with me?”

  “It has everything to do with you!” Brett burst. “It has to do with your being in here while I’m out there. It has to do with going crazy day after day in that courtroom, listening to the testimony against you. It has to do with losing my mom and now you too. You just don’t—” The words hooked in his throat. He fell back in his seat, breathing hard. Buffed a hand across his face.

  His dad focused on the corner of the room. “I thought you were trying to help me,” he said finally. “Didn’t know this was all about you.”

  “Dad, I do want to help you.”Desperation coated Brett’s words. “Listen to what I came to say. First, we need to talk. Get everything out on the table, for once in our lives. Then I’ve got to tell the truth.”

  His father’s eyes turned to stone.“No.”

  “No to what?”

  “You’re not telling the truth.”

  “I have to, Dad; it’s the only way.”

  “No.”

  Brett’s chin flopped to his chest. “Dad, I can’t keep on like this, especially after today.You’re going to be convicted; don’t you realize that?”

  “And what would your telling the truth do, huh?” His father hunched toward the glass. “Nothing, that’s what! Except give the reporters a new story.”

  “But how could the jurors convict you if—”

  “Think, boy!” Darren Welk pulled himself up straight, anger widening his stocky shoulders. At the familiar sight Brett felt ten years old.“The ev
idence is all against me. It doesn’t matter what you tell them. That beaky-nosed prosecutor will shout to the heavens that you’re just trying to cover for me at the last minute. That since playing around with the juror’s niece didn’t work, you’re now getting desperate.”

  “I am not playing around with Kerra!” Brett yelled.

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re doing; that’s what they’ll say! It won’t change a thing in the end, not one thing!”He glared at Brett. Finally air hissed out of his lungs. He dropped his shoulders, looking deflated and worn. “Except that you could be in here with me.”

  Sickness crept through Brett’s veins.Was his father right? Could his relationship with Kerra have made it impossible to save his dad? His eyes closed at the thought.

  “I’ll stop seeing her,” he said. The mere words filled his stomach with lead.

  His father rubbed an eyebrow. “Won’t help. It’s too late.” He raised his head and cast Brett a penetrating look. The anger in his face waned, and he regarded Brett as if seeing him for the first time.

  “You care for this gal a lot.” It wasn’t a question.

  Brett blinked at the thought. “Yeah.”

  “And you’d give her up? For me?”

  He tried to speak but his throat was too thick. He nodded.

  Darren Welk spread a hand upon the glass.“Well,” he said gruffly. “You won’t have to.Wouldn’t do any good anyway.”

  Brett’s eyes stung. “I can’t stand this, Dad.”

  His father managed the barest of smiles.“We’ll manage, Son.We always have.”

  BRETT PARKED IN A SPACE outside Max’s Restaurant, got out, and slid inside Kerra’s car.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Fine.” He focused out the windshield, feeling the weight of Kerra’s gaze. Her unspoken questions swirled between them. After her public support she deserved a few answers. But what could he do? Even if he could tell her everything on his heart, his words would hardly put her at rest.

  “Do you want to go in and eat?” he asked.

  She looked away. “Not really. Someone could recognize us. I’ve had enough people staring at me for the day.”Accusation tinged her tone.