Dread Champion

by Brandilyn Collins

  “Then why wouldn’t Darren Welk say so?” Tak demanded.

  “Because he didn’t want to get his son in trouble.”Chelsea shook her head. “The ironic thing is, Brett would have buried the blouse to protect his dad, but that very move caused his dad’s arrest, because Victor Mendoza saw him.”

  “Okay, wait a minute.” Clay held up a hand. “You know what, I can see the logic in that. I think it’s plausible. Still, it doesn’t change one fact. Darren Welk killed his wife. Brett may have tried to help cover it up, but in the end, so what? Sounds to me like your very argument supports Darren Welk’s guilt.”

  Chelsea searched for an answer. “Well, we don’t know where Brett was at the time of Shawna’s death. What if he was at the beach?”

  “How could he have been?” Clay replied. “First of all, there was no way for him to know his dad and stepmom were going to that beach. It’s clear from testimony that the trip was Darren Welk’s last-minute idea. Second, I have it right here in my notes. …” He shuffled through his stack of papers until he reached some stapled sheets near the bottom. He lifted them up, flipped through them. “Here it is. Tracey said that when she was driving to the beach, she did not see any cars coming from that direction. If Brett had been at the beach, he’d have passed her coming home.”

  “What if he went home a different way?”

  Clay dropped his notes. “That beach is pretty remote. Doesn’t sound like there are too many ways to get there.”

  He’s right, Chelsea thought. So why couldn’t she change her mind?

  “You know, there is one thing about that blouse that bothers me.” Victor Chavarria smiled self-consciously. “You have to forgive me; I’m retired, you see. And one of the things I do in my spare time is read mystery novels. Now here I am, in a real-life mystery. Anyway, here is my question.Where was the blouse when Tracey went to the beach?”

  Clay tilted his head, thinking.

  Sylvia frowned. “It was in Darren Welk’s car, right?” She looked around the table.

  “But when did he put it there?”Victor pressed. “As you can see, I took lots of notes, too.”He riffled his pad of paper. “And I remember very clearly that Tracey said she saw a half shoe print in the wet sand coming out of the water, which led to a trail in the dry sand that went over to the campfire area, where Darren was asleep. Now, he supposedly followed Shawna down to the water when she went to wash her blouse.What I believe happened is just the scenario the prosecutor gave in his closing remarks.At that point they continued fighting. Darren hit her more. And he ended up killing her. She fell into the water, and the pull of the tide plus the rip current quickly drew her out. By the time Tracey reached the beach, Shawna probably wasn’t that far adrift, but just far enough not to be seen in the dark waters with a crescent moon. Sad, thinking about that.” He rubbed a thumb against the table. “At any rate, Darren, obviously very drunk and now spent of energy, then staggered over toward the fire, fell into the sand, and passed out. So I ask you—where was the blouse?”

  “I don’t think it happened that way.” Henry Slatus shuffled through his notes. “I figure Darren saw what he’d done, saw the blouse left in the shallow water as evidence, and was of sound enough mind to stuff it under the seat of his car.”

  “Then why would he go back to the fire after that?”

  “How does one explain a drunken mind?”Henry said. “You say his energy was spent when he was in the water. I say it was finally spent after he’d hidden the blouse. He shuffled back to the place of warmth near the fire and passed out.”

  “Drunks don’t need warmth,” Chelsea commented. “The alcohol makes them feel hot enough.”

  Hesta stared at her with pursed lips, as if wondering how Chelsea might know. Chelsea could have kicked herself. The argument had turned away from her; why hadn’t she just kept quiet?

  Sylvia leaned back and folded her arms. “Well. I suppose you have a point there,Victor.”

  “But what difference does all this make?” Tak demanded. He looked at Victor. “Even with your questions, you still voted guilty.”

  Victor nodded slowly. “That’s true. Because when I weigh all the other evidence, it points to Darren Welk’s guilt.We simply have no indication that anyone else was at that beach when Shawna was killed. Still”—he shrugged—“this is a point that bothers me. One of those little Agatha Christie points.”

  B. B. and Gloria smiled at him. The room fell silent again, save for Henry’s knocking one knuckle against the table.

  “Okay.” Clay looked to Chelsea. “So you believe Brett buried the blouse, which maybe he did. And we don’t know where he was at the time Shawna was killed. Can you give us some reason to believe he was at the beach? Like how he knew to be there and how he got back?”

  Chelsea swallowed.“Not really.”

  Clay raised a hand, palm up. “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Brett knows something,” she blurted. “I watched his face during the trial. He just looks guilty of something.”

  “Fine,” Clay shot back. “At the most, he’s guilty of burying the blouse and trying to protect his dad. Does that change Darren Welk’s guilt?”

  Chelsea bit the inside of her lip. “I still just don’t think I can vote guilty,” she said quietly.

  “Why?”

  “I …” Chelsea could hear the blood whoosh through her head. “I wish I could tell you. There’s … something.”

  As soon as the words were out, Chelsea wished them back with all her might. She sounded so vague, so lame, even to her own ears.

  “Is this about one of your visions?” Tak demanded suddenly, derision coating the last word.

  The air chilled. Chelsea felt it and knew everyone else did, too.A line had been crossed, the unspoken now spoken. And it certainly hadn’t taken very long. It was almost as if Tak had been waiting to accost her. In that moment understanding hit Chelsea like lightning. In that moment she realized that God had far bigger plans in this deliberation room than merely deciding the outcome of the trial. For these plans he had placed her on the jury.

  The Lord is with me like aDread Champion…

  “No,” she said.

  “Really?” His eyes pierced hers. “Then why can’t you explain yourself?”

  “I just have to get my thoughts in order.Maybe I will be able to—”

  “Are you telling us your vote has nothing to do with thoughts from your god?”

  Chelsea’s spine tingled. “I’m voting my conscience. I’m voting what I feel.”

  “It has to be based on some logic.” Tak laced his long, thin fingers. “Just what would that be?”

  “What about what happened after we were dismissed?” Gloria turned to Chelsea accusingly, as if she’d been waiting for the most opportune moment to mention the subject. “You almost seemed to go into some kind of trance for a couple seconds when we all stood up. You even had your eyes closed.”

  “So what? She probably got up too fast,” Sylvia put in. “Can we get back to business here?”

  “We are talking business,”Tak insisted.“We are talking about the one person who was most questioned by the judge, because of her beliefs, before this trial ever began.Now this person votes not guilty. That would be fine in itself if she had a reason. But she cannot seem to give us one.”He leveled a glare at Chelsea, waiting.

  She couldn’t respond.

  “Chelsea,” Clay said, an edge in his voice, “you need to answer.”

  Irritation swept over her. She did not care for the man’s tone. And she wasn’t going to stand silent before the accusations of some college student. “I have voted not guilty because I feel it’s right, at this moment in time. If you want to change my mind, please, let’s keep discussing it.”

  She leaned back in her chair, hoping they wouldn’t see the pulse pounding in her neck. Lord, she silently begged, give me the strength to stand firm.

  MILT LEANED AGAINST HIS car and dialed his home number on the cell phone. All during lunch h
e’d thought about Lynn Trudy. He still couldn’t figure out why Detective Trutenning would hone in on her. Made no sense at all.

  The phone rang once in his ear.He knew Tracey would be checking the Caller ID for his cell phone number. She answered on the third ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi.” He painted softness into his tone. “Guess who I ran into this morning.”He told her about Lynn’s confronting him in the hall. “It’s a good thing you’re hiding out,” he said. “She’d be all over you if you were here.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Tracey sighed. “I’m sick of her. I’m sick of everybody. Except you, I mean,” she added hastily.

  “Mm.Well, just hang in there. The jury started deliberating just before lunch. I don’t expect anything to happen today, but I have to hang around just in case.”

  Tracey rattled off questions and he answered halfheartedly, his mind on other things.Milt did not tell her about Detective Truten-ning. If Lynn had been involved in the jury calls, he had no idea how much Tracey knew. No use getting her out of kilter just yet. She could just hear it on his newscast that evening. By then he’d be home to keep an eye on her. Heaven knew, keeping Tracey Wilagher calm for the moment was his main concern.Keeping her calm … and setting his trap.

  FIFTY-TWO

  As the afternoon wore on,Chelsea floundered to defend her position, back ramrod straight and head pounding. The air in the jury room hung thick and tense. All eyes were on her, all arguments thrown her way. Beside her,Antonio seeped animosity. So did Hesta and Tak and Latonia. Clay took to speaking to her as if she were a half-witted child. Henry just shook his head. She couldn’t believe how impatient they were with her. From their reactions, one would have thought she’d been the only holdout for days.

  Her prayers had become simple, desperate cries. Help me, Lord, please!

  Finally Clay suggested—no, demanded—that they go over the testimony,witness by witness.“Something in there,” he informed her, “is bound to change your mind.”

  During the afternoon break Chelsea hid out in the bathroom, clinging to the sink and praying with all her might. “What’s the point of all this, Lord?”she whispered aloud.“Nobody’s changing their opinion. Am I supposed to fight like this the rest of today? And tomorrow? When can I stop? Just a few hours and already I’m so tired.”

  Break over, they all took their places once again. Chelsea sat woodenly, awaiting the onslaught.

  Clay leveled his eyes at her. “Do you have anything you want to say before we take up where we left off?”

  Chelsea felt the hardness of the chair against her back. A vise gripped her head. She forced her voice to remain level. “Only that I’m sorry. Believe it or not. I don’t mean to cause problems. Like all of you, I just want to do what I think is right.”

  A small tsk emitted from Antonio’s lips. Tak’s eyes were cold. Hesta leaned forward and looked at her down the table, mouth in a thin line.“Right,”Clay said with a slow blink.He consulted his notes. “Okay.Where were we?”

  “Tracey’s testimony,”Henry replied. “She’s kicking Darren Welk to wake him up.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Clay read his notes.“He gets up, stumbles around, denies he knows where Shawna is. They both start searching the beach. Then Tracey goes back home, convincing herself she’ll find her mother there, which of course she doesn’t. Apparently, she makes enough noise to bring Brett out of his bedroom—”

  “Do you realize how long this is going to take?”Tak’s long fingers drummed the table. “I really don’t see the point of going through every witness’s testimony.”He pointed at Chelsea. “I say you tell us your version of what happened, since you’re so sure of yourself. You tell us who killed Shawna Welk.”

  Every nerve ending in Chelsea’s body prickled. She gazed at Tak, feeling his scorn, his hatred. This was not just about the trial, she knew. This was about her Christian beliefs,which he apparently held in utter contempt. Others around the table may not have possessed his level of derision against her faith, but that was changing in the face of her perceived obstinacy. She had no proof of what she believed about the murder, no rational argument upon which to rest. She had only the knowledge, deep within her, that she was doing what God had asked her to do.

  “I can’t tell you that,” she said.

  “Because you won’t or because you can’t?” Tak pressed.

  “Because … because I can’t.”

  “Then you have no argument.”Tak’s face hardened.“No basis for your opinion.Which says to me that you are not listening to the evidence you heard in the courtroom, as you promised the judge you would. You are instead listening to some imagined voice in your head—that voice you claim comes from ‘God.’” He slid his eyes around the jury table.“Can’t you all see that? Why are we letting her get away with this?”

  “I’m not letting her get away with it,” Latonia declared. She wagged her head at Chelsea.“You think you’ve got a corner on God? I grew up in church.My grandfather was one of those Bible-toting preachers who rose up on his toes when he yelled about hell. I believe in God just like you do. But one thing I wouldn’t do is let him make me look the fool. Which is what you’re looking like at this moment!”

  “I—”

  “Well, I frankly don’t care what anybody around this table believes.”Hesta’s voice burned like ice as she cut Chelsea off. “We’re not here to discuss religious beliefs.We’re here to decide on the guilt or innocence of a man charged with murder.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Latonia threw out her hands, palms up. “Yes, we’re here to discuss a man’s guilt or innocence, based on the evidence in court. But she”—Latonia pointed a perfectly groomed, short red nail at Chelsea—“is turning it into some sort of religious cause.”

  “That’s not what you’re doing, is it, Chelsea?” Sylvia prompted. “You simply have some questions, right?”

  Chelsea’s mouth dried out. She raised a water bottle to her lips with trembling fingers and drank. “I’m trying to tell you,” she said, emphasizing each word, “I simply feel that something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is.Maybe if we continued discussing—”

  “So this has nothing to do with your Christianity.” Tak glared at her.

  “Well—”

  “It has nothing to do with your ‘listening to God.’”

  Dread unwound itself and slithered through Chelsea’s stomach. Every eye around the table focused on her, full of scorn.“How can I answer that?” She wanted to melt into her chair.“In everything I do, I try to listen to God.”

  “There, you see!”Tak slammed a hand onto the table and Chelsea jumped.He hunched forward, his face livid.“You told the judge you would consider nothing but the evidence. You lied! Now you are in contempt of everything this jury stands for! If we had an alternate behind you, I’d report you to the judge and throw you out!”

  “Yeah, well, we don’t have an alternate.” Clay’s voice was layered with disgust. “And if we twelve can’t come together, this whole trial goes down the drain. That’s not going to happen, not on my watch.”

  “Not on mine either,”Henry declared.

  “Or mine.”Hesta’s voice nearly shook with rage.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Sylvia held up both hands, as if blessing the room into calmness. She turned to Chelsea, face grim. “Things have gotten out of hand here.”Her words were distinct, controlled, like that of a negotiator’s. “Now. Chelsea. Just tell us what we need to hear. Tell us that you are basing your opinion on evidence you heard in the courtroom, evidence that we can then discuss. Assure us that your vote is not based on something you feel God is telling you to do, when you yourself don’t see the reason for it.”

  Chelsea stared at her, throat closing. How could she possibly answer? She had promised to base her vote on evidence.Wasn’t she doing that? Hadn’t the evidence simply failed to convince her? She was voting her conscience, as God had commanded, wasn’t she?

  “When you yo
urself don’t see the reason for it.”

  What was her reason? What did she believe? Could she deny she was basing her vote on what God told her to do?

  What do you want from me, God! she cried.They’re all against me!

  She opened her mouth. Looked Sylvia squarely in the eye. Then gazed at Tak, at Clay and Latonia. A settling hovered in her chest, like kicked-up dust drifting back to solid ground.

  “My opinion,” she heard herself say, “is based upon my conscience of voting as I think is right. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is what God would want me or any of the rest of you to do. My vote is based upon the judge’s instructions regarding reasonable doubt. I cannot bet my life on the fact that Darren Welk, and only Darren Welk, killed his wife. Because I absolutely believe Brett, his son, buried that blouse.”

  She gazed around the table defiantly. Tak, Henry, and Hesta all hurled back their responses at once.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Brett’s watch ticked past five o’clock with no word from the jury. Wearily he pushed to his feet from the hard bench. The hallway filled with people emptying out of various courtrooms. Most of the reporters who’d hung around for a possible verdict had already left. Milt Waking and his cameraman were headed for the escalator. Brett felt his face harden, watching Milt. Sorry excuse for a human being.

  “Might as well call it a day.” Brett held out a hand to Kerra. She gave him a sad smile as she rose.

  Neither of them wanted to eat much. They bought sandwiches and drinks, then for the third evening in a row drove up Skyline to their vista. Brett sat on the rock and gazed without seeing at the bay, his arm around Kerra. His whole body felt weighted. After the long afternoon this night would seem interminable.

  “They’re going to find him guilty,” he said, breaking the silence.