Dread Champion

by Brandilyn Collins

  Kerra’s head moved slightly. A breeze ruffled the hair around her face.

  “But then why shouldn’t they?” His voice thickened. “It’s what God wants, isn’t it—justice. The guilty don’t get off.”

  “Oh, Brett, don’t.”

  “Why not?”He pulled away from her, propelled to his feet. “It’s true and I might as well face it. Still, he doesn’t deserve second degree. You know he was drunk; he didn’t mean to do it.” Brett swung around toward the bay, shoulders sagging.He heard the swish of clothes as Kerra clambered off the rock and to his side. She wound her fingers around his arm. “If I just hadn’t—”

  “You have got to stop blaming yourself, Brett.”

  He shoved a hand into his pocket, blinking hard.

  “Can you see what’s going on?” Kerra squeezed his arm. “You and your dad are protecting each other.At a high price. I’m not saying that anything that happened was right. But I do know God can work through the horrible mistakes we make.Whatever the verdict is”—her voice tightened—“it seems to me you and your dad ought to be able to start talking.Whether it’s at home or at the jail. The actions of love are all there. You two just need the words.”

  MILT SHRUGGED HIS SUIT coat into place and smoothed his hair. One last time of standing on these courtroom steps, he thought. One last time. By tomorrow, if everything went as planned, he’d have a story that would blow the whole Bay Area away.

  He focused on the anchorwoman’s introduction to his segment, coming through his earphone. The cameraman signaled him.

  “Yes,” he said to the camera, “as you’ve heard, things are winding down in the highly watched Salad King trial of Darren Welk from Salinas. Nevertheless, the case continues to surprise us all. As the case was sent to the jury late this morning for deliberation, I learned that Lynn Trudy, sister of the victim, was taken in by detectives for a second round of questioning about the illegal phone calls to two jury members—and is still being held. By telephone, her attorney, Dave Nugan, made this statement: ‘I am certain that this misunderstanding will soon be straightened out. Throughout the trial of Darren Welk, Lynn Trudy has made it very clear that she believes in his guilt. She would have no reason to call two jurors and demand not-guilty votes. She will continue to cooperate in ques- tioning with the detectives until the real culprit in this jury tampering is found.’”

  Milt raised an eyebrow. “Despite Nugan’s comments, by late this afternoon Ms. Trudy’s situation had not changed, and according to sources, she has refused to answer any further questions. Back to you, Cindy.”

  “All right,” the anchorwoman responded.“Thank you,Milt. This case does seem to get stranger and stranger.”

  Milt nodded at the camera, a little smile on his face.

  You ain’t seen nothing yet, babe.

  SATURDAY, AUGUST 17

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Brett eased into a space in the near-empty parking garage. Clearly, the courthouse would be quiet, given that it was Saturday. As he locked his car, he spotted Kerra driving in. She caught sight of him, and her face broke into a smile that squeezed his chest. He walked toward her car.When they met, he pulled her into his arms. The fresh smell of her hair, the feel of her body, swirled him with comfort.Kerra hugged him tightly, then stepped back.“Are you okay this morning?”Her blue eyes searched his face.

  “I am now.”

  She brushed fingers against his jaw. “Whatever happens, know that I’m with you.”

  He nodded, throat suddenly tight.

  They fell in step toward the courthouse and more long hours of waiting.

  CHELSEA HAD BARELY SLEPT. As she dressed for another day with the jury, her limbs felt as though they had weights attached. Before falling into bed at midnight, she had alternated between pacing the room, reading the Bible, praying, and just plain worrying. Every time she caught herself giving in to her anxiety, she’d tried to turn it into a prayer. Sometimes it worked; sometimes it didn’t. Sometimes all she could see were her problems. She believed the Lord was at work. But at this moment, as she waited for the escort’s knock on her door, she just wanted to climb into bed and pull the covers over her head.

  Ican’t do this, Lord. Iknow you want me to keep holding out. You’ve made me sense that very clearly. But I just feel so weak. Ican’t last much longer.

  A knock sounded on her door. Steeling herself, Chelsea walked toward the dresser to pick up her purse.

  The vision came with no warning. It flashed through her mind, strong and vivid, gut-wrenching. That same evil man … and Kerra, her face pulled into a rigid mask of terror.

  Immediately the vision vanished. Chelsea’s blood turned to water. She threw out a hand and hung on to the dresser, eyes squeezing shut. Trying to tell herself that she hadn’t seen it, she had not.

  This was not real.

  She slid to her knees, prayers tumbling from her lips. Prayers for Kerra’s protection, for her own wisdom and strength, for God to show her what to do. She needed to be with Kerra, warn her of coming danger, maybe save her from it. She’d have to change her vote quickly, do anything to get herself out of there.

  Show me what to do, God!

  The knock sounded harder on the door.

  “Coming!” Chelsea called. Trembling, she pulled to her feet.Lord, what do Ido? Let me change my vote; let me go home!

  She snatched her purse off the dresser and headed for the door.

  JANET CLINE CHECKED THE time as she chewed the last of her bagel. Ten o’clock. In fifteen minutes she needed to be out the door, and her hair wasn’t dry. Even though it was Saturday, her calendar was full for the rest of the day. Four interviews plus a stack of paperwork. And since she’d be the only one in the office, she’d have to answer the phones.

  She washed and dried her small plate at the kitchen sink, then returned it to the cabinet. As she hurried toward the bathroom to brush her teeth, the phone rang.

  “Oh, forget you.” She kept moving, then slid to a halt.Maybe it was her daughter, Caroline, who often called on the weekend. Pivoting toward the counter, she snatched up the receiver. “Hello.”

  A male voice grated in her ears. “Ms. Cline.”

  “Yes?”

  “Enrico Delgadia.”

  Janet’s heart froze. For a moment she couldn’t move. Then slowly she reached for the counter and steadied herself.

  “I have a little problem I thought you might help me with.”Del-gadia spoke quietly, as if he expected her cooperation at the mere raising of his little finger. “It has come to my attention that a number of days ago you requested some paperwork about the adoption of my daughter, from social services in Sacramento.”

  “Who told you that?” Janet blurted. Surely not Pat, her friend and colleague who’d sent the paper.

  “I have friends in many places,” he replied, oiling the words with meaning.“My friend has been unable to discover the reason for your curiosity about these papers, however. And it does seem odd to me, after so much time has gone by. I would be most grateful if you would tell me the reason for your inquiry.”

  She gripped the phone, searching for an answer.

  “Ms. Cline?”

  “I just wanted to follow up on a few things, that’s all.”

  “I see. And you found nothing amiss, I hope.”

  “Of course not. Nothing at all.”

  He made a sound in his throat.“Why is it that you first requested only certain papers of the file? Namely the father’s relinquishment form.”

  “Really, I—”

  “Surely you understand my concern.We have had the child for seven months.My wife adores her. Shawna Welk insisted everything was in order. I would be most upset to hear that there is a problem.”

  Janet’s heart pounded. She opened her mouth but no sound would come.

  “Are you there, Ms. Cline?”

  “Yes,” she croaked.

  “Good. I have no doubt,” he continued in a mild tone that would cut steel,“that you will tell me
the truth. So I can let you get to work. Such an attractive building your office is in, by the way. Your home is attractive also. Lovely flowers out front. You obviously take great pride in your house.” He exhaled slowly. “But surely not as much pride as you take in your daughter, Caroline.Moved to Fresno with her new husband, hasn’t she? Lives on Baker Street?”

  Janet’s veins turned to ice.Her head seemed to detach itself from the rest of her body. This could not be happening. She swallowed, snatched a breath. “What do you want?”

  “Information, nothing more,” he replied.“Now, please. Why did you want to see the relinquishment?”

  Janet’s mind whirled with a dozen lies, but none that could assure the safety of her only child. Oh, Rogelio, she thought. What am Iabout to do to you?

  “The birth father came to see me with his copy. There were … some issues.”

  “Oh? First you say no problems; now you tell me there are issues.”His voice turned to flint. “I do not care for people who play games with me, Ms. Cline. I suggest for your sake that you tell me all you know.”

  Any resolve she had left drained out her feet. In a trembling voice Janet told him, without giving him Rogelio’s name.When she finished, the line was deadly quiet.

  “You are quite sure the father has told no one else?”

  “I’m sure. As I said, I convinced him to wait.”

  He gave a low laugh that chilled her to the bone. “That was wise of you, Ms. Cline. But hear me. My wife is fragile. I will not allow her to be upset by this unfortunate misunderstanding. I will do anything to protect my family, do you understand? Anything. Now. I have a copy of the father’s relinquishment right here.Your signature is on it.”He paused. “Of course, you do remember signing it.”

  It was not a question. Janet closed her eyes. How had he gotten a copy of that paper in a closed adoption? Images of Rogelio’s determined face flickered through her mind, followed by the realization of all she had to lose. Her fingernails dug into her palm.

  “Ms. Cline? I really must insist that you respond.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I signed it.”

  “Ah. I knew it. You’ll not hear from the father on this matter again, by the way. He has realized how complicated a baby would make his life.”

  Janet closed her eyes, sickness for Rogelio mixing with relief.No doubt he’d been threatened, too. Still, she rationalized, he had his whole life ahead of him. How much easier to just let this be.

  “However,” Delgadia continued smoothly,“on the off chance that this question should arise again, I stand assured that you will remember your signature?”

  She thought of Rogelio’s little girl, being raised by this despicable man. For a moment she wanted to stand up to him, make him pay for what he’d done. Then she thought of her own daughter.

  “Yes. I’ll remember.”

  “Very good,” he said oh-so-pleasantly. “I will not forget your kindness.”

  Nausea rolled through her stomach.

  “You have a nice day, Ms. Cline.” The dial tone sounded in her ear.

  Janet dropped the phone like a firebrand, stumbled to the sink, and threw up.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  “All right.” Clay thumped his hand on his notes. The sound seemed to shoot right through Chelsea.“I wanted to start off easy this morning, go over some of the basic facts just to get today’s discussion going on better terms than we did yesterday. Everybody seems a little calmer after a good night’s sleep, and I hope it stays that way. Before we move on, anybody have anything to add at this point?”

  Silence. Eleven pairs of eyes glanced at Chelsea. They all knew what was coming next.

  Why, Lord? Why can’t I change my vote? As soon as she sat in her chair an hour ago, she’d sensed God’s strong leading to stand firm. She could not understand it. Surely she wasn’t hearing God right. Why would he send her a vision about Kerra in danger, only to leave her stuck in here?

  To guide you to pray, came the answer.

  No. Chelsea didn’t want to pray. She was sick to death of praying day after day while she was stuck and unable to do anything. And while she was at it, she was sick to death of visions and being used by God and … everything.

  “Well then.”Clay turned his full attention upon her.“Ms.Adams, we now come back to you. You are still the only holdout.”

  Fear and weakness frothed hotly through Chelsea’s veins. She could not do this. “Could I just have a quick break first?” she asked. When the reluctant nod came, she aimed a smile around the table, then headed for the bathroom.

  She locked the door and sagged against it.Please, God, just let me go home. Ineed to help Kerra! Please talk to me.

  She pressed her palms together and brought them to her lips. She waited for a different answer than she’d heard before, but none came. Truth was, she did still have doubts about exactly how the murder happened. If she changed her vote, she would not be following her conscience, only her fears.

  So what? she cried silently.Who cared about Darren Welk and this trial? Her first concerns were for Kerra.

  That wasn’t true. Her first concern was doing what God asked her to do.

  “No, it isn’t!” she whispered aloud. “Or yes, it is, but I’m just hearing him wrong!”

  She leaned her head back against the door, fighting with herself and fighting with God. For the life of her she could not understand why God would place her in this position.

  Help me, Lord! I’ve had all I can take.

  In the next moment a calm began to settle over her. Chelsea stood warily, still pressed against the door, afraid to believe too soon that God was covering her with peace. But as her breathing steadied, she sensed also a strength and focus of will. She gave herself over to it, letting it carry her along like a warm river current.

  Thank you, Lord, thank you! Give me more!

  The strength continued to flow through her. Chelsea reveled in it, filled with thankfulness. Then she began to pray. For Kerra, for herself, for Brett and Milt. For the deliberations she now needed to continue.

  When she resumed her seat at the jury table two minutes later, she rested placid eyes momentarily upon the hard gaze of Tak. “Thanks for that time,” she said. “Okay. I’m hoping we can resolve this, as I know you all are, too.”

  MILT LEANED AGAINST A PILLAR in the quiet courthouse hallway, trying in vain to appear his normal, collected self. He’d have liked to MILT have enjoyed a better night’s sleep, but keeping Tracey calm had nearly worn him to a frazzle. She’d met him at the doorway the minute he got home last night, fuming and stomping about his report on Lynn Trudy.When had he found out? Why hadn’t he told her right away? Had Lynn really called those jurors? Why would she? Tracey stormed around his town house until he was sure she was about to break something. Took him a while to figure out she wasn’t mad at him. She was furious to think what Lynn might have done. “It doesn’t make any sense!” she kept yelling, which matched Milt’s sentiments exactly.

  One thing seemed sure. Tracey had known nothing about those calls.Which seemed logical, the more he thought about it.Milt had lain awake in the night trying to run down possible scenarios of Lynn’s involvement. The only thing he’d come up with is that the detectives must be chasing a red herring.

  Milt shifted his position against the pillar. Vaguely his eyes cruised over the scattered groups that waited. The Three Fates perched on the nearest bench like a trio of vultures, greedily eyeing every bit of motion. “We’ll sit here all week if we have to,” one of them had told him. “Never missed a day yet. Not about to miss the ending.” Brett and Kerra waited fitfully like a pair of chugging engines at the end of the farthest bench, away from everyone. Now and then a reporter sauntered in their direction, only to be turned away with an apparent “No comment.” Numerous television reporters loitered impatiently, but Bill was the only cameraman present. The other teams were no doubt hanging around the news vans lining the curb outside the courthouse. Stan Breckshire paced the other
side of the hall like a caged tiger. Erica’s high heels clicked in her own pacing, although she tried to be more suave about the whole thing.At the moment Terrance Clyde was nowhere to be seen.

  Milt’s cell phone rang. Ron was on the line.

  “I just called to check,” his news director said. “It’s on time.”

  Milt exhaled in relief.

  “I’m sending Gary to keep an eye out. I’ve made sure he’ll be able to get through security.He doesn’t know what’s up. But I’ve told him what to look for. And that his job depends on doing this right.”

  Gary was the station’s newest eager reporter. “Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

  Milt disconnected and checked his watch. Ten thirty. In a little over two hours, if things went according to plan, he’d call Tracey to the courthouse. How serendipitous that Lynn Trudy was presently indisposed, he thought. He wouldn’t have to worry about keeping her away from Tracey in that short time span. On the other hand, it was a shame Lynn couldn’t be around to see the show. Milt would have loved to see her face.

  In sheer nervous energy he checked his watch again. He was almost home free. Come on, jurors, just keep at it for two more hours… .

  FIFTY-SIX

  Salad King Trial Goes to Jury

  Rogelio read the story, then thwacked the paper angrily on the table. The article said the jury might decide a verdict as soon as today, and still Milt was doing nothing. Rogelio paced about the kitchen, muttering under his breath.Milt was not going to come through for him; he might as well face it. He was going to have to do something on his own. Brett Welk’s words flitted through his mind:“Don’t trust that guy.” He should have listened.

  The phone rang. Rogelio jumped for it, hoping it was Milt.

  “Rogelio Sanchez?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Enrico Delgadia. You and I have a little matter to settle.” Rogelio’s knees nearly buckled.

  Delgadia got right to the point. Janet Cline had “graciously” told him everything. She had assured him that Rogelio was wrong about the witness signatures. In light of her story, Rogelio had no recourse but to drop the whole foolish notion of trying to undo a seven-month-long adoption.And by the way, Delgadia was certain that his grandmother, Yolanda, and Kristin, the baby’s mother, would be most grateful for him to make this “wise decision.”