“We, the jury,” the foreman continued, “find the defendant guilty as charged in the crime of kidnapping, as set forth in Count Two of the indictment.”
Kominsky leaned forward and whispered to Stella and Growman, “I’ll buy the champagne.” No longer concerned about the remainder of the charges, he slipped out the back.
Stella listened as the rest of the verdicts were read, most of the charges classified as lesser or included crimes. Many times the prosecution would file numerous counts, all reflective of the same period of criminal behavior. If the jury convicted on one count, it could not convict on the others; therefore, Pelham was found not guilty on the remaining counts.
Once the foreman had finished reading the verdicts, the judge set a date for sentencing and promptly adjourned. Reporters leaped to their feet and rushed the counsel table, thrusting microphones in Stella’s face. “How long do you think Pelham will be in prison?” one male reporter said, shoving several other reporters aside.
“We hope to get the maximum sentence,” Stella said, ripping the rubber band out of her hair and pulling the right side forward so it covered her scar. “If the judge sentences consecutively on both the murder and the kidnapping charges, Mr. Pelham may never step outside the prison walls.”
“What happened to your face? Was it a recent accident or is it an old injury? Did you decide to expose it at the last minute to influence the jury?”
Questions flew at her from all directions. “No comment,” Stella said. She turned to say something to Ben Growman, and then walked over and embraced Judy McKinley. “It’s over, Judy,” she said. “Maybe you can get on with your life now.”
“Thank you,” the woman said, sobbing. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you. You were wonderful today. I don’t know what happened to you but—”
Stella released her when Growman stepped up beside her. The television cameras were rolling again and the photographers were snapping shots of the two of them together. “You’ve said you might retire next year,” a woman reporter said to Growman. “Are the rumors true that you’re grooming Ms. Cataloni as your successor?”
Growman beamed, draping an arm over Stella’s shoulder. “That’s a clear possibility, young lady,” he said, using the relaxed, folksy tone of a seasoned politician. “To tell y’all the truth, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather endorse than Stella Cataloni. She’s the finest prosecutor we’ve ever had in this agency.” He glanced over at Stella and chuckled. “Maybe I’ll even organize her campaign. Heck, I’ve got to do something after I retire. Of course, that’s if she’ll have me.”
Stella smiled. When a man with twenty years in on a job, one as respected and revered as Ben Growman, issued a glowing recommendation on national TV, it was tantamount to handing over the keys to his office. Feeling his hand brush against her side, she reached down and squeezed it. Stella was on a high, and she loved it. Nothing could stop her now.
About the Author
Nancy Taylor Rosenberg has worked for the Dallas Police Department, the New Mexico State Police, the Ventura Police, and served as a deputy probation officer in Ventura County, where she was assigned to court services. She has written five New York Times bestselling novels, all of them selections of the Literary Guild. She lives in New York. You can visit her website at http://www.nancytrosenberg.com.
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