With her good hand she pulled her hair away from her face. “You want to know what I was thinking? I was thinking about Nelson Newell, and his righteousness when he shot my father. How sure Newell was that he was justified. And right then, I think, maybe, I could have convinced myself I was justified in killing Ethan and Morgan for toying with my life. They were standing there knocking my well-being back and forth between them like it was a damn tennis ball. The gun gave me the power. I’ll admit that.” Emma’s composure began to evaporate and tears formed in her eyes. Her voice shook. “But when J.P. raised his gun toward the cop, everything became different. And all I wanted to do was save him, the cop. That’s all. In the end I just wanted to stop the killing.”
Lauren said, “You did save him, hon. You did.”
There is no jury box in the jail courtroom. Emma was directing her comments toward the bench, toward Cozy.
“No. You don’t understand. I wanted to save my father.” Her voice turned small. “Do you know that…I was too late to save my daddy? I tried to save him. I did. But I couldn’t. Everybody thought I was so special that day, but I didn’t do anything. Nothing. My daddy died. He died in my arms.” She pressed her eyes shut to force some image to disappear. “Today, though, this morning, I saved someone. That’s good. I’m so sorry Ethan had to die, but I don’t really feel that I killed him. Maybe tomorrow I will. But I know what was in my heart when I squeezed the trigger. Isn’t that what matters? What’s in your heart?” Her words were jerky, buffeted by her tears. “What’s in your heart? That’s what matters. Right? Right?”
Lauren stood and found Emma by tracking her cries. She eased Emma’s head to her shoulder and comforted her until the memories softened their grip.
The walls of the back of the courtroom are glass. Casey and Cozy were in position to see Sam Purdy and Scott Malloy enter the adjoining corridor. Cozy rapped the gavel to get everyone’s attention. “Visitors,” he said. For Lauren’s benefit he added, “Sam Purdy and Scott Malloy are here.”
Scott pushed the door open and preceded Sam into the room. “Sorry for the intrusion, everyone. We’ll be brief.”
Cozy said, “This can’t wait?”
“No. It shouldn’t wait.”
Malloy approached Emma and pulled two photographs from a manila envelope. He held one in each hand. “You recognize either of these men?”
Emma took two steps away and whispered something to Casey, who replied, “It’s fine, go ahead.”
Emma nodded. “Yes. They’re the two kids who tried to kidnap me last week, in the parking garage at Eleventh and Spruce.”
“Figured that. Punks. Thought you would like to know they’re in custody. Pulled the same stunt in the garage on Walnut two days ago.”
Breathless, Lauren asked, “Was anyone hurt?”
Purdy said, “No. No one was hurt. They let the woman go a few blocks from the garage. They wanted the car and the money.”
Cozy stared at the two cops, who weren’t making any effort to depart. He said, “What do you really want? That could’ve waited until morning. You two didn’t get all dressed up for that little demonstration.”
“You’re right, Mr. Maitlin. We didn’t.” Scott Malloy stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked three steps toward the bench before he continued. “Ballistics evidence confirms Ms. Spire’s version of events in the bank lobby this morning. It appears she wasn’t aiming at Ethan Han. Her shot missed Morgan by no more than a couple of inches.”
Casey said, “And?”
“And…the bullet the surgeons retrieved from Ethan Han’s lung came from the police officer’s weapon. Not from Ms. Spire’s. To make a long story short, she’s free to go.”
“I didn’t shoot him?”
“Apparently not, Ms. Spire.”
“I can go home?”
Scott Malloy said, “You can all go home. As a matter of fact, I can’t tell you how happy it would make me if you all just got the hell out of here.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When I needed legal help, I had four talented volunteers. Paul McCormick, Peggy Jessel, Donald Wilson, and Harry MacLean generously offered their wisdom and their experience.
I received law enforcement instruction from professionals who work for a variety of jurisdictions, and I am especially grateful to Sergeant Tom Groff of the Boulder County Sheriff’s Department, Detective Carey Weinheimer, Detective Melissa Hickman, and Virginia Lucy of the Boulder Police Department, and Detective Stephen Adams and John Graham of the Arvada Police Department.
Steven Miller, M.D., provided invaluable assistance in focusing my thinking regarding technology and entrepreneurship, and Terry Lapid, M.D., and Stan Galansky, M.D., were on call for all fictional medical emergencies.
Early readers of the manuscript hit the potholes that I didn’t even know I’d created. I’m grateful to Lee Miller, Kay McCormick, Mark Graham, Vicki Emery, Elyse Morgan, Ann Nemeth, Greg Moody, and Ellen Greenhouse, all of whom volunteered for that hazardous duty. And my special thanks to Patricia and Jeffrey Limerick, and to Ann Crammond and the real Larry Arbuthnot for being good sports.
Having Al Silverman as an editor and a friend is a true honor. His skill is exceeded only by his graciousness and loyalty. The longer we work together, the wiser he seems. Elaine Koster, Michaela Hamilton, and Joe Pittman at Dutton/Signet provide me with a rare gift—they allow me plenty of rope, and trust that I’m going to fashion something with it that doesn’t closely resemble a noose.
Lynn Nesbit, Eric Simonoff, and the professionals who work with them at Janklow & Nesbit Associates invigorate me. I’m terribly grateful.
My family’s love is responsible for the creative air I breathe. To Rose and Alexander, to my mother, Sara White Kellas, and to all the Walshs and Whites from County Kerry to New England to the Left Coast, my loving thanks.
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