Daniel nodded. “Okay,” he said, taking both her hands in his. “Don’t worry, Ronnie. I will take care of it.”
A weight lifted, and Veronica realized that the question of what to do about the plane and how to make the airline listen to her had been a heavy weight. At least that was settled. At least she didn’t have to worry about those passengers.
“Maybe when I’m in prison I’ll just call you or something every time I get a vision. You can keep fixing all the problems for me.”
Daniel shook his head and then leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “You aren’t going to prison, Ronnie. I promise,” he whispered.
Her eyes filled up with tears again as she turned her face, resting it in the crook of his shoulder. “I hope you’re right,” she murmured.
As she began to shiver he ran his hands up and down her arms. “I am right,” he said. “Believe it.”
She curled up against him and he wrapped his arms around her, and they stayed like that for a long time.
~~~
Her arraignment went by quickly. It seemed like only five minutes had passed before they called her case number, although some of that impression came from her anxiety—it really took more like forty-five minutes for her case to come up. Kyung walked beside her to the front, and in response to the prompting of the judge, she confirmed her identity. The prosecution handed Kyung and the judge copies of the charges, which were the same as what Kyung had warned her they would be. Kyung and Veronica entered a plea of not guilty. She was already on bail, so no one discussed that. The judge set a date for the preliminary hearing for the 20th, in just over two weeks. When their business concluded, Kyung and Veronica gathered the materials they brought and the paperwork they had received and left the courtroom, but not before Veronica deliberately let her wallet fall from her purse on her way out of the doors.
“Okay, spirits,” she whispered. “Don’t let anyone pick this up, if possible. I know you can influence things sometimes. Now would be a really good time to do that.”
Once out in the hall, Veronica didn’t prolong things by discussing her case with Kyung, opting instead to make an appointment with him for the following Thursday. He told her he was hoping to have spoken to the LCCP’s gardener by then, and that perhaps they would have more to work with as a result. As Veronica made her way to her car, she decided it didn’t matter. She would worry about the case later. She couldn’t do anything about it now. No one could—not even Daniel with all of his promises and comforting words. He intended to confront Felsen today, she knew, but it didn’t give Veronica any hope—Felsen would not be deterred by Daniel’s anger. Veronica knew how serious Felsen was about discrediting her. If she needed any proof of it, she could just think back to how Felsen refused tell Posey and Donohue to take Veronica’s warnings seriously. Felsen knew perfectly well she was choosing to put the officers in danger when she did that. The woman wanted Veronica prosecuted so badly that she had falsely arrested her. Nothing Daniel would say to her would make any difference.
No, all Veronica could do was wait and see what Kyung could put together, and then if it just didn’t look like they could make Veronica’s case strong enough—then she would consider a plea bargain. Maybe ADA Spinoza would be generous. Veronica had no priors. There just was no sense letting the possibilities take over her life when she had something important to do.
She drove to the library and spent most of the day trying to find out everything she could about previous Fourth of July parades and celebrations in Sacramento. She read newspaper articles from the archives, searched the internet, and even found a book that talked about July Fourth events throughout California. The book wasn’t much help, but the newspaper articles, particularly the recent ones, confirmed a fear she had. The city of Sacramento partnered with several businesses to put on the festivities, and one of those businesses was Nestle Water. There would be Nestle Water bottles everywhere.
Checking the Sacramento courthouse’s website, she also took down information important to her plans for the rest of the afternoon. She checked the schedule of arraignment hearings, marking the courtroom numbers on a piece of paper provided for noting down Dewey Decimal digits.
Finally, at three o’clock, Veronica got her things and drove back to the courthouse. Timothy Roeder’s arraignment was scheduled for three-thirty, just half an hour before the court closed.
Veronica jogged up the wide gray stairs that led to the tall building—it looked like it was made of blue glass, the windows reflecting the sky. She presented herself to the front counter, crossing her fingers behind her purse. “I’m pretty sure I dropped my wallet,” she said. “When I was here this morning.”
The bored looking middle-aged man with a receding hairline and frameless glasses raised one dark eyebrow. Veronica sucked in her breath and gave him a dazzling smile. His expression unchanged, he leaned over and opened a lower drawer. Veronica couldn’t see what he was doing because of the counter.
“Name?” he said.
“Veronica Barry. My license is in it.”
He straightened and shook his head. “Sorry, no one’s turned anything in.”
Veronica suppressed a smile of triumph. “Is it okay if I go check down the hall?”
He waved her on.
She passed through the metal detectors and made a show of searching the floor, up against the walls, behind the trash bins. She glanced as quickly as possible at the numbers by each courtroom door, finally stopping at the one where Roeder was. She pulled out her phone, leaned against the wall, and proceeded to send texts to herself for the next twelve minutes.
The door of the courtroom opened and a man she didn’t know wearing a gray suit emerged, followed by Roeder himself. Veronica swiftly grabbed as if to catch the door, but caught Roeder’s arm, instead, thinking, Come on. Show me who he’s working with.
~~~
A mahogany door—a front door—with several scrapes and chipped paint in the siding of the walls around it stood in front of her. She reached out with a young man’s hand—Roeder’s, no doubt—and let herself into the house. The door was not locked.
The carpet she stepped on was worn down, the brown kind with pile so sparse that it flattened to nothing. One heavy-looking metal floor lamp lit the room, casting yellow light. Three people sat on the twin sagging couches of scuffed brown leather. On one couch was a man with a buzz cut and freckles over all of his skin. It was Robert Murphy; Veronica recognized him from photos Daniel had shown her. On the other couch were a man and woman. The man was young, probably close to Roeder’s age, with light blond, short hair. He wore a white A-shirt and faded jeans, and no shoes. He struck Veronica as familiar. The woman was older, maybe in her mid-thirties. She had mousy brown hair in a ponytail and wore a pink T-shirt and denim shorts with dingy white fabric wedge espadrilles. Veronica was certain she had never seen the woman before. Robert sat alone on one couch, the man and woman together on the other. As Veronica entered, all three of them turned to look at her. Robert Murphy did not look happy.
“Roeder,” Murphy growled.
Roeder stepped forward, found a spot to stand where he could look down at all of them, and crossed his arms. “Well, I’m here. What was so important?”
Murphy shifted, clearly unhappy to be seated while Roeder stared down at him. “What’s so important is that Scotty here told me something very interesting,” Murphy said.
Veronica focused on the young man. Of course. It was Scotty Haines, Pastor Haines’s son. She’d met him when she and Daniel came to the LCCP to question the reverend.
“And what might that be?” Roeder asked.
“He says someone got into the church’s accounts,” Murphy said. He stood up. “I don’t suppose that someone was you.”
Roeder cocked his head to the side, and Veronica felt the muscles in his neck and arms stiffen. “Why would I want to get into the church’s accounts?”
“I don’t know, to steal money for that stupid plan of yours.”
Roeder looked from Murphy to Scotty, opening his mouth and running his tongue along his lower teeth. He snapped his jaw shut and glared at Scotty.
“I didn’t tell him anything about it,” Scotty said.
“I hope not. Because that would be exactly what I told you not to do, right, Scott?” Roeder said.
“We talked about this, Roeder. Your plan is suicide,” Murphy said. “I told you. It’s not going to do anyone any good, and anyone involved is going to end up on the wrong end of a death needle.”
Roeder shook his head. “You’re such a disappointment, Murph. Seven years in prison and you’re like, a total pawn of the agenda now. What did they do to you in there? Did you start to like it or something?”
Murphy shoved Roeder’s shoulder, causing him to take a step back. Roeder kept his balance easily, however. “Don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about, dickhead,” Murphy said to Roeder.
“I know I’m tired of holding up cardboard signs at funerals and hoping the family sues us. We’re not getting anywhere. We have to take it to the next level. Scotty agrees with me,” Roeder said.
Murphy turned his scowl on Scotty, who squirmed in his seat.
The woman rolled her eyes. “Okay,” she said, getting up. “I don’t need to witness this sword fight. I’ll be going.”
“And where do you stand with this idea?” Murphy asked her.
She frowned and stepped around the couch.
Murphy lunged and caught her arm. “Don’t tell me you’re part of this lunatic plan of his?”
“So are you,” she said to Murphy.
“What? What are you talking about?” Murphy demanded.
“You gave him the idea with all that talk about bio weapons. You gave him the guy’s name,” she said.
Murphy froze, then dropped her arm and turned slowly to face Roeder again. “Victor?” he said. “You’re trying to bring Victor into this?”
“‘Trying’ implies I haven’t yet succeeded,” Roeder said, his mouth curling into a smug smile.
Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “You’re such an idiot. Victor’s no one to mess around with, Roeder, he’s serious bad news. You bring him into this, he’ll use it for his own reasons, you get it?”
Roeder rolled his eyes. “Okay, Dad.”
Murphy flushed. “How would you even know how to contact him?”
“People who can hack bank accounts can hack email accounts pretty easily,” Roeder said.
“You little shit—” Murphy cut himself off, charging at Roeder like a linebacker. Roeder coughed as the older man’s weight crashed into his chest and his breath left him. For a moment, panic surged within him as he fought to escape from under Murphy’s body—fought to pull air back into his lungs. More out of desperation than aggression, Roeder swung and boxed Murphy’s ear, then clawed his face. At last the older man rolled off of him, though he tried immediately to put a knee down on Roeder’s chest. He wasn’t fast enough. Roeder sucked in air and lurched away, then reached for the floor lamp. He gripped it in both hands and swung it at Murphy. When it connected, the snap that sounded made Roeder’s stomach turn over.
Murphy crumpled and sprawled on the floor, a hand twitching for a few seconds before he was still.
“Sweet Jesus,” the woman said.
Scotty slowly stood from the couch, stepping to Murphy’s side. “Roeder,” he said in a breath. “I think you killed him.”
“No fucking way,” Roeder said, still panting, still holding the lamp, which was still casting light.
The woman stumbled to the arm of the couch and sat on it.
“Dude, I’m telling you,” Scotty said, kneeling by Murphy. He touched the man’s neck, and then picked up his wrist. “We should call 9-1-1.”
Roeder shook his head. “No way.”
“He’s not moving, asshole. I can’t find a pulse.”
“We’re not calling 9-1-1,” Roeder said. “I can’t deal with this right now. It would screw everything up. The cops would be all over the place—we’ve got stuff to do. The parade is only a couple of weeks from now.”
Scotty frowned up at him. “He might still be alive, you know.”
Veronica felt Roeder’s face twist into a grimace and the muscles in his arms bunch as he lifted the heavy lamp over his head. She wanted to scream as he brought it down, hard as he could, on Murphy’s body, smashing into his head and neck.
The woman cried out, and Scotty jerked away.
“Not anymore,” Roeder said. “Now help me get him into a blanket so I can carry him easier.”
~~~
When Veronica returned to herself, she was standing by the closed door of the courtroom, and Roeder and his lawyer were long gone. She shuddered as she made her way back down the hall to the courtroom where she’d had her arraignment. She crept in, found her wallet in the corner on the floor, and hurried out again, rushing to leave the courthouse behind her and find the safety of her car.
By the time she got to her Honda, her hands were shaking so badly she dropped the keys twice before letting herself in and sitting down. The brutality of Murphy’s murder had taken her by surprise, and she was having trouble processing it. It had seemed at first like an accident—and she supposed at first, that’s what it was—but then, when he hit him again—
Veronica moaned and rested her head on her arms, leaning on the steering wheel, tears leaking from her eyes, wetting her cheeks and arms. Of course she already knew Roeder was a murderer—she’d seen him kill poor Ivy, and experienced him assault Sarah. But somehow the way he’d killed Murphy had shocked her all over again.
Forcing herself to breathe in and out in regular breaths, she reviewed everything from the vision in her mind, trying to take a step back from it. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Scotty Haines was an accomplice, and the unnamed woman. She could identify either of them if she saw them again.
Roeder hadn’t intended to kill Murphy, she thought, but once he’d hit him the first time, he’d chosen to bludgeon him again rather than let anyone call for an ambulance and set events in motion preventing him from carrying out his plan at the parade. Roeder clearly was dead set on making sure his plan took place. Murphy seemed appalled that Roeder had brought in Leopold Victor. More proof that Roeder was willing to cast caution to the wind to make his plan happen.
Nothing would stop Roeder—Veronica realized he must have gotten out on bail, since she saw him leaving the courtroom with his attorney. His arrest would do nothing to prevent the attack on the parade. She pulled out her cell phone, hands still shaking, and speed-dialed Daniel.
“Ronnie,” he answered.
“Daniel, Roeder got out on bail,” Veronica said.
“Ronnie, are you okay?”
“He’s going to contact Victor, I’m sure of it. He’s going to warn him. And they’ll change the plan somehow.”
“Where are you?”
“Are you listening to me? Daniel, he’s out. He’s got four days to rearrange things. We won’t know how to stop him.”
“Okay, I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”
“That doesn’t matter!”
“Ronnie, there’s nothing I can do if the court let him out on bail,” Daniel said.
“You were right,” Veronica said, clutching the phone as if it would anchor her. “Roeder hacked Murphy’s email. That’s how he got into contact with Victor.”
“If he emails Victor again, we’ll know,” Daniel said.
“And if he doesn’t email him? What if he calls him?”
“We’ll deal with it, Ronnie. We’ll figure out what to do at the parade when Tuesday rolls around. Besides, Roeder’s not a criminal mastermind—he’ll probably stick to his plan. Most criminals just aren’t that clever. Now, tell me where you are. You sound really shaken up.”
Tears spilled from Veronica’s eyes again. “I’m outside the courthouse. About a block down, on—” She craned her head, catching sight of the cross street. “Eighth and I.”
>
“Ronnie, what are you doing at the courthouse?” Daniel’s tone conveyed alarm.
“Nothing bad,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Look, don’t worry, okay? I’m alright. I’ll just go home and I’ll be fine.”
“I’m coming to get you. Stay there.”
Chapter 22
Daniel wasn’t thrilled that Veronica had gone back to the courthouse, despite her assurances that the front counter clerk would be able to verify that she had come looking for her wallet. “The ADA could punch holes in that excuse with his eyes closed,” Daniel informed her.
They were sitting in a far corner of Penny Coffee. Veronica tugged on a chamomile teabag, swirling the yellow liquid as Daniel took a sip of his decaf cappuccino.
Veronica inhaled deeply and released the teabag’s string. “I had to do it. You know I did. And I got exactly what I asked for. I saw two accomplices, Daniel. One of them was Pastor Haines’s son, Scotty.”
Daniel rocked his head back, closing his eyes. He straightened and met her gaze. “Okay. Yes, it’s really useful information to have. I just don’t want you do to anything to jeopardize your case.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve spent most of my life avoiding the visions, ignoring them, ignoring the dreams, even forcing them to shut down. And now that I’ve finally accepted them, and I’ve realized the good they can do, I might go to prison for it.” She let out a ragged sigh. “It sucks.” She reached out and took his hand. “But this morning, I made a decision. I’m not going to stop trying to prevent this disaster from happening on Tuesday. If I go to jail for it, fine—then at least I’ll know for sure that there’s no justice in the world.”
Daniel brought her hand up and kissed the backs of her fingers. “You are the bravest person I know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mister Faces Down Murderers Every Day.”
Daniel shook his head. “You saw him kill Murphy, huh?”
Veronica suppressed a shudder. “Yes. It was awful.”
“I don’t have to watch murders every day, you know.”
The Plane and the Parade (Veronica Barry Book 3) Page 24