Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,97
hadn’t been in the country the day or the entire week before the night in question. Neither had he been deployed. He had, in fact, returned to San Diego late the night Goff was murdered. Interesting…
So why wouldn’t he reveal where he’d been, even to save himself? It made no sense.
After a long pause, Cudahy cleared his throat, placed his hand on the witness stand, and asked, “Precisely when did Judge leave your home the day in question?”
“Oh, we weren’t at my place, no, sir. We ate at his place. Over in Ocean Beach. See, most folks don’t know Walker Judge owns a second home two doors away from the descendant.”
Cudahy straightened his tie. “I’m sure you mean decedent, as in the deceased, don’t you?”
Jessica Rabbit scrunched those tanned, bare shoulders. Ducked her empty blonde head, wiggled her boobs, and squealed, “You know what I meant!”
Something in the prosecutor’s eyes glittered. Looked a lot like—lust.
“You can’t cure stupid,” Izza muttered.
“No, Izza. She’s not stupid. Look at him. Look at Cudahy. Watch how she can’t take her eyes off him. And the second he placed his hand on that stand—” Persia reversed the video clip. Sure enough. “See? Right there. Watch his hand.”
“Crap, she’s playing with his fingers!”
“And he knows it,” Persia hissed. “That’s why he rested it there. He’s reaching out to comfort or encourage her. Wanna bet Cudahy’s sleeping with Miss Sunday Night Breeze? She might be an airhead, but that woman’s in love with that officer. Want to bet Hotrod picked her up at one of the local bars? And she’s lying. So did Steven Horowitz, Goff’s alleged neighbor. Walker Judge only owned one house, and it wasn’t anywhere near Goff’s in Ocean Beach. He couldn’t afford that neighborhood. Ember already checked his financials. She would’ve caught that.”
“There’s more,” Hans said solemnly.
What more could there be? First, a defense attorney who provided no defense whatsoever. Then an ex-girlfriend—Persia refused to refer to Sunday Night Breeze as Hotrod’s lover—who obviously had a crush on the officer intent on putting him in Leavenworth.
Persia crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes wide open now. When Judge Cole asked Hotrod’s attorney for the second time if he was sure he didn’t want to cross-examine Miss Breeze, Hotrod stewed. He’d distanced himself from LT Kroft by then, had pushed back in his chair, the cords in his neck taut. Yet he still faced the man holding the gavel with respect. Not once had he resorted to calling his ex a liar, or other theatrical dramatics. But he should have. Persia was mad enough to do it for him.
Hans pointed to the guy seated in the far rear corner of the courtroom. Dressed in dark jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, he sat with one elbow on his knee, his left hand shielding his face from the camera. Standard weight and height, at first glance, he appeared ordinary. Until the ring on his finger caught Persia’s eye.
“Wait. Stop. Can we freeze this frame and zoom in?”
That same wise smile cracked Hans’ lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Deftly, he worked the keyboard and brought that hand up close and personal.
“Crap. That is a big ring,” Izza declared.
It was that and more. Downright ostentatious. The face of the ring extended from the man’s knuckle to the first joint of the ring finger on his right hand. A bright gold Navy SEAL Trident, complete with eagle, flintlock style pistol, US Navy anchor, and Neptune’s trident, accented the hammered silver ring.
“Hmmm,” Izza murmured. “Looks like somebody’s got a bad case of penis envy if you ask me.”
“Or stolen valor,” Persia replied. Oftentimes, guys who flaunted jewelry like this were wannabes who’d never served a day. “I wonder if we can trace who bought that ring.”
Hans slapped the laptop cover down. “Ladies. Thank you for allowing me to represent your friend. I leave him in your capable hands. I must get back to my office.”
“You’ll be better off staying here where you’ll be safe,” Persia insisted.
He shook his head. “I will be okay.”
“Are you sure?” Izza asked, her head tilted.
He reached out and took her hand in both of his. “Yes, Agent Maher. Thank you for worrying, but it is what it is. I know the law. They can’t hurt me.”
When it came to her turn, Persia didn’t release Hans’ handshake. Instead, she pulled him in shoulder to shoulder. “You need anything, Mr. Koning, you reach out to me immediately, you understand? I will come for you.”