Hidden Summit - By Robyn Carr Page 0,102
worry. I know the district attorney. He’s a brilliant man.”
“Why isn’t there some kind of gag on him?” Leslie asked. “How can he be allowed to talk to the reporters about evidence that’s going to come up?”
“There’s more than one way to play that hand, Leslie. I don’t have any idea what the D.A.’s strategy is, but you can believe if he didn’t want to hear what Mathis has to say to the press, he’d find a way to gag him. You probably just heard part of his defense—old blood, forensic errors, maybe it was someone else driving his car, et cetera. That’s not to say there won’t be surprises, but…” The color wasn’t coming into her cheeks, so Brie said, “Jack, give her a drink.”
“Coming up.”
“Don’t panic yet,” Brie said.
Leslie took a sip of her wine. “When can I go ahead and panic?”
“I’ll give you a call when it’s time,” Brie said.
“Paul,” Leslie said. “I think I might have to take tomorrow off. Hang around the TV.”
“Want to watch at my house?” Brie asked. “I have good satellite reception.”
“I’d rather be home, near the phone, but my TV reception is iffy.”
“Call him tonight,” Brie said. “Tell him where you’ll be. Court doesn’t convene until 9:00 a.m., so don’t rush. Come when you can.”
“I’ll be there by nine.”
“Understandable,” Brie said.
Several hours later, when it was late, Leslie called Conner’s cell phone. He answered, “Hey, baby.”
“Conner, I can’t get you off my mind. And you didn’t call.”
He sighed. “I thought maybe I shouldn’t tonight. I’m testifying tomorrow morning.”
“Oh, Conner, why couldn’t you call? Did they ask you not to?”
“No, but I didn’t want to drag you into this drama. Les, I’m not coming back this weekend. I’m not going anyplace I can be followed until it’s all over. Until there’s no chance I’ll be recalled.”
“I understand. Conner, I saw him on TV. The man you’re testifying against. Talking to reporters.”
“I saw it, too,” he said. “Apparently I’m testifying against a sainted soul whom the police have been trying to trap for one reason or another for years....”
“Oh, Conner…”
“He’s convincing before he even opens his mouth,” Conner said. “And then he’s even more convincing. Max says we have to trust the system. He says there’s good, solid evidence. But they’re going to claim I couldn’t have seen his face.”
“But you did....”
“I did. He looked rumpled and messed up that night. He didn’t have that classy, sophisticated, starched look to him. He looked like a furious guy who didn’t have an ounce of guilt about what he’d done. He was covered with blood from moving the body. I’ll never forget it. And when he was walking back to his car…he moved slowly. Leisurely. Like the whole thing had been just another chore, like he was completely justified.”
“Conner…”
“He’s got a good game face,” Conner said. “I’m working on mine.”
“I hate that you’re going through this alone,” she said.
“Alone is the only way I want to get it done. I don’t want anyone I love even close to this mess. And it is a mess.”
“I’m staying home from work tomorrow, watching the news from Brie’s house because she has better reception than I do. So if you’re looking for me, that’s where I’ll be. And, well, if it means anything, I’m really proud of you.”
“It means everything, Les.” He paused. “I want you to get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow after it’s over.”
After Conner called Max and told him about Samantha’s veiled threat, the D.A. said that he’d already heard from the police officer escort, and, unfortunately, she was going to be taken into custody. “I just want to make it clear, Max, I’m sure she wasn’t acting on the behalf of the defense team. I’m sure that was meant to manipulate me. She’s been trying to reconcile with me for two years and I’ve been ignoring her.”
“Sadly for her, her motive isn’t an issue,” Max said.
Conner was told exactly what to wear to court—a light blue oxford button-down without a tie, and tan pants, pressed with a sharp crease. Brown shoes. Ordinary clothes on an ordinary guy. The irony was—he already had those clothes, and it was exactly what he would’ve chosen. Max, who was very well turned out, wanted him to look like a blue-collar kind of guy whom the jury would believe and empathize with.
Conner was a blue-collar guy. Since the crime and the fire, he’d had occasion to look over his net worth, trying to figure out what to do next,