Sudden Death - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,71
to Europe?”
He thinks and names four male friends, unfortunately including Kenny. Then, “Teri and I had just gotten married a few months before; it was sort of a last fling with the guys.” He looks at her. “Not that kind of fling… you know what I mean.”
She smiles her understanding, not particularly jealous of anything that might have happened almost a decade ago, before her husband was paralyzed. Then she turns to me. “I was pregnant, so we got married. We were only eighteen.”
I ask Bobby, “Why weren’t your friends with you when you went for the drive?”
He shrugs. “I don’t remember. They probably went to the beach.”
I’m learning more than I need to know, so I apologize for bothering them and leave without answering their questions. What I did was not fair to them, but it provided me with another piece of information. The list of tragically unlucky friends and acquaintances of Kenny Schilling’s now includes Bobby Pollard.
Heading to court for the first day of the defense’s case, I can’t remember ever being a part of a situation like this. I’m defending my client against a murder charge while at the same time leading an investigation to determine whether or not he is a serial murderer. And whether I win or lose the trial, I can never reveal the results of that investigation.
I’ve decided to break our defense case into two parts. The first will deal with showing the jury who Kenny Schilling is and how unlikely it is that he would suddenly turn killer. The second phase will be devoted to presenting the jury with other alternatives, other possible killers, and to show them the dangerous world in which Troy Preston lived. Neither of the two parts is likely to carry the day; the overwhelming physical evidence, plus Kenny’s behavior during the siege at his house, are still looking impregnable. We are in very deep trouble.
Just before the session begins, I call Sam Willis and ask him to add Bobby Pollard to the list of people he is investigating. I tell him not to bother checking whether Kenny had the geographic proximity to have caused the accident, since Bobby has already said that he did. Rather, I want Sam to check into the accident itself, to learn whether the Spanish police considered it a possible attempted murder.
I spend the day parading a group mostly consisting of professional football players in front of the starstruck jury. Each witness talks of his admiration for Kenny and the total absurdity that anyone could believe Kenny could take another life.
I would be bored to death if Dylan did not look so uncomfortable. He’s afraid that the jury will buy into what these people are saying just because of who they are, and he spends little time cross-examining so that they’ll leave more quickly. Dylan does get each to say that he has no actual knowledge as to the circumstances of Preston’s death and cannot provide Kenny with any kind of alibi.
I call off our meeting tonight; I’m well prepared for tomorrow’s witnesses, and I’m better off spending the time trying to extricate myself from my well-deserved depression. It’s not one of our regular sleepover nights, but I ask Laurie to stay, and she does. I barbecue, and in deference to my fragile mental state, she doesn’t even insist on fish.
We’re just sitting down to eat when Pete Stanton, with characteristic perfect timing, shows up. We invite him to join us, since I always make extra, and he does. At least he didn’t bring his extended family with him.
Once Pete is finished inhaling his food, he gets around to telling us why he came by. Quintana was released from custody this morning, and the police have heard from informants that he’s going to come after me. Pete wants to make sure that I’m well protected, and Laurie tells him that Marcus and Willie are on the case.
“But you’re sure it was Quintana that had Adam killed?” I ask.
Pete nods. “It was Quintana, unless you’ve got some other homicidal maniacs after you. With your mouth it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“So the investigation is closed?”
He shakes his head. “Unsolved murders are never closed. But this one ain’t getting solved, if that’s what you mean.”
I know exactly what he means, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life fearing for my life. I’m forming the germ of an idea on how to deal with the situation, but I’m not ready to verbalize it yet,