Texas Tall - Janet Dailey Page 0,101

to begin.

* * *

Wearing the gray business suit he’d always hated, and a blue silk tie that felt like a noose around his neck, Will took his seat next to Tori at the table for the defense. Today his ex-wife was all business in the black tailored suit and ivory blouse she favored for trial wear. There was no sign of the pliant, needy woman who’d lain naked in his arms last night. She was sharp, edgy, and primed for battle, a warrior queen in black stilettos.

The gallery was filling with spectators. Turning in his seat, Will flashed a thumbs-up sign to Erin in the back row. Dressed in soft blue, the color of truth, with a demure white cardigan that matched the bow in her tawny hair, she sat next to Lauren, who’d promised to take her outside if the proceedings became too intense.

Beau had taken a seat in the row behind the railing, close enough to whisper to Will or Tori if the need arose. The local press was there, as well as a flock of curious townspeople who had nothing better to do than watch what they probably viewed as a live soap opera. They’re like vultures gathering for a feast, Will thought. To hell with them all.

Heads swiveled, almost in unison, as Stella entered the courtroom. She was all in black, her vermilion hair drawn back into a bun, her makeup subdued. She was dressed to play the part of the grieving sister, and Will had no doubt she would give an Oscar-worthy performance.

Every eye was on her, and she was making the most of it. Her dress and makeup might be subdued, but her walk was the familiar Stella strut—hips swaying, butt thrusting, putting on a show from the rear. A murmur went through the spectators as she walked down the center aisle to her seat at the rail behind the prosecutor.

“All rise!” The bailiff—a husky former trooper with a commanding voice—announced the arrival of the judge. Sid Henderson was nearing retirement after more than twenty-five years on the bench. A blocky, humorless man, with a jowly face and a thatch of white hair, he could be counted on to run an efficient court with little tolerance for drama. When it came to handing down sentences, no judge in the county was harder on convicted wrongdoers. Will could only hope that issue wouldn’t have to be faced today.

After everyone was seated and the judge had spoken a few words, Clay Drummond stepped before the jury box and waded into his opening statement like a heavyweight boxer lumbering into the ring. The man was good. Damn good. His claim that Will’s reckless shot had killed a harmless man who’d already surrendered his gun was so compelling that Will might have bought it himself, if he hadn’t been the one on trial.

But Will, who’d known the prosecutor for years, noticed something else about Clay. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot. His voice was hoarse, his stance slightly wide-legged, as if he had to brace himself to stay erect. There was an air of desperation about the man. The more Will watched him, the more convinced he became that something wasn’t right.

When her turn came, Tori was in top form. Will’s actions, she argued, had been those of any responsible parent with a child to protect. He’d fired believing the victim to be a dangerous fugitive who wouldn’t hesitate to overpower him and take his daughter hostage, or worse. The question before the jury was whether the defendant had acted in a reasonable manner. If so, they would be duty-bound to find him innocent.

When she took her seat again, Will had to stop himself from giving her a touch of encouragement. Right now, he mustn’t think of himself as her ex-husband, her friend, or her lover. He was her client; and the best thing he could do was leave her alone to do her job.

“The people call Sheriff Abner Sweeney.”

Clay began his case as expected. Abner appeared nervous as he took the oath and described what he had found when he’d arrived at the alleged crime scene. At that point Clay introduced the bagged knife, a small switchblade, as evidence and asked Abner to confirm it was the one that had been found in the victim’s hand.

“Sheriff, were any fingerprints found on the knife?”

Abner looked down at his lap. “No. The knife appeared to have been wiped clean.”

Will’s pulse