Part 21 (2/2)
Her gaze swept the small clearing. ”There,” she pointed. It was a spot free of leaves, a spot that looked no different from any other spot nearby, but Charlie knew that experts could turn up treasures that weren't visible to the naked eye.
He sent two of his men to check it. ”Why don't you take her home?” Charlie suggested to Amos. ”She looks like she's about to fall apart.”
”Gillian's strong. She-”
”-doesn't need to be here. I know you want to help us. And right now, the best way to do that is to give her a little TLC, so that when we need her to step up to the plate, she's ready.”
”TLC,” Amos repeated woodenly. ”I can do that.”
”Good. The minute I know anything ...” he promised, and went to rejoin his colleagues.
Two men were working at the site of the rape. ”Anything?” Charlie asked.
”No smoking gun. Or spurting, as the case may be.”
”Spare me,” Charlie muttered. ”You find the condom yet? Or a wrapper?”
”Nope. But we got footprints. Looks like a struggle, too. Then again, a lot of people might just have walked over the same spot. We're taking pictures.”
Matt Houlihan tapped Charlie on the shoulder. ”Check this out.” He led the way across the clearing and pointed to the dark soil. ”See that? Ashes.”
”So?”
”There was a fire here.”
Charlie shrugged. ”Gillian said that, in her statement. I told you that already.”
”Yes, but it's nice to have some corroboration.”
”Did you doubt her?”
”You know how hard s.e.xual a.s.sault cases are to win ... even when the perp has a prior. I need everything I can get that corroborates what the girl said.”
”She said she scratched the guy,” Charlie pointed out. ”And I've got the proof of it on Kodak paper.”
”Mug shots alone aren't going to get him convicted. She needs to be more precise.” Matt glanced up. ”You couldn't get her to pin down the length of the a.s.sault?”
”She said it was between five and ten minutes.”
”That's the difference between a world record run and a high school track meet, Charlie.”
”Well, s.h.i.+t, Houlihan. I think she was a little too preoccupied at the time to take out her stopwatch.”
Sighing, Matt looked down. ”She seeing a rape crisis counselor?”
”She's seeing someone. A Dr. Horowitz, a shrink her dad knows.”
Matt nodded, then picked up a charred stick and began to toy with it, until a cop took it out of his hands with a scowl and stuck it into an evidence bag. ”What did you get from the perp, besides his pictures?”
”Oh, well,” Charlie said. ”Naturally, he wasn't here.”
”He told you this after you mirandized him?”
Charlie shook his head. ”He wouldn't even look look at me after I mirandized him. He said this about two seconds after I told him he was under arrest. A total knee-jerk response.” at me after I mirandized him. He said this about two seconds after I told him he was under arrest. A total knee-jerk response.”
Matt mulled this over. There would be a fight to get that statement admitted. Then again, he'd done it before.
”Lieutenant Saxton,” a cop called. ”Come see this.”
Matt and Charlie ambled over to a spot beneath the dogwood tree. Almost perfectly delineated in the damp soil was a bootprint-one considerably larger than the foot of a teenage girl. The policeman who'd beckoned turned over the man's boot he was holding, the same one Charlie had taken from Addie's house. ”I'm not saying it's a match till the expert looks at the plaster cast,” the cop said, ”but this looks pretty d.a.m.n close to me.”
It was, right down to the crags in the pattern of the sole. Held up alongside, it was exactly the same size as St. Bride's boot. And St. Bride had insisted he was nowhere near Gillian Duncan last night.
Matt smiled his wide, gap-toothed grin. ”Now this,” he said, ”is an excellent start.”
The judge was a man. In some corner of his mind, Jack breathed a sigh of relief. A man would surely know when another guy was being railroaded. He fixed his gaze on the Honorable Lucius Freeley, as if it were possible to sear his story right into the judge's mind.
But the judge didn't seem to notice him much at all. He glanced dispa.s.sionately at the cameras in the rear of the courtroom, and then at the prosecution's table, where a tall redheaded guy who looked like the kid on Happy Days Happy Days was leafing through some notes. Then he turned his attention to Jack and frowned. ”We're here today in connection with the State of New Hamps.h.i.+re versus Jack St. Bride. Mr. St. Bride, you've been charged with aggravated felonious s.e.xual a.s.sault. That's a cla.s.s A felony, and you have the right to an attorney in connection with this offense. If you can't afford one, one will be appointed.” The judge glanced meaningfully at the empty seat beside Jack, managing to convey in a single look that he thought Jack was a moron for not taking advantage of this quirk of the law. was leafing through some notes. Then he turned his attention to Jack and frowned. ”We're here today in connection with the State of New Hamps.h.i.+re versus Jack St. Bride. Mr. St. Bride, you've been charged with aggravated felonious s.e.xual a.s.sault. That's a cla.s.s A felony, and you have the right to an attorney in connection with this offense. If you can't afford one, one will be appointed.” The judge glanced meaningfully at the empty seat beside Jack, managing to convey in a single look that he thought Jack was a moron for not taking advantage of this quirk of the law.
Jack thought of Melton Sprigg and set his jaw. ”Your Honor, I would prefer not-”
He broke off, feeling the cold green eyes of the prosecutor on him. ”I can't afford one,” he said, sealing his fate.
Bernie Davidson, the clerk of court, phoned the public defender's office thirty minutes later, when Judge Freeley-who needed prostate surgery, and badly-called for his fourth bathroom break of the morning. ”I need one of your guys,” he said, after faxing over the complaint.
”I got your stuff ... but we can't help you,” the coordinator said. ”One of our attorneys defended the victim three years ago in a misdemeanor shoplifting charge, back before he joined the PD's office. And you know we're too tiny, Bernie, to build a Chinese wall around whoever takes St. Bride on.”
Bernie sighed. For a Friday, it was feeling a h.e.l.l of a lot like a Monday morning. ”Okay. I'll go to my backup list. Thanks.”
He hung up and shuffled through a rubber-banded sheaf of cards he kept in the front compartment of his desk, a group of attorneys in private practice whom he called on, now and then, when the public defender's office had a conflict. Finally, his eye caught on one name. ”Here we go,” Bernie said, smiling slowly, and he picked up the phone.
The third time he heard a crash, Jordan put down his cup of coffee and went to investigate. He moved through the hallway like a bloodhound on a scent, until he found the source of the noise-behind Thomas's closed bedroom door. Which was exceptionally strange, since Thomas had left for school nearly two hours earlier.
Another crash. Then: ”G.o.dd.a.m.n!” Jordan pushed open the door to find Selena sprawled on the carpet, which had been covered with newspaper. She wore a tank top and a pair of his own boxer shorts. Her mahogany skin was dotted with blue freckles, and a paint roller lay several feet away, in a puddle of its own pigment.
”Whatever kind of look you were going for ... you missed,” Jordan said.
Selena narrowed her eyes, ”If I throw a stick, will you leave?”
He stepped into the room. ”Not until I figure out why you're painting Thomas's ceiling ...” He paused to read the label on the can a few feet away. ”Woodsmoke blue.”
”Because you haven't done it?” She waved a hand about. ”For G.o.d's sake, Jordan. The kid's fifteen. You think Easter egg purple and bunny wallpaper work for him?”
Jordan glanced around, seeing Thomas's room through new eyes. It had belonged to a little girl when they'd bought the house. For a year now, Jordan had been promising Thomas it was something they'd tackle together. He glanced down at his sweatpants and river driver's s.h.i.+rt. Nothing that couldn't get ruined, he supposed. Stepping closer, he picked up the paint roller. ”At least I know how to climb a ladder. Christ-from the racket, it sounded like you were holding a WWF tournament.”
”For your information, I could stay on the ladder just fine.” Selena frowned. ”It was the roller that kept losing its balance, every time I let go of the handle.”
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