Page 99 of The Devil's Advocate

Judge Chandler intervened ; he’d had enough of this. He spoke to the prosecutor like he wanted his help to settle an argument with a child. It was derogatory, offhand and he had no idea he’d just handed the defense the first round.

‘Mr. Wingfield, the defendant’s attorney seems to think you have a ring in your pocket? Could you disabuse her of that notion?’

Wingfield’s left hand shook, visibly, as he stood. Lying to a judge is like playing Russian roulette with three bullets in the chamber. It can only go one of two ways. Safest bet is not to lie. You can always explain away anything else.

‘No, Your Honor, I could not,’ said Wingfield.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said the judge. ‘Youcould notwhat?’

‘I could not disabuse her of that notion,’ said Wingfield. ‘I’ve got my FOP ring in my pocket, Your Honor.’

Chandler’s skin turned almost as pale as Korn’s. He threw a hand at the district attorney, as an apology.

‘Miss Price,’ said Kate, capitalizing on her momentum, ‘I suggest that you left the bruising on the victim’s forehead out of your report because it did not suit the district attorney’s case. The bruising was probably caused by a ring like this one, and the defendant does not possess such a ring, unlike the assistant prosecutor and the majority of law enforcement in this county. Is that about right?’

‘No, that is not correct.’

‘No further questions,’ said Kate.

She sat down beside Harry, and Andy leaned over to her and whispered, ‘Thank you, Miss Brooks. Thank you for fighting for me.’

Kate looked at the jury, who for the first time appeared unsettled.

That was a good sign. Because it wasn’t going to get anywhere near as good as that again.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

BLOCH

At the back of the court, sitting at the edge of the last row of seats, Bloch listened as Kate tore apart the county medical examiner.

Bloch had been listening to the ME’s testimony. A few things that had been bothering her now seemed much more important. The injuries that Skylar sustained were unusual. Hearing them spoken out loud, and elaborated on, made them much more prevalent in Bloch’s mind. As Price stood down and made her way back to the gallery, whispers began among the crowd. It was a natural, brief lull in the proceedings, and as the judge and the attorneys were quiet, the crowd was allowed some hushed chat. Bloch scanned the crowd.

Then she saw it.

First, Francis Edwards got up out of the front row, made his way to the aisle. His teeth gritted in barely checked fury. Kate’s cross-examination of Price would’ve been hard for Francis, particularly after he had listened, in detail, to the injuries inflicted on his baby girl.

A short, fat man got up out of his seat when he saw Francis heading toward the doors. It was the same guy, in the same tweed jacket, who had comforted Francis the night before in the back of the sheriff’s cruiser.

Without saying a word to Francis, the man put an arm around him, and led him out of the courtroom.

As they passed Bloch, on their way out, she turned and asked the lady next to her for the time. It was past four.

Bloch waited until the doors closed behind the two men, counted to five then got up and left.

In the hallway, Bloch caught a glimpse of them as they exited the front door and turned left toward the parking lot. Bloch followed, keeping her distance. She lingered at the exit, listening. The sound of car doors closing, then a throaty rasp from a V8 was her signal. Bloch turned left out of the courthouse toward the lot and saw the two men in the front cab of a red pick-up. It was new and looked expensive.

She got to the SUV, fired it up, but the pick-up had not moved. Bloch made a call on her cell. It was not so long ago that she was a cop, and an even shorter length of time since she had done some consulting work for law enforcement. Officer development, mostly. Non-lethal self-defense training, and advanced driving. Her call was answered, and she said her name, and called out the license plate of the pick-up, asked for any sheets, then ended the call.

Less than a minute later, her cell rang and a female voice said, ‘Xavier Gruber, sheets will take a while, but there are no priors …’ and then gave his address and hung up. It was simpler and safer for both of them to avoid pleasantries. Just the facts.

Bloch typed the name into a search engine on her phone and found an image of the man she had just seen. He was Professor Xavier Gruber – listed among University of Alabama faculty as Head of Chemistry. Bloch flicked through the rest of the results on her search and found a press release, which stated that Gruber was currently on long-term suspension, pending a disciplinary hearing. It seems he’d made a speech at a political rally that contained overtones of white supremacy.

After a few minutes, another pick-up, this one blue and much older, drove into the lot and parked parallel with Gruber’s truck. The driver of the blue pick-up leaned out of the window and had a conversation with Gruber. Then he drove out of the lot, and Gruber followed, with Francis in the passenger seat.

Bloch waited until both vehicles had exited the lot before she began her pursuit. She wasn’t concerned about losing them. The Confederate flag fluttered on an aerial pole, five feet over the bed of the blue truck. She was in no danger of losing this one. They didn’t drive far, and soon parked up on the street, in town. They got out of the cars and approached a door beside a business called Buckstown Insurance Services. The business looked like it had been closed a long time. Bloch guessed the door was a separate entrance for the floor above the insurance brokers, maybe an apartment. She got a good look at the driver of the blue truck and recognized him from a few days ago. Brian Denvir it had said on his driver’s license. He wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest, nor did he have a rifle slung on his shoulder, but Bloch eyed the Glock strapped to his waist. Gruber brought a bulky black suitcase with him, and together they all disappeared inside.

In under a minute Bloch saw a light shine from the dormer window. There were no nearby vantage points to get a look inside that floor, so she had no choice but to sit tight. While she watched the front door, she made another call. She was still waiting for her contact to come back with any sheets on Gruber, meaning any police files or paperwork law enforcement held on him. They had already told her Gruber had no prior convictions, but there was paperwork there, somewhere, and they were having difficulty accessing it. Growing increasingly impatient, she was about to call her contact again when they called Bloch.