Samantha had wanted to renovate the house, but he’d told her to go to work on Katie’s house; that house had needed it more, and he wasn’t ready to make any big changes in his. He probably should have let her—it seemed so old and shabby now.
There were two things he wanted to take from the house. His desktop computer with portable backup hard drive and his guns. He was making do fine with his laptop, but he should have the computer with the larger memory and the store records from the past few years. Of course, the store computer had been destroyed in the fire.
In his gun safe he kept a rifle and two handguns. He unloaded the guns, stowed the bullets and put them in a duffel, wrapped up in a winter parka. Then he placed the computer and duffel in the backseat of the extended cab. He covered the computer with a tarp he found in the garage. Even though the guns had been secure in the safe at the house—with a gun safe so heavy and hard to move, it would take a very determined thief to steal it—he had already decided he wanted them with him in the hotel. Not because he was necessarily worried about anything, but because why wouldn’t a man whose life had been threatened make an effort to defend himself?
Then he drove a few blocks away and called Katie.
“I’m sitting in front of your house,” he said. “I talked to the D.A. about helping us just move this property under my new name and he said it wouldn’t be a problem. So I went through the old house. Katie, has the furniture always been that terrible?”
She laughed. “I agree, it’s seen better days, but it was still functional. Nothing was torn or sagging. There were scratches on tables—we call that ‘distressed.’”
“It’s all very distressed,” he said.
“Why are you sitting in front of my house?” she asked.
“I wondered if there was anything you missed when you left that you want me to grab, to keep out of storage?”
“I got the important things—Charlie’s pictures and medals. My wedding pictures and the baby pictures. I packed a few boxes like the place might be burned down…”
“Aw, Katie, what a lot I’ve put you through....”
“Stop! I came home to you with two babies and you’ve always taken such good care of us.”
“It’s going to be hard to take good care of you when you’re in Vermont and I’m in California,” he said.
“Maybe it’s time I learned to take care of myself, Conner. It’s strange—I’m finally knowing the new you. I think maybe you’ve grown into the name.”
“As much as I resisted the change, it’s what I want now. Not such a big change, really. More of a reversal. So—when I order the household goods packed, where should I have yours shipped? Vermont?”
She was quiet for a moment. “Hold off on that, can you?”
“Changing your mind?” he asked hopefully. “Second thoughts?”
“Not so much changing my mind as putting off making a decision. Can you have my stuff stored in Sacramento until I make a final decision?”
“What’s happening, Katie?” he asked. “Are things cooling with the dentist?”
“Not so much cooling as not heating up, but then you knew that. No, it’s more about you, I’m afraid. While you were here with us, it felt so right. So comfortable. Since you left, I’ve been asking myself if I can really be this far away. I don’t want to move in with you again, to be that kind of burden. But I might just have to make the hard choice. I might have to decide who I’m willing to give up—you or Keith.”
He took a deep breath. “A lot of that is going to depend on Keith,” he said. “And, Katie, if I could, you know I’d consider Vermont. I’m not real big on shoveling snow, but…”
“No! You’ve found where you want to be. And who you want to be with. Unless I misunderstood—you have no doubts. And you so deserve this. You’ve waited long enough.”
But so had Katie waited, he found himself thinking. She’d had such a hot young love with Charlie, that whenever they’d been in the same room, there’d been steam. No surprise he not only got her pregnant on the honeymoon, but with twins. In losing him, Katie had lost her taste for passion, apparently. In thinking over the past five years, the few dates she had had were with men who failed to bring that flush to her cheeks the way her young husband had.
He wanted that for her. But he wasn’t about to say any more about her losses.
What a team, he thought. As brother and sister they had held each other up through all sorts of strain. And he, for one, had had about enough of that!
“Don’t do anything hasty, Katie,” he lectured. “Make sure Keith is completely right for you before you take that next step.”
“I will. Of course I will.”
They talked a little bit about the upcoming trial, although Conner wasn’t at liberty to discuss the prep. He did tell her he hoped to be back in Virgin River on the weekend. Worst case, he might be driving back to the city the following week. And when the conversation was done, he made a couple of phone calls—one to a cleaning service and one to a painter he knew and trusted. Then he called the D.A.’s office and asked Max’s trusted assistant to arrange for the packing and storage of household goods to commence immediately. The cleaners and painters would follow the movers, leaving the homes ready for sale.
Jack Sheridan was puttering behind the bar in the afternoon, making his supply lists and balancing his cash drawer. When no one was in the bar, like now, he had the national news on the TV. He wasn’t a news fanatic and didn’t have anyone close in the wars right now, but he checked in from time to time. He got a little news about the economy—hardly ever good these days—some major national stories from kidnappings to shootings. Nothing big from Humboldt County, usually, unless they had an earthquake or something. Or maybe that occasional giant pot bust.
He was crouched behind the bar, counting bottles, when he heard the news anchor talking about a big murder trial in Sacramento. He went on to say that the arresting officers and forensic experts had testified for the prosecution, but there was only one eyewitness to the crime.
It was pure coincidence that he happened to stand up at that time and see, on the screen, the face of someone he knew. Conner Danson. He didn’t catch the name, but the face was unmistakable—except for the absence of the neatly, tightly trimmed and sculptured mustache and goatee. And he caught the last of the broadcast.
…will testify for the prosecution tomorrow. The trial is not televised but our reporters will be on the scene for any breaking news....
What the hell, he thought. That was the breaking news.
He went to the kitchen and picked up the phone. He called Paul’s office in the trailer even though he knew catching him there was iffy. Leslie answered, and he said, “Hey, Leslie, it’s Jack. Did you know your boyfriend is testifying in a murder trial in Sacramento?”
There was a moment of silence before she laughed just a little and said, “Really, Jack, you’re totally full of it. Very funny.”
“Yeah, I’m just a real card. Is Paul around?”
“Sure. Hang on.”
A second later Paul came on the line with a, “What’s up, Jack?”
“Your man, Conner,” he said. “I just saw his picture on CNN. They do a break from national news for local stuff. What did he say was his reason for needing time off?”
“Family emergency,” Paul said. “Unspecified.”
“I think I can specify it. He’s the only witness in a murder trial in Sacramento. His picture was on TV. He’s going to testify tomorrow.”
Paul was completely quiet for a long, still moment. Then he yelled, “Lessssleeee!” And next he said, “I gotta go. I’ll get back to you.” And he hung up.
Jack turned to where Preacher was chopping something on the work island in the kitchen and said, “Can you get on the computer and look something
up for me?”
“I guess so. If you’ll pay me for it.”
“I’m not paying you for it! Do it for the cause! Take one for the team!”
“Fine,” Preacher said, putting down his knife and wiping his hands. “Murder trial in the capitol, Conner Danson. Got it. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“Don’t say panties to me,” Jack nearly roared. “Don’t ever call what I wear panties!”
And Preacher said, “Sheesh. Take it easy. You weren’t murdered.”
Leslie stood in Paul’s doorway, her eyes as round as beach balls. She twisted her hands.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with Conner?” Paul asked from behind his desk.
Without uttering a word, she shook her head.
“His picture was on TV,” Paul told her. “That’s how Jack knows. That’s how anyone who watches the news is going to know. Did you realize he’s going to testify tomorrow?”
She shook her head and clutched her hands tighter so they wouldn’t shake. Tears gathered in her eyes.
Paul stood up from behind his desk. “Les, don’t go through this alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she said in a very soft voice. But she was alone. And so needed some support.
The phone on Paul’s desk rang, and he picked it up. “Haggerty Construction. Yeah? Yeah? I’ll be damned. Well, I guess I’m not at all surprised. I’ll see you in a couple hours, then. And I’ll bring Les.” Then he hung up.
“Bring Les where?” she asked.
“Apparently it took Preacher about two minutes on the computer to find out that Danson Conner, the owner of a hardware store in Sacramento, witnessed a murder in the alley behind his store and is going to testify against a very powerful man in the murder trial. And guess what? He’s been here for a few months. Did you know that Jack’s little sister was a Sacramento County prosecutor? He says this has Brie’s fingerprints all over it, so he called her and offered to buy her a beer at around four today. We’re going to join them.”
“We are?”
“Yes, we are. I can see you’re scared. Brie knows how much of this she can let out, and that’s bound to reassure you a little bit. So you can talk!” He sat back down. “Go on—get things wrapped up and we’ll go have a beer.”
Nineteen
Conner had skipped the opening remarks at the trial, but decided to go to court for the testimony of the police officers who answered his call. He was escorted by an officer in an unmarked car, his truck safely stowed in a very large, crowded mall parking lot where it would not be linked to him and not tampered with.
There were a lot of cops testifying, not to mention a coroner. The coroner’s report would come later, but the photos and examination of the deceased at the scene were entered as evidence and testimony.
For the first time since this whole ordeal had begun, he had a very uneasy, unsure feeling. Regis Mathis didn’t look like a murderer in this setting. Conner already knew he didn’t sound like a murderer, this pillar of the community. There was nothing slick about him. He didn’t look like the kind of man who would be friends with Dickie Randolph. And the D.A.’s allegation that they were even in business together seemed impossible.
Mathis was a tall, regal man with expensive tastes. This wasn’t something Conner would have known, had his off-duty cop protector and escort not said to him, “Man, that’s at least a ten-thousand-dollar suit.” And as Conner watched Mathis from the back of the courtroom, the man was very clearly comfortable, confident, very much at ease with these proceedings, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. And he had four attorneys up front, more assistants in the gallery along with his distinguished-looking family and two priests.
On the other side of the courtroom, divvied up like the bride’s side and the groom’s side, sat a couple of cheap-looking young women with men who had a disreputable look about them—Randolph’s associates, perhaps?
At one point Mathis looked straight at Conner and gave him a half smile and nod, almost a welcoming gesture. Welcome to the party, son! It was impossible to picture him in an orange jumpsuit. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he couldn’t imagine him doing what he’d done. It was, in a word, incomprehensible.
And Regis Mathis did not expect to be convicted.
Conner wondered if he’d been too optimistic. If he were a seated jury member it would be hard for him to imagine this stately, polite and reserved man as the kind of cold-blooded killer who could put a bullet in a man’s head, drag his body out of a car and heft it into a Dumpster. Harder still, if a meticulous man such as Regis Mathis, a man who constantly pulled at his crisp white shirt cuffs, wanted someone dead, why didn’t he hire it out? Why get his own hands dirty? He was, after all, richer than God.
Conner didn’t expect him to be convicted, either. While the story was completely true, it was unbelievable. If it had been any other kind of murder, maybe. But this kind? In a dingy alley, bullet to the head, tossed in a Dumpster? A victim with duct tape over his mouth and binding his wrists and ankles? Not this man, this very classy man who endowed charities and endorsed politicians.
He was required to be in court the next day, or at least in the building, available. He had a brief temptation to buy an equally expensive suit, though he knew it wouldn’t look the same on him as it looked on Mathis.
While he paid attention to the testimony of cops, homicide detectives and other officials who had been on the scene, all he could think about was that he couldn’t wait until the day was done and he could call Leslie and Katie. And he was afraid to call them. He wasn’t sure how he could keep from saying, It’s hopeless. I’m going to be in hiding for the rest of my life. And anyone who throws their lot in with me will be hiding, too.
When court was dismissed for the day, Conner exited with his cop and waited in the hallway for the room to empty. Then he doubled back to the courtroom and said, “Give me a second with the D.A.” Then he reentered the courtroom. At the front table, Max was speaking quietly with one of his associates as they both shuffled papers into their briefcases. Conner came up behind them and cleared his throat.
Max turned. “Yes, Conner?”
Conner looked around to be sure they weren’t overheard by any bystanders. Then he looked back at Max. “You’re never going to get him, are you?”
“I am going to,” Max said confidently.
“He doesn’t look like a killer,” Conner said. “If I were a juror—”
“I have a lot of faith in the system,” Max said. “What we’re going to do now is deliver the evidence we’ve prepared, solid evidence, irrefutable evidence, and win the day. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“And you’re counting on me?”
“You’re the only eyewitness to the crime, but you’re not the only thing we’ve got. We have a motive.”
“Care to share?” he asked with a tinge of sarcasm.
“Your wife wasn’t the only person hanging around that drug-infested shit hole. There was another person of interest there. A person Dickie Randolph took great joy in messing up and filling with drugs and alcohol and probably dirty sex. Mathis’s twenty-one-year-old daughter. The light of his life.”
Conner’s eyes grew large. “Are you going to be able to present that?”
Max lifted his chin. “If it’s not suppressed. It is his daughter....”
Conner looked at him for a long, still moment. He finally understood why a man like Mathis would take it upon himself to deal out revenge rather than outsource the job. But could it be proven? And would the jury ever hear it? If they heard it, would they believe it of this good, classy, God-fearing man?
He gave a nod—what were his choices? And then he said, “We’re fucked.”
Conner and his cop left the courthouse from the side door an
d walked around the block to the parking lot because Regis Mathis was playing to the press. Conner didn’t have that kind of savvy, and, while he couldn’t avoid the questions forever, he was bound to come off sounding unsure and vulnerable. Or angry, because as time went by, this whole thing just made him angrier. As they were entering the parking lot, he heard his name, the name that still made him turn.
“Danny?”
Samantha!
Well, she could find a way to get a letter to him, why wouldn’t she be able to find him leaving the courthouse? “What are you doing here?” he asked her.
“I had hoped to talk to you,” Samantha said.
He just shook his head and laughed. “I’ve tried to be very clear and very kind at the same time—we don’t have anything to talk about.”
“But, Danny, we do,” she said, taking another step toward him. “I was contacted by some lawyers and they’re thinking of calling me as a witness for the defense. I wanted you to know.”
RoboCop stepped up. “Ma’am, that’s a discussion we can’t be having with you. You’ll have to move along now.”
Conner put his hand on his cop’s arm. “What can you possibly have to say to defend that man?”
“Don’t!” his escort said. “Don’t discuss it!”
Samantha put her hands up, palms toward Conner and his escort. “All right, all right, we won’t discuss it. But can’t we have a short conversation? About what’s happened in the past two years?”
Conner looked at her. In fact, he looked her up and down and shook his head. She was beautiful with her small, buxom but trim frame, dark hair, pale skin and red lips. That was the first thing that had attracted him. The second thing was that she was so focused on him, flirting and entertaining. Sexy, she was very sexy, and she had liked him. Why wouldn’t a man go for that? And she was smart. Manipulative, but very clever—any man would be willing to be manipulated by a dish like Sam. Until they knew, of course.