Turn To Me (11 page)

“Here you go,” I said, holding out the money. 

Frankie tried to not take it, shaking his head.  “You d-d-don't have t-to p-p-pay,” he protested.

“I absolutely do,” I insisted.  “I don't work for free and you don't either.  Come on and take it, I've gotta go.”

He reluctantly took the money, then handed me a scrap of paper.

“M-my cell.  In c-c-case you n-need a c-c-cab,” he stuttered. 

I smiled my thanks, grabbed my things and hopped out, slamming the car door shut behind me. 

“Thanks again, Frankie,” I tossed over my shoulder.  “You were a real lifesaver today.”

He waved at me and I spared a hand to wave back as I jogged up the courthouse steps, being careful of icy spots that looked slick.

“Well, if you aren't a sight for sore eyes!”  Hank exclaimed, a twinkle in his eyes.  Hank was the head security guard, a large, imposing black man.  While he may have looked threatening, Hank was about as likely to take somebody down as he would drop kick puppies.  I liked him immensely, and he seemed to have a soft spot for me, too.

“Hi, Hank,” I said with a grin, handing him my purse for his cursory inspection as I walked through the metal detector.  “Finished Christmas shopping for those kids of yours yet?”  Hank and his wife, Theresa, had five kids all under the age of ten.

“Aw, Kathleen,” he said, a pained expression on his face as he gave my purse back to me, “you know I hate the mall this time of year.”

“You hate the mall any time of year,” I retorted with a laugh.

He grinned broadly and laughed as well.  “You got that right,” he said.

I made my delivery, then called a local towing company to tow my car to the tire shop to get the flat fixed.  After that, I milled the hallways in indecision, wondering if I should call Clarice for a ride back to the firm.  I thought about how Diane was going to react to finding out the runner had no transportation, and no good scenario came to mind. 

As I was putting off going back to the firm, and Diane, a thought occurred to me and I walked back to Hank.  I waited until there was a break in the flow of people coming inside before interrupting him, “Hey, Hank, could I ask a favor?”

“Anything for you,” he said with a wink.

“I was wondering if there's any room left in the gallery for the Waters' trial?”  I really wanted to see Blane, especially after reading those letters this morning.  I was sure he was fine, but I couldn't shake the lingering unease. 

“That one's pretty crowded,” Hank said, “and been a bitch to keep secure with all the people wanting a piece of the action.” 

I sighed, disappointed. 

“But I think I can get you in,” Hank continued, glancing at his watch.  “If you come with me, they just took a short recess and have about another hour to go before lunch.”

I brightened immediately.  “That's great!  Thanks so much, Hank.”

I followed him through the halls to the largest courtroom in the building.  There was a crowd of people milling in the hallway outside the door, the buzz of conversation reverberating loudly off the walls.  Another security guard stood by the entrance to the courtroom, checking people's badges before allowing them through.  I kept up with Hank as his large size caused people to move to the side to allow him to pass.

“This one's with me,” Hank told the guard, who nodded as we moved beyond him through the doorway.

“Find a spot and settle in,” Hank directed, gesturing to the rows of benches, all of them filled nearly to capacity.

“Thanks, Hank,” I said gratefully, and he gave me a smile in return before leaving.  I looked around, finally spotting a narrow strip of empty space on the bench directly behind the prosecution's table.  I was reluctant to take it, not wanting to be within such close proximity to James, but had no choice.  Hurrying down the aisle, I muttered an apology to the bench's occupants as I squeezed into the nearly too small space.  The man sitting next to me gave me a dirty look.  I ignored him.

A few minutes later, the prosecution filed in and took their seats.  My heart seemed to skip a beat when I saw James.  He was standing, talking with another lawyer.  James was dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and navy tie.  He looked professional and honest.  You'd never know what he was capable of just by looking at him.  It made a chill go through me to watch him, remembering how his father had so easily condemned me to die and how James had done nothing to stop it.  I wondered if the apple didn't fall far from the tree.  Would James stoop to murder to achieve his ends?  Could it have been him out in the woods yesterday?

I froze when James glanced around the courtroom as he talked quietly, taking in the number of people filling the gallery.  His gaze brushed past me and I let out a sigh of relief.  Then I saw him stop speaking and his gaze flew back and met mine. 

I didn't breathe and my palms grew sweaty under his scrutiny.  I swallowed hard, but refused to be the first to break the stare, not wanting him to know how much he unnerved me. 

His eyes were cold and his mouth curved in a smirk as he watched me.  I finally let out the breath I'd been holding when he casually turned away, dismissing me.

My attention was diverted by Blane's arrival.  Conversation in the courtroom buzzed more loudly as he and his client took their positions at the defense table. 

I was able to get a good look at Kyle Waters now, and he didn't seem like the devil incarnate the press made him out to be.  At least a head shorter than Blane, he nonetheless carried himself with dignity even amidst the stares and whispers currently flying around the room.  Appearing to be in his late twenties to early thirties, he wore his uniform; his dark hair neatly trimmed and his face clean shaven.  Blane spoke quietly in his ear and I saw him nod in response.

“All rise,” intoned the bailiff.  Everyone got to their feet with much shuffling and noise as the Judge walked in.  I realized that must be the Judge Reynolds Blane had spoken of to James last night.  As everyone resumed their seats, I looked curiously at him.

I'd expected him to be old, at least in his fifties or sixties, but he couldn't have been much older than Blane.  He had dark hair, wore a moustache and I could see faint scars on his face, pockmarks, like the kind you get if you scratch too much with chicken pox or from particularly bad acne.  The scars didn't make him unappealing though, rather they lent him an air of no-nonsense gravity.

He struck his gavel twice and the courtroom fell silent, anticipation heavy in the air.  I watched as a man took the witness chair.  He was wearing a Navy uniform as well.  Tall with dark hair and eyes, he was broad-shouldered and lean.

“Remember you are still under oath, Lieutenant Sheffield,” Judge Reynolds said.  His voice was deep and had a gravelly sound to it. 

“Yes, sir,” the Lieutenant responded calmly, his deep voice resonating.

I watched as James got up from his seat, buttoning his suit jacket shut as he walked toward the witness stand.

“Lieutenant,” James began, “you work for the Judge Advocate General Corps, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were informed of the murder of an unarmed American citizen?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Blane interjected as he stood.  “Presumes facts not in evidence.”

“Sustained.”

“Who informed you about the shooting?” James rephrased.

“Staff Sergeant Troy Martin,” the Lieutenant answered.

“What did Staff Sergeant Martin tell you?”

“That the team had been forced to kill an unarmed male combatant.”  Sheffield’s tone was matter-of-fact.

“Did they say the man threatened them?”             

“No.”

“Did he try to run away?”

“No.”

“Did they think he had a weapon at the time?”

“No.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

James sat down and Blane stood, approaching the stand.

“Lieutenant, what were the Rules of Engagement for this mission?”

“The team was authorized to remove any threat they deemed necessary to their survival and the success of the mission.”

“Do you think their actions fall under those rules?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” James said.  “The question calls for the witness’s opinion.”

“Considering the witness is employed by the US Navy to render judgment and opinion on matters of military law, I’d ask you for leniency, Your Honor,” Blane responded.

“I’ll allow it,” the Judge decided, nodding toward Blane.

“Lieutenant?” prompted Blane.

“It is quite common in Iraq for even unarmed combatants to alert others as to the presence of military forces,” Sheffield said.  “It’s happened before, and good men lost their lives showing leniency.  I considered it covered under the ROE and closed the case.”

“Thank you.  No further questions.”

Blane sat back down while the judge dismissed Sheffield.  James was pokerfaced, but I could tell by the rigidity of his posture and the clenching of his jaw that he wasn't happy.  I was enormously satisfied at how he’d been outmaneuvered by Blane. 

A messenger came in and handed an envelope to Blane.  I watched as he opened it, then he went very still.  His client looked curiously as him and Blane wordlessly handed him the packet.  Kyle looked through it as well, his face expressionless, before giving it back to Blane who stuffed whatever it was back in the envelope as James called another witness.

About an hour later, they broke for lunch.  I hoped I could say a few words to Blane, then hop a bus to take me over to my car.  The tire was hopefully fixed by now.  I glanced at the defense table.  Blane looked really preoccupied, his expression grim, and I hesitated in approaching him.  I doubted he’d really want his girlfriend bothering him right now, so I quelled my urge to talk to him and left the courtroom with the tide of people.

I walked to the back of the building, looking for the bus schedule that I knew was taped to one of the walls by a rarely used side exit.  Few people were around and I started when someone suddenly grabbed my upper arm from behind me.

“Excuse me, but are you Kathleen Turner?” 

I turned to see a man about my height standing there.  He looked like a lawyer, his suit neatly pressed, and my instinctive panic receded.

“I am,” I answered.  “Who’s asking?”

“Would you please come with me?” he asked, ignoring my question.  His grip tightened as he tugged me forward.

“Where are we going?” I asked, reluctantly forced to walk with him.

“Someone needs to see you,” he said cryptically. 

I was confused for a moment, then thought it might be Blane.  He must’ve seen me in the courtroom and sent this guy to get me.  I followed the man as he led me down a dim corridor into an office.  I walked inside and turned to see him leaving, closing the door behind him.

“So glad you could join me.”

I spun back around, my mouth falling open in surprise to see James step out of a darkened corner.  He’d shed his coat and stood with this arms folded across his chest, a sneer on his face as he surveyed me.  I closed my mouth with a snap, trying to ignore the fear that had spiked in me at his unexpected appearance.

“What do you want?” I demanded with more bravado than I felt.

“I'm hurt, Kathleen,” he said snidely, “I would've thought you'd be glad to see me.”

“The last time I saw you I was nearly killed,” I retorted.  “And you didn't lift a finger to help me.”  I paused, feigning confusion.  “You know, some might call that being an accessory, right?”

His smile faded.  “Don't play with things you don't understand, Kathleen,” he said angrily. 

“Then what do you want, James?” I asked.  “Your flunky brought me here for a reason I'm assuming?”  I crossed my arms defensively over my chest.

He moved until he was right in front of my face, grabbing my upper arm and yanking me toward him.  I yelped in surprise and pain as his fingers dug in, bruising my skin.

“Listen up, Kathleen,” he hissed.  “You tell that son of a bitch you're fucking that he's going down and he doesn’t even see it coming.  This isn't some case that no one gives a shit about.”  He shook me roughly.  “Important people, very powerful people, are watching.  This case is going to make my career and no one is going to stand in my way.  Especially not Blane Kirk.”

His threat sent chills down my spine even as it pissed me off.  “Let go of me,” I ordered through gritted teeth, trying to pull my arm out of his grasp.  He abruptly released me and I stumbled back, glaring at him. 

“Don't you dare threaten Blane,” I spat at him.  “He buried you in there and I'm positive he'll do it again.  You're no match for Blane.  You never have been and you never will be.”

“We’ll see just who is buried when this thing is done,” he said icily.  “This isn't a military trial.  Logic can only get you so far in a case like this.  Wait till I put the orphaned son on the stand, or the grieving mother.  Emotions carry further than logic when it's a jury of your peers.”

His eyes were dark with anger and I stepped back, remembering how easily he’d lashed out at me before.  I jumped when my cell phone rang, the shrill sound shattering the tense silence.  I scrambled blindly in my purse for it, keeping my eyes on James as I backed toward the door.  My hand closed on the knob just as James spoke again.

“You be careful, Kathleen,” he said, menace lacing his voice.  “It would be a shame if something happened to you.”

I turned the knob and fell out into the hallway.  I didn’t bother taking time to shut the door, just turned on my heel and hurried away.  I didn’t want to run and show how much he’d unnerved me, but neither could I make myself walk.  My groping hand finally found my still ringing phone and flipped it open.

“Hello?” I answered breathlessly.

“Where are you?” Blane asked, his voice tight.

“I’m in the courthouse,” I said, wondering why he sounded angry.  “Why?  What’s wrong?”

He blew out a breath and I could almost see him in my mind’s eye, shoving a hand through his hair.  “Meet me in room 115, by courtroom two.”

“Okay,” I agreed.  “I’m right around the corner.”

I flipped the phone closed and quickly found room 115.  I knocked only once before it was jerked open.  Blane stood there, his face carefully schooled into an emotionless mask as he looked me up and down.