By Blood Written

Guilty as charged. Guilty as charged. Guilty as charged …

How many times, Taylor wondered, would she say that? A roar grew in her ears. She looked to her right and saw all the people around her staring at her. She looked up and watched as Forsythe banged his gavel over and over, almost in slow motion, his voice a roar now, too.

She felt herself swaying back and forth, as if the room were swirling around her.

Forsythe turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, as I explained at the beginning of this trial, this is a two-part process. Ordinarily, we would begin the sentencing phase of this trial now. But that’s not possible. The constitution requires that a defendant be present to speak to the jury about any mitigating factors in his favor, and as we can plainly see, that is not possible. There are constitutional grounds for delivering a verdict in absentia, but that’s as far as we can go right now. Therefore, I have no choice but to thank you for your long and difficult service to the court and to dismiss you at this time.”

The jurors looked at each other, almost in shock, as if to ask, “Can we really go now?”

Forsythe slammed his gavel down again. “General Collier, I will issue an immediate warrant for the arrest of the defendant on any charges you draw up. Just do it quickly.

And I assume the police are already in the loop on this, correct?”

“We’re on it, Your Honor. As we speak …”

“Fabulous.” Forsythe turned to the defense table. “And I’m going to hold you, Mr. Talmadge, in contempt of court.

You’re going to be spending the next forty-eight hours as my guest. Bailiff, take him into custody.”

Wes Talmadge, in his eight-hundred-dollar Armani suit, looked up at the judge in shock. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. His hands were shaking and he held them out, palms forward, as if to ward off the court officer walking up to him. Then his hands fell to his side in defeat.

“Court’s dismissed,” Forsythe announced, banging his gavel as he stood up. “All rise,” the court officer shouted, his right hand holding Wes Talmadge’s arm.

Taylor stood up, her mind blank, her vision blurring. People around her were jumping, scrambling to get out of the courtroom, yanking out their cell phones, shouting at each other. A half-dozen people jostled her, almost knocking her over as she stood there gazing out at the courtroom pandemonium.

He’s gone, she thought. He really did it.

Then she looked down at her own hands, held out in front of her, shaking slightly.

What do I do now? she wondered.

Then there was a hand on her elbow. She turned. A young, attractive Hispanic woman, dark-skinned, coal- black straight hair, stood next to her.

“Ms. Robinson?” she asked.

Taylor nodded blankly. “Yes?”

“Ms. Robinson, I’m Detective Maria Chavez of the Metro Nashville Police Department. You’ll have to come along with me now.”

“I will?” Taylor asked. “Why?”

“Because,” the young woman answered. “We have a few questions for you. I’m taking you into custody as a material witness.”

CHAPTER 35

Monday evening, Nashville

The room was cold, the fluorescent light above her harsh.

An immense framed mirror dominated the opposite wall, but Taylor assumed it was a one-way mirror and that they were watching her from the other side.

Just like TV, she thought. Now I know what it feels like …

The room smelled stale, with the faint scent of body odor and cigarettes lingering in the air. She sat in a metal chair that was bolted to the floor. She’d been there almost half an hour and no one had entered the room. She hadn’t been allowed to call anyone or talk to anyone.

Suddenly the metal door burst open, and a man in a gray suit walked in with a clipboard in his hand, followed by the young Hispanic woman and Agent Powell. She recognized the detective from the trial, but couldn’t remember his name.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Robinson,” the detective said. “As you can imagine, this is a somewhat delicate situation for us.”

Taylor watched as the detective slid into the chair across from her and slapped the clipboard down on the table. “Now, we’ve got a few questions for you, as I’m sure-”

Taylor cleared her throat loudly, then said: “And you are?”

The detective stopped. “What?”

“Your name?” Taylor demanded. “Who are you?”

The detective glared at her for a moment, then she could see him stuffing the anger away. “I’m Detective Gilley, ma’am. I’m the lead investigator in this case.”

“I see. Then tell me, Detective Gilley, am I under arrest?”

“No, ma’am, you’re not under arrest. Not yet anyway.”

“Not yet,” Taylor said. “Hmm, that means I might be before this is over. In that case, I want a lawyer.”

“Ms. Robinson, you’re only being questioned as a material witness. At this point, you’re not entitled to a lawyer.”

Taylor glared back at him. “Everyone is entitled to a lawyer.”

The woman, Detective Chavez, spoke up. “Ms. Robinson, we’re really just asking for your cooperation. Do you have any idea where Michael is? Right now, he’s an escaped fugitive who’s been convicted of a capital offense, and that’s a very dangerous place for him to be. Anything could happen right now, most of it bad.”

“Yeah,” Gilley said, “believe it or not, it’s in your boyfriend’s best interest to come in and let us take care of him.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Taylor said.

“According to our information, the two of you are engaged.”

“Your information is out-of-date, Detective Gilley,” Taylor said. “We used to be engaged. We’re not anymore. In fact, we were through.”

Gilley and Chavez looked at each other for a moment.

“When did this happen?” Chavez asked.

“At the moment during the trial when I became convinced he was guilty,” Taylor said. “At the point where I knew he’d done it.”

“But why did you stay?” Chavez asked. “You stayed for the rest of the trial, stayed in the same hotel …”

“But not in the same room,” Taylor snapped. “Never in the same room.”

“But why didn’t you leave?” Gilley asked.

Taylor looked up at Hank Powell as he stood next to the closed door across the room. Their eyes met for a few seconds as Gilley and Chavez looked around, confused.

“Because I asked her not to,” Powell said.

“What?” Gilley said. “Hank, you could’ve given us a heads-up on this, buddy.”

Powell stepped over to the table and looked down at Taylor, never taking his eyes off her. “She came to me about three weeks ago, after the DNA testimony convinced her Schiftmann was guilty. She was upset, distraught really. She was going to leave immediately. I asked her not to. I was afraid that would be enough to push him over the edge, to make him run.”

“Which he just did, goddamn it,” Gilley said, exasperated.

“Thank you, Agent Powell,” Taylor said softly.

Chavez turned back to her. “So you had no idea he was going to escape?”

“None, Detective. Part of what I agreed to do for Agent Powell was let you all know if I thought he was going