I entered the packed courtroom just before the jury filed back inside. You almost missed it, I said to myself.
Judge Fescoe spoke to the crowd as soon as everyone was seated. 'There will be no demonstrations when this verdict is read. If any demonstrations occur, marshals will clear this room immediately.' he instructed in a soft but clear voice.
I stood a few rows behind the prosecution team and tried to find a regular breathing pattern. It was inconceivable that Geoffrey Shafer could be set free; there was no doubt in my mind that he'd murdered several times, not just Patsy Hampton, but at least some of the Jane Does. He was a wanton pattern killer, one of the worst, and had been getting away with it for years. I realized now that Shafer might be the most outrageous and daring of the killers I'd faced. He played his game with the pedal pressed to the floor. He absolutely refused to lose.
'Mr. Foreperson, do you have a verdict for us?' Judge Fescoe asked in somber tones.
Raymond Horton, the foreperson, spoke to Judge Fescoe. 'Your honor, we have a verdict.'
I glanced at Shafer and he appeared confident. As he had been for every day of the trial, he was dressed in a tailored suit, white shirt and tie. He had no conscience whatsoever; he had no fear of anything that might happen. Maybe that was a partial explanation for why he'd run free for so long.
Judge Fescoe appeared unusually stern. 'Very well. Will the defendant please rise and face the jury.' he said.
Geoffrey Shafer stood at the defense table and his longish hair gleamed under the bright overhead lighting. He towered over Jules Halpern and his daughter, Jane.
Shafer held his hands behind him, as if he were cuffed. I wondered if he might have a pair of twenty-sided dice clasped in them, the kind I had seen in his study.
Judge Fescoe addressed Mr. Horton again. 'As to count one of the indictment, Aggravated, Premeditated Murder in the First Degree, how do you find?'
Mr. Horton answered, 'Not guilty, your honor.'
I felt as if my head had suddenly spun off. The audience packed into the small room went completely wild. The press rushed to the bar. The judge had promised to clear the room, but he was already retreating to his chambers.
I saw Shafer walk toward the press, but then he quickly passed them by. What was he doing now? He noticed a man in the crowd, and nodded stiffly in his direction. Who was that?
Then Shafer continued toward where I was, in the fourth row. I wanted to vault over the chairs after him. I wanted him so bad, and I knew I had just lost my chance to do it the right way.
'Detective Cross,' he said in his usual supercilious manner. 'Detective Cross, there's something I want to say. I've been holding it in for months.'
The press closed in; the scene becoming smothering and claustrophobic. Cameras flashed on all sides. Now that the trial was ended, there was nothing to prevent picture-taking inside the courtroom. Shafer was aware of the rare photo-opportunity. Of course he was. He spoke again, so that everyone gathered around us could hear.
Suddenly it was quiet where we stood, a pocket of silence, foreboding expectation.
'You killed her,' he said, and stared deeply into my eyes, almost to the back of my skull. 'You killed her.'
I went numb. My legs were suddenly weak. I knew he didn't mean Patsy Hampton.
He meant Christine.
She was dead.
Geoffrey Shafer had killed her. He had taken everything from me, just as he warned me he would.
He had won.
?CHAPTER One Hundred and One
Shafer was a free man, and he was enjoying the bloody hell out of it. He had gambled, and he had won big time. Big time! He had never felt anything quite like this exhilarating moment following his verdict. He'd wagered his life.
He accompanied Lucy and the children to a by-invitation-only press conference held in the pompous, high- ceilinged Grand Jury room. He posed for countless photos with his family. They hugged him again and again, and Lucy couldn't stop crying like the brain-dead, hopelessly spoiled and crazy child that she was. If some people thought he was a drug abuser, they'd be shocked by Lucy's intake. Christ, that was how he'd first learned about the amazing world of pharmaceuticals.
He finally punched his fist into the air and held it there as a mocking sign of victory. Cameras flashed everywhere. They couldn't get enough of him. There were nearly a hundred reporters wedged into the room. The women reporters loved him most of all. He was a legitimate media star now, wasn't he? He was a hero again.
A few gate-crashing agents of fame and fortune pressed their cards at him, promising obscene amounts of money for his story. He didn't need any of their tawdry business cards. Months before, he had picked out a powerful New York and Hollywood agent.
Christ, he was free as a bird! He was absolutely flying now. After the press conference, claiming concern for their safety, he sent his family ahead without him.
He stayed behind in the court law library and firmed up book deal details with Jules Halpern and the Bertelsmann Group, now the most powerful book publishing conglomerate around the world. He had promised them his story -but of course they weren't going to get anything close to the truth. Wasn't that the way with the so-called 'tell-all, bare-all' nonfiction published these days? Bertelsmann knew this, and still they'd paid him a fortune.
After the meeting, he took the slow-riding lift down to the court's indoor car park. He was still feeling incredibly high, which could be dangerous. A set of twenty-sided dice was burning a hole in the pocket of his suit trousers.
