Andrea gave a tiny, impatient shake of her head. “Don’t we all worry about that sort of thing? I mean, do you worry about yourself? It’s my understanding that your parents’ powers might be passed on genetically. Now, I understand
“Honestly, Mrs. Paulson, it’s not something I’ve ever thought about.”
“Of course, you’re young yet.” She offered the polished smile of a politician’s wife. Paulson had probably married her for that smile. “I was simply curious. Really, I don’t suppose anyone can help but wonder … what was it like having Captain Olympus as a father?”
The ride home with Mark started awkwardly. Mark clutched the steering wheel, Celia leaned on the passenger-side door, head propped on her hand, feeling surly. He kept glancing at her, stealing quick looks out of the corner of his eye when he wasn’t driving through intersections. She waited for him to say something; he seemed on the verge of it, if he could just take a deep enough breath.
It was endearing. It didn’t matter who you were or who your parents were, they’d always embarrass you.
Mark pressed back against the seat and smirked. “That was a disaster, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. If it had been my father, he might have broken a few walls.”
“Not really,” he said. “You always say he’s like that … but you’re exaggerating, right? He always seems so together.”
“Sure,” she drawled, and decided then and there that she would never, ever take Mark to dinner with her parents. “Hey—did your mom seem okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“She was just so different than she was when I met her at the symphony. I guess I’m wondering which is more like the real her.”
“She did seem a little perky, didn’t she?”
“You tell me.”
He shrugged, resettling himself against the seat. “I don’t know. I don’t think she’s ever been real happy with Dad in politics. I remember, the first time he ran for mayor, she’d have a glass of wine before the publicity photos. It was the only way she could relax.”
“She must have had a glass of wine before we showed up, because she looked like a publicity photo all night.”
Mark didn’t respond, and by the time they got back to her place, she had no intention of mentioning his parents again.
FIFTEEN
THE prosecution’s case dragged on for two weeks. For all his fire and brimstone behind the scenes, Bronson was solid and methodical in the courtroom, not taking any chances with speculation or questionable evidence. The financial evidence was plain, the witnesses primed and well spoken. Every objection Sito’s lawyers made was overruled.
Warren and Suzanne West testified, along with Robbie Denton and Arthur Mentis. The first three wore street clothes—respectable trousers and jackets for the men, Suzanne in a conservative tweed dress suit. For that day, they were their alter egos, citizens of Commerce City who’d seen the extraordinary and come to tell about it. Arthur wore what he always wore, his suit and coat, looking studious and watchful, his thin smile hinting that he knew the dirt on everyone in the room. Even the judge looked at him askance.
The four members of the Olympiad were the last witnesses Bronson called. With them, he finished presenting his case, as if the presence of those who had fought the Destructor for so long were all the argument he needed.
Sito’s lawyers surprised them all by refusing to cross-examine any of them.
It would have been an easy enough thing to raise questions about the Olympiad’s motives, to suggest that the rivalry between the two sides had degenerated into a personal feud and had nothing to do with justice or the law. That their persecution had driven Sito to insanity. But they didn’t.
They were saving their questions for Celia.
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
She had to repeat her “I swear” because she’d spoken too softly the first time. Her hand was shaking on the Bible. She settled into the witness stand and when she finally looked up, she spotted Arthur Mentis sitting in the row directly behind DA Bronson. He nodded, smiled, and she felt better. He’d never let her get hurt. If things got really bad, he’d get her out of this somehow.
Defense Attorney Ronald Malone was slick and unyielding, like a steel wall. He wasn’t that big, probably not much taller than Celia, but he had a way of trapping her gaze, and shifting to hold it again when she tried to look away, even standing at his table a half-dozen paces away.
His first questions were mundane, or seemed mundane, public knowledge that anyone in the courtroom could have learned. She still felt like she was giving away secrets. He was only warming her up for the hard questions.
Then came an odd one that made her think.
“Ms. West, when did you learn that your parents, Warren and Suzanne West, are the superhuman crime fighters Captain Olympus and Spark?”
“I don’t know. I think I always knew. They never tried to hide it from me.”
How could they? From the time she was born, they studied her for signs that she had inherited some kind of superhuman legacy. To think, most parents were happy with ten fingers and ten toes.
“Then their skills, their reputation, were a part of your life from a very early age?”
Bronson stood. “Objection! Supposition.”
“Sustained,” the judge said.
Celia blinked, relieved. She didn’t want to answer any questions that resembled,
It didn’t matter. He’d set her up nicely already.
“One might argue that like your parents, you’re in a particularly unique position to judge the defendant’s mental state at the time of his crimes.”
“I’m not a psychologist—”
Malone raised his hand in a placating gesture. “I’ll only ask you to make observations about Mr. Sito’s behavior. You were the subject of one his more spectacular adventures, yes?”
That was an interesting way of putting it. “He kidnapped me when I was sixteen.”
“And the purpose of this kidnapping?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Did he hold you for ransom? Use you to get something?”
She shook her head. “No. He just wanted to … inflict damage.”
“So there was no rational reason for him to kidnap you. His motivations could be said to reflect a disturbed mental state.”
They weren’t here to prove Sito guilty. No one was denying his crimes. Malone only had to prove that Sito had been out of his mind.
“He seemed calculating enough at the time,” she said.
“Then let’s turn to another event.” He dropped the bomb, and knowing it was coming didn’t make it easier.
