Karen, Louis, and Carlos. But not Rebecca. Scott had tried to talk to her about her purchase of cocaine from Benito, but she was too upset after Billie Jean's testimony. She was now pacing the beach alone, as if she had only a few more such evenings left in her life.
Scott had stopped by Benito's office on the way home, but his thugs said he had already left for the day. Scott had then called Benito's number shown on the phone logs, but he did not answer. Benito had sold cocaine to Rebecca, and she had not paid him in jewelry. There was only one possible source of cash: the mob money.
'What's a four-letter word for angry?' Louis said.
'Pete,' Bobby said.
FORTY-EIGHT
Pete Puckett was pissed.
At nine on the fourth day of trial, he took the oath, sat in the witness chair, and glared at Scott. He didn't care about the cameras or the jury or the judge. He cared only about Scott. Pete looked as if he wanted to kill him- as if he could kill him.
'Mr. Puckett, let's go back to Thursday, June fourth. That morning you played the first round of the Atlantic Open golf tournament in Orlando, Florida, correct?'
'Yes.'
His answer came through clenched teeth.
'You were accompanied by your caddie, Goose?'
'Yes.'
'Was your daughter, Billie Jean, there with you?'
'No.'
'Where was she?'
'In Austin.'
'You teed off at eight A.M. that Thursday?'
'Yes.'
'And finished about noon?'
'Yes.'
'But you signed an incorrect scorecard and were disqualified?'
'Yes.'
'Then you flew home to Austin?'
'You know I didn't.'
'You flew to Houston?'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'To kill Trey Rawlins.'
The courtroom erupted with excitement. The judge gaveled the audience into silence. Spectators, lawyers, jurors, the judge, and the bailiff leaned forward as one: Pete Puckett was about to confess to killing Trey Rawlins.
'You killed Trey Rawlins?'
'No.'
'But you just said-'
'I said I went there to kill him. I didn't say I did.'
The courtroom deflated.
'Okay, let's back up. You flew to Houston, then took a cab to Trey's house in Galveston?'
'Yes.'
'With the intent to kill Trey Rawlins?'
'Yes.'
'Why that day?'
'My girl was there with him, at his house.'
'How'd you know?'
'I put a GPS tracker on her car.'
'You tracked your own daughter?'
'Wait'll your girls take up with a bad guy, you'll do it, too.'
'And you knew Billie Jean had taken up with Trey?'
'Yes.'
'In fact, you had confronted Trey a week earlier in the locker room at the Challenge tournament and threatened to kill him if he didn't stay away from her.'
'You know I did. Brett McBride's sitting outside, he was there.'
'But Trey didn't stay away from Billie Jean, did he?'
'No.'
'So you decided to kill him?'
'Yes.'
'You went to his house that day and found him with Billie Jean?'
Pete's stern exterior began to crack.
'Yes.'
'How did you enter the house?'
'Up the back stairs to the deck. The doors to the bedroom were open.'
'You caught him having sex with your daughter?'
Pete fought the tears.
'They were in the closet.'
'What'd you do?'
'I went into the kitchen.'
'To find a knife?'
'Yes.'
'Did you lean onto the island counter?'
'I don't know.'
'Your handprints were found there.'
'Then I did.'
'Did you get a knife?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Couldn't do it.'
'So what did you do?'
'Went back into the bedroom, they were coming out of the closet. I grabbed Trey and threw him against the wall.'
'What did Trey say?'
'Not much-I hit him in the mouth.'
'You would've killed him if Billie Jean hadn't intervened and stopped you?'
'Maybe.'
'But you wanted to kill Trey Rawlins?'
The tears broke loose now.
'Yes, goddamnit!'
'Just because he had sex with your seventeen-year-old daughter?'
'No!'
'Then why?'
