'I wish I didn't. There's a lot I wish I didn't know about Mother.'
'Me, too.'
'I've decided.'
'What?'
'About mother and us.'
'What have you decided?'
'I don't want her to come back to us.'
The sun doesn't set in July in Texas until after nine. They had eaten dinner in town. Boo wanted to talk, so Scott took her for a walk along the seawall while the others went back to the house. Except Louis. He came with them.
'I'll always love Mother, but I don't think she's right for us anymore. I like our family the way it is now.'
Scott put his arm around her little shoulder and pulled her close. They walked on a while then she said, 'Mother's testimony today-that wasn't good, was it?'
'No. It wasn't good.'
'Do you think the jury will send her to prison?'
'Yes, I think they will.'
'Do they have air-conditioning in prison?'
'No.'
'But it's hot in Texas.'
'Yes, it is.'
'She'll sweat a lot.'
'Yes, she will.'
'I don't want that.'
'Me neither.'
'I'll worry about her.'
'Boo, you're only eleven. You've got to stop worrying about everyone else-your mother, my health…'
'A. Scott, I'll always worry about you.'
He pulled her closer. The peacefulness of the seawall seemed so incongruous with the turmoil inside Scott's mind. His client-his ex-wife-the mother of his child-would be sentenced to life in prison.
'I've decided something else, too,' Boo said.
'What's that?'
'I don't want cable.'
They walked on past joggers and bikers and skateboarders and, across the boulevard, the San Luis Resort Hotel that sat atop two concrete coastal artillery bunkers built during World War Two and armed with 12-inch guns to blow any German U-boats attempting to land on Galveston Beach out of the water. Scott felt as if the defense had been blown out of the water that day-by the defendant. They walked until they came to a fruit stand where an old Latino man was selling fresh watermelons, cantaloupes, apples, and oranges. He had a friendly face. 'I have cold melons, on ice,' the old man said. 'They are very fresh, just up from the valley.'
Texas' Rio Grande Valley produced the state's vegetables and melons. They stopped, and Scott pointed at a big watermelon.
'Three big slices.'
The old man leaned down behind his makeshift counter and lifted a huge green watermelon. He placed it on the white wax paper that covered the counter. He turned then came back with a large knife. He gripped the knife with the blade pointing downward, raised it about two feet above the belly of the melon, then stabbed the defenseless watermelon in its gut all the way to the hilt of the knife. He then dragged the knife down lengthwise, slicing the melon. He removed the knife, flipped the melon around, and repeated the procedure down the other side. The melon fell open into equal halves, exposing the red pulp… just like the watermelon they had seen in the refrigerator at Rebecca's house on their tour of the crime scene.
FIFTY-TWO
The judge had decided to finish the trial that Saturday-the cable network would be in Chicago on Monday, and she wanted a verdict live on national TV, much like the networks want a winner on Sundays at golf tournaments. So at nine the next morning, the sixth day of trial, Scott stood and said, 'State your name, please.'
'Raul Rodriguez.'
The Assistant D.A. stood. 'Objection. This witness was not on the list.'
But before the judge could rule, the D.A. said, 'State withdraws our objection.'
Scott turned back to the witness. 'Mr. Rodriguez, have you ever met me?'
'No, I have not. But I did see you, yesterday.'
'Where?'
'At my produce stand on the seawall.'
'And what did I do?'
'You bought three slices of watermelon.'
'Well, Mr. Rodriguez, my name is Scott Fenney and I'd like to buy another slice of watermelon.'
Mr. Rodriguez smiled. 'I will be at my stand when I leave here.'
'I need it now.'
'But I do not have a watermelon.'
'I do.'
The doors opened, and Carlos pushed in a rolling cart on which was riding a large green watermelon. He placed the cart in front of the witness stand.
'Mr. Rodriguez, would you please step down and cut a slice out of this watermelon for me?'
'I would need a knife.'
'I've got one right here for you.'
Which knife just happened to be identical to the murder weapon, a fact not lost on the jury. Mr. Rodriguez stepped down from the stand and over to the cart. He took the knife, held it with the blade pointing down, and then stabbed the watermelon. He sliced it in half, then cut a slice out and handed it to Scott.
'Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez.'
The D.A. had no questions for the witness. Scott recalled Rebecca to the stand and played the video Bobby had made of the kitchen and the refrigerator on their visit to the crime scene. He stopped the video with the image frozen on the watermelon.
'Ms. Fenney, this watermelon was in your refrigerator at your house on the day that Trey Rawlins was killed, is that correct?'
'Yes.'
'When did you buy that watermelon?'
'I didn't. Trey did. It was there when I returned from Houston.'
'Did you cut this watermelon?'
'Yes, I did.'
'When did you cut it?'
'After we came back from Gaido's.'
'And how did you cut it?'
'The same way that Mr. Rodriguez did.'
'Why?'
'Because that's how you cut a big watermelon. Every Texan knows that.'
The jurors did; they were nodding. Bobby nudged Scott and gestured at his laptop. Karen had emailed a 'Yes!' Scott stepped over and picked up the murder weapon.
'You used this knife that same night to cut the watermelon that was in your refrigerator?'
'Yes, I did.'
