“Really? You weren’t involved? Not in any way?”
He paused, clearly weighing his answer. “Not in any material way,” he said finally.
“Detective Hitchens, please consider your answer carefully. I can produce a witness to testify that you brought Lauren Scott to the Trent Community Hospital on at least five separate occasions, passing yourself off as her husband -- do you really want me to do that?”
Lily had no intention of compelling Mary Pride to testify, but she was counting on him not to know that. And to her relief, the bluff worked.
“No,” he said with a heavy sigh. “You don’t have to do that. Yes, I drove her to Trent. Somebody had to -- she couldn’t drive herself. And she wouldn’t go to the hospital here. She was afraid someone would recognize her. She was afraid, if it got out, he’d get in trouble at the department, and then he’d really kill her. He threatened to often enough. He used to tell her how he could make her disappear -- make her vanish into thin air -- and then tell people that she had just up and left him for another man, and no one would ever be the wiser. And she believed him.”
“Your Honor,” John Henry protested. “While certainly illuminating, I fail to see the relevance in any of this.”
“I was just about to get to that, Your Honor,” Lily said.
“Objection overruled,” Grace Pelletier said. “But do get to it, Miss Burns.”
“What really happened in that alley on the night Detective Scott died, Detective Hitchens?” Lily inquired softly.
The police officer sighed again. “I knew he was meeting his supplier there,” he said. “So I went to try to talk some sense into him. It was starting to affect his work. I told him I couldn’t cover for him any more. We had an argument. There was a fight. I left.”
“And the second bullet?” Lily asked softly.
He nodded. “I went back about an hour later. I assumed Dale would be beat up, but alive, and I’d have to take him to the hospital. But when I got there, I realized he’d been shot and he was dead, and I saw his gun just lying there beside him. I didn’t know who had shot him, so I panicked and did something stupid. The Indian was passed out, so I did what you said -- I put his hands around the gun and shot into the bed. Then I replaced the second bullet from Dale’s gun with one of my own. Afterwards, I realized what would happen if someone found it, so I didn’t let anyone look. I waited until it was late, but I was too late. The box was already gone.”
The spectators packing the courtroom gasped. The members of the jury tried not to.
“When you’re off duty, what sort of car do you drive, Detective?” Lily asked, changing the subject.
He was confused. “An MG,” he replied.
“What color?”
“Red.”
“I have nothing further,” she said.
“Are you anticipating a lengthy cross-examination, Mr. Morgan?” Grace Pelletier inquired.
A flustered John Henry looked at Tom Lickliter, then at the witness, and then back at the judge. “I’m not sure yet, Your Honor,” he replied.
The judge looked at him. “All right,” she said, and turned to the jury. “We will stand in recess until two o’clock.”
. . .
“Is what just happened in that courtroom what I think just happened?” Joe wanted to know.
Lily and Megan and Dancer had come back to the office, and they were sitting around the table in the conference room. The television set was on, with the sound muted, and they were staring at each other, as if afraid to say what they were thinking.
“I do believe so,” Lily said with a tentative smile.
“Why did you stop?” Megan asked. “You got him to admit about the bullet. You were one step away from nailing him for everything.”
“I wasn’t going for a Perry Mason moment,” Lily responded. “I got what I needed out of him, and made sure the jury heard it.”
“And I bet the jurors weren’t the only ones listening,” Joe said.
As if to punctuate his words, Wanda stuck her head in the door. “Tom Lickliter’s on the line,” the receptionist said.
“Now what do you suppose is on his mind?” Lily murmured with a little smile, reaching for the receiver.
“Can we meet?” the deputy prosecutor asked.
“Before cross-examination?”
“Yes,” he said. “John Henry and I think we should meet. It would be in everyone’s best interests if we meet.”
“Okay.”
“Our house. Half an hour?”
“I can do that,” she said.
. . .
They met in the prosecutor’s office, just after one o’clock.
“Tell me, how far are you prepared to go with this?” John Henry asked.
“As far as I have to go, to see that my client is fully exonerated,” Lily replied.
“What if you ask for a dismissal of all charges, and we don’t oppose it? Will that satisfy you?”
Lily barely managed to hide her surprise. “It may satisfy me, but why would it satisfy you?” she asked. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“We were in court today,” John Henry said pragmatically. “We heard Hitchens’ testimony. You tied him to the second bullet. And whatever we might do on cross, I have a feeling you’re going to try to nail him for the murder, too. I just thought we’d save you the trouble.”
“Are you saying I’ve established reasonable doubt?”
“Whether you have or not,” the prosecutor told her, “this isn’t the time to gamble, it’s the time to be practical.”
“You’re not going to be able to sweep this under the rug, you know,” she said.
“I don’t intend to,” John Henry snapped, because that was exactly what wanted to do. “I’d just like to minimize the black eye we’re going to get, if I can. So, would you be willing to stipulate that my office was in no way complicit in this -- that we knew nothing about any of it, not until we heard Hitchens on the stand this morning?”
John Henry might not have been the smoothest lawyer in town, but
