“Madam Foreperson, have you reached a verdict?” Larch said.
Juror eleven stood. “We have, Your Honor.”
The judge accepted a copy of the verdict from the bailiff, opened it, and showed no reaction before saying, “Dr. Cross, please rise.”
As Anita, Naomi, and I got to our feet, I heard the courtroom doors open behind me. I glanced back and saw Bree and Damon rush to seats beside Sampson and his wife, Billie.
Everything felt surreal as I heard Larch say, “On count one, in the death of Virginia Winslow, murder in the first degree, how do you find?”
CHAPTER
86
JUROR ELEVEN WOULD not look at me. No one in the jury would look at me.
“We find the defendant, Alex Cross,” she said as she finally turned her hard gaze my way, “not guilty.”
There were gasps, cheers, and a war whoop behind me. My knees went rubbery, and I almost started to cry when Nana Mama said, “I knew it!”
Naomi grabbed my left arm, Anita my right.
“What?” Dylan Winslow yelled angrily, jumping to his feet. “He shot my mom in cold blood!”
“Not guilty!” Ali shouted at him, standing up. “Not guilty!”
Judge Larch pounded her gavel and then shook it at Ali and Soneji’s kid. “One more outburst out of either of you, and you’ll be banned from my court. Clear?”
Dylan was fuming and red-faced, but he slammed his butt back down on the bench beside Binx. Ali grinned with satisfaction and sat more slowly.
Turning back to the jury, Judge Larch said, “On count two, in the death of Leonard Diggs, the charge is murder in the first degree. How do you find?”
“We find the defendant not guilty, Your Honor.”
“This is bullshit!” Binx shouted. “I saw it with my own two eyes!”
“One more word and it’ll be contempt of court, Ms. Binx,” Larch said, standing and glaring at her.
Binx shook her head in a rage, but she said nothing else.
“On count three of the indictment,” the judge said, “attempted murder of Claude Watkins, how do you find?”
“There was reasonable doubt. Not guilty, Your Honor.”
The courtroom erupted. I let out my breath long and slow and hung my head in deep gratitude, thanking God for my deliverance, before spinning around and reaching across the bar to kiss Bree, who was grinning through tears.
“Welcome back from the edge, baby,” she said.
“This is a travesty of justice!” Claude Watkins shouted. “I’ve got a piss bag and he’s frickin’ not guilty? He guns down three and he’s not guilty?”
Larch banged her gavel, said, “That’s enough, Mr. Watkins.”
“I reject this!” Watkins roared, and he spun his wheelchair around and headed out. “I do not recognize this jury or this court!”
“Neither do I!” shouted Binx, and she stormed after him.
The judge called to the officer at the door to the hallway, “Fuller, arrest them both. I want them held on suspicion of conspiracy, murder, and perjury.”
Binx whirled around and shouted, “You can’t be serious! This is insanity!”
“It’s government persecution, that’s what it is,” Watkins said. “They cooked up that whole pack of lies to bury us. It’s what the police state does! Shoots you down, then makes up a goddamn excuse for shooting you down!”
As Binx struggled against the zip cuffs around her wrists and a second officer restrained Watkins in his wheelchair, my gaze snagged on Soneji’s son. Dylan Winslow was on his feet, looking back at Binx and Watkins as they were taken from the courtroom. The fingers of the troubled teen’s left hand trembled as he tried to grip the bench in front of him.
He was part of it, I thought. He’s got something to hide.
The prosecutor was on his feet and furious as well.
“Your Honor,” Wills said. “The verdict is the verdict, but I echo Ms. Binx and Mr. Watkins. This is a travesty of justice, one you can undo by vacating this verdict and demanding a retrial.”
“What? And undo double jeopardy?” Anita cried. “On what constitutional grounds, Counselor?”
Larch held up her hand to stop further argument. Then she tugged her glasses down the bridge of her nose and gave the prosecutor a withering stare.
“Mr. Wills,” she said. “As far as the Court is concerned, this entire trial has been a travesty of justice. Because of the naked ambitions of yourself and Ms. Carlisle, as well as the government’s need for a scapegoat for the country’s rash of police-involved shootings, the two of you and your bosses not only bought into a sophisticated framing of the defendant, but fully participated in a rush to justice. I anticipate someone investigating both of you very soon.”
For once, the federal prosecutors were speechless.
“Dr. Cross?” Larch said.
“Your Honor.”
“I am sorry this happened to you.”
“Thank you, Judge Larch. I am too.”
“Go and enjoy your freedom. Take care of that son of yours.” She banged her gavel. “The jury is released. Case closed.”
I threw my hands up and whirled around to see Bree, Jannie, Damon, Nana Mama, and my dad cheering behind me.
Tears welled in my eyes as I kissed Anita and Naomi. Then I went around, picked up Ali, and hugged my boy like he was life itself.
CHAPTER
87
TO BE HONEST, despite the verdict, I was feeling mixed emotions sitting in a chair outside Chief Michaels’s office the following Monday.
My arrest, the trial, and even the verdict had forced me to do a lot of reevaluating about my priorities and my purpose in life.
I had always seen homicide investigation as a way to represent the slain and help the friends and family of the victims find not only closure, but justice. I think of it as an honorable profession, one that, until I was arrested, gave me a great degree of fulfillment.
But turning back to clinical psychology and counseling, my first loves, had reminded me why I enjoyed that work so much. Ultimately, my job was to help people trying to understand and improve themselves and their lives. Being a psychotherapist was as noble a calling as being a homicide detective, and fulfilling in an entirely different way. And yet here I was, ready to put an end to the counselor part of me again.
“Dr. Cross?” Michaels’s secretary said. “He’ll see you now.”
I went into the chief ’s office. Crossing the room to his desk, I watched Metro’s leader closely, trying to read his body language. The chief had played it political during the months I’d spent on suspension pending trial. In private, he’d expressed support. In public, he’d covered his ass.
So it was a bittersweet experience when Michaels summoned his politician’s smile, reached out his hand, and said, “I knew you’d be back, Alex. What would Metro do without you?”
I swallowed whatever uncomfortable feelings I’d had and thanked him for reinstating me on the Major Case Unit. In the squad room, Bree ended Sampson’s suffering by reassigning Detective Ainsley Fox to another partner and putting the two of us back together. That was good, really good, maybe even better than the verdict. No bittersweet feelings at all.
I spent the rest of that first day filling out forms that sought back pay in light of the verdict and doing a pile of other administrative nonsense. But on Tuesday, Sampson and I were back on the job, with the missing blondes the first order of business. We started early, leaving DC long before dawn and driving north.
Four and a half hours later, we left Interstate 180 for State Route 220 toward Muncy Valley, Sonestown, and Laporte, Pennsylvania. It was timber country. The road was narrow, winding, and flanked on both sides by state game lands and big leafless forest tracts.