Moore turned to the judge and spread his arms at his sides. “Your Honor, this proceeding is an imposition on the court’s time. Mr. Hunt made some mistakes, which he readily acknowledges. Over time, he’s reconstructed his life. He relocated to Prentiss from Houston in order to see his daughter regularly.
“He’s undergone the counseling that your predecessor mandated twelve months ago. A year hasn’t diminished his determination to regain custody of his child, and I submit that, except for their own selfish interests, there are no grounds whatsoever for Mr. and Mrs. Gilroy to be contesting my client’s petition.”
The Gilroys’ lawyer surged to his feet. “Your Honor, my clients’ grounds for contesting this petition are in the file. Mr. Hunt has proved himself to be unfit—”
“I have the file, thank you,” Judge Spencer said. “Mrs. Gilroy, please step down. I’d like to hear from Mr. Hunt now.”
Grace left the witness stand looking distraught, as though she had miserably failed their cause.
Crawford stood up, smoothed down his necktie, and walked to the witness box. Chet swore him in. Crawford sat down and looked at the judge—in the eye, as Moore had coached him to do.
“Mr. Hunt, four years ago some of your behavior brought your ability to be a good parent into question.”
“Which is why I didn’t contest Joe and Grace being awarded temporary custody of Georgia. She was only thirteen months old when Beth died. She needed constant care, which circumstances prevented me from providing. My obligations at work, other issues.”
“Serious other issues.”
That wasn’t a question. He kept his mouth shut.
The judge flipped through several official-looking papers and ran her finger down one sheet. “You were arrested and pled guilty to DUI.”
“Once. But I—”
“You were arrested for public indecency and—”
“I was urinating.”
“—assault.”
“It was a bar fight. Everyone who threw a punch was detained. I was released without—”
“I have the file.”
He sat there seething, realizing that his past would devastate his future. Judge Holly Spencer was cutting him no slack. After giving him a long, thoughtful appraisal, she again shuffled through the pages of what she had referred to as his “file.” He wondered how bad it looked with his transgressions spelled out in black and white. If her frown was any indication, not good.
Finally, she said, “You went to all the counseling sessions.”
“Judge Waters made clear that each one was mandatory. All twenty-five of them. I made certain not to miss any.”
“The therapist’s report is comprehensive. According to her, you made remarkable progress.”
“I think so. I know so.”
“I commend your diligence, Mr. Hunt, and I admire your commitment to regaining custody of the daughter you obviously love.”
Here it comes, he thought.
“However—”
The door at the back of the courtroom burst open and a figure straight out of a horror movie ran up the center aisle, handgun extended. The first bullet struck the wall behind the witness box, splitting the distance between Crawford and Judge Spencer.
The second one got the bailiff Chet Barker square in the chest.
Chapter 2
Shots were fired rapidly, one right after another. Crawford tried to count them, but lost track in the chaos that erupted inside the courtroom.
Judge Spencer surged to her feet, shouting Chet’s name in alarm.
Joe shoved Grace out of her chair and onto the floor, then ducked down beside her.
The attorneys scurried for cover beneath the tables at which they sat. The court reporter did the same.
Impervious to the scurrying and ear-piercing screams, the shooter, clad in stark white, his facial features distorted by a clear plastic mask, stepped over Chet’s still form as though it weren’t there, and kept coming, shooting, aiming toward the front of the courtroom.
All this registered with Crawford instantly, and he reacted instinctually by vaulting over the railing that separated the witness box from the judge’s podium, forcing her to the floor, then landing on top of her.
Four shots? Five? Six? Crawford had recognized the pistol as a nine-millimeter. Depending on the size of the clip—
Sensing when the shooter rounded the witness box and stepped onto the platform, Crawford whipped his head around. The shooter had a bead on him. Crawford kicked backward. His boot heel caught the guy in the kneecap, hard enough to throw the attacker off balance. His arm went up, and the shot went into the ceiling. Still off balance, he stumbled backward off the platform, then turned and ran for the side exit of the courtroom.
Crawford came up onto one knee and bent over the judge. After confirming that she was alive, he launched himself off the platform like a sprinter off the chocks. He knelt down beside Chet, determined instantly that he was dead and, without allowing himself to think about the waste of a good man, unsnapped the bailiff’s holster and yanked his service revolver from it.
A bailiff from another court barreled in through the rear door, skidding to a halt when he saw Crawford checking to make certain Chet’s revolver was loaded. The bailiff went for his own weapon.