Once lighting and sound were established, and her cameraman set up the live feed with NET, Max began.
“We’re in the middle of the second day of the trial of Blair Caldwell, the corporate attorney accused of murdering her eight-year-old son last April. This morning’s testimony focused on Dr. Dillon Kincaid, a renowned criminal psychiatrist who was called by the prosecution as an expert witness. In the two hours, nine minutes of testimony, Dr. Kincaid provided the court with…”
She went through the key points of his testimony in a clear, concise and unemotional way—reporting the facts as he represented them without his extensive details. She had two minutes, not the two hours that Dillon Kincaid was ultimately on the stand.
Max wrapped up with: “Dr. Kincaid ended with a possible motive: whoever killed Peter Caldwell simply wanted Peter to no longer exist.” She paused for effect, then said, “For more about the trial, visit the NET Web site at the address on your screen and click on ‘Maxine Revere’ for all my articles, commentary, and nightly in-depth report about the day’s events. This is Maxine Revere for NET.”
She waited a moment until her cameraman told her she was off-air, then she continued her hunt for John.
Dillon was at the bottom of the courthouse stairs talking to the district attorney, Harrison Trotter. Max said, “Dillon, I can’t find John.”
Trotter said, “He was the first person out of court after the judge.”
“I’m worried,” Max said. “I watched him during your testimony and I saw the change in him.”
“I’m the last person he’ll want to see,” Dillon said.
“You can explain this to him.”
“He’s not going to be receptive. I gave him the most devastating news in his life—that the woman he loved and trusted killed his son. You need to find him.”
“He’s not happy with me, either.”
“But he knows and trusts you, Max. Why do you think he contacted you in the first place? Because he believed you would learn the truth. And you did. It just wasn’t the truth he wanted. Remember what you said last night—that deep down he suspected she was guilty. He wanted to be wrong, he convinced himself his doubts weren’t valid, but now he knows. We didn’t prove it, but we created the plausibility in court.” Dillon glanced at the DA. “I’m prepared to return to the stand to confirm what your computer expert learned.”
The DA was clearly uncomfortable with Max standing there. “Be in the courtroom after lunch. Excuse me.” He walked away.
“Find him,” Dillon said.
Max stepped outside. It was overcast and looked like it would be raining—and decidedly colder than even yesterday.
David called her. “I found him. Parking garage, second floor.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s just sitting in his car. I’ll keep an eye on him until you get here.”
It had started raining. She pulled her umbrella from her purse as the rain pounded. One minute, completely dry. The next minute, torrential downpour. Fortunately, she had on boots because she’d checked the weather report that morning. She walked half a block to the pedestrian entrance of the parking garage.
John drove a white Volvo. Practical, just like John. Max collapsed her umbrella and took the stairs to the second floor. She looked up and down each row. She found the Volvo at the row closest to the courthouse entrance. Of course there would have been an entrance leading directly to the courthouse—if she’d know that, she wouldn’t have even had to venture out into the rain.
David was standing next to the courthouse. He looked at her oddly as she approached. “I didn’t expect you to come from the street,” he said.
They both looked at John sitting behind the wheel. “I’ll take care of him.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“David—”
“Look, Max, I was in the courtroom. I saw his face. He owns two guns. I’m not leaving you with a grieving man who may or may not plan to kill himself—or plan to kill his bitch of a wife. Or his friend, the messenger with bad news. This is what you pay me for. Deal with it.”
She looked at him and smiled. “Thank you.”
He seemed surprised that she had acquiesced so easily. She left David by the courthouse doors and walked over to John’s Volvo. She opened the passenger door and sat in the leather seat, then closed the door behind her.
John barely glanced at her.
“I’ve been avoiding your calls because I knew. After I read that article on Saturday, I knew.”
He put his head on the steering wheel and cried. Max had never heard such a gut-wrenching sound come from a man, as if his pain and grief had found a voice. Max rarely cried, but she felt tears roll down her face.
She didn’t tell John everything was going to be okay. She put her hand on his back and sat there. She would stay with him as long as it took, because he shouldn’t be alone.
Chapter Thirty-eight
After three days of trial and a day and a half of jury deliberations, the jury returned a guilty verdict Friday after lunch.
John Caldwell was not in the courtroom. He didn’t return Tuesday afternoon, or any day since. He checked into a hotel room and hadn’t returned home.
Max met with him each night because she was worried about him—and what he might do. But after the guilty verdict came down, he said he would be okay.
“It’s over,” he said.
“I can stay for the weekend. We can talk. Or just—do nothing.”
He actually gave her a small smile. He hadn’t slept, he’d barely eaten except when Max pushed food on him, and his hair looked gray. Did people really get stress gray?
“I will be okay, Max. My sister is coming tomorrow. She’s going to help me pack up the house and get it on the market. I can’t live there anymore.”
“How about dinner tonight?”
He shook his head. “I can’t—I need to make plans. I’m going to move. Not just out of the house, but out of Scottsdale. A friend of mine has been trying to get me to work for them. Their headquarters are in Seattle. I need a change. A real change.”
“Well, if you want to talk, or have dinner, or breakfast, call me. I’m leaving in the morning.”
John walked her to the door. “Did you know? From the beginning, did you know that Blair was guilty?”
What could she say? “Suspecting is different than knowing. I was suspicious, but I wanted her to be innocent.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew it would break your heart, and I didn’t want you hurt like this.”
“Nothing could hurt me more than losing Peter. Even knowing that Blair killed him—killed him for no reason I can understand other than a deep selfishness that I ignored for years—doesn’t hurt as much as the fact that he’s gone.”