Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [36]
“I can’t argue with that,” Alex told the man.
She stepped into the hall outside the courtroom. Chairs for the witnesses lined one wall. A rope line had been set up to keep the press away from them, and a couple of bailiffs stood guard on it to keep the reporters at bay. Alex was grateful for that. The last thing she wanted right now was some news vulture clamoring in her face. Judge Phillip Carson had barred camera crews from inside the courthouse, but there were still plenty of reporters clogging the corridors.
Alex took a seat. She wished she could be inside the courtroom to hear the opening statements and everything else that was going on. Waiting was hard for her, and there was no telling how long it would be before she was called to testify. It might be today, Rutherford had told her, but more than likely it would be tomorrow or the next day. It all depended on how long jury selection took and how Clayton Cochrum presented Navarre’s case. It was possible that Cochrum wouldn’t put any witnesses on the stand except his own client, but Alex and her officers might be called as hostile witnesses, Rutherford had warned her.
She looked along the line of chairs. J. P. Delgado and Clint Barrigan were here, as were the EMTs who had responded to the call from the McNamara home. Was Cochrum going to try to get their testimony on record before the defense had a chance to do so?
Alex didn’t know. All she could do was wait, and wish the events that had spawned this travesty of justice had never taken place.
Dave Rutherford surprised her during the lunch break by telling her that jury selection was complete and that opening statements would take place as soon as court was back in session.
“Then testimony will get underway, I suppose,” Rutherford said with a worried frown. “I can’t help but think that Cochrum has some sort of trick waiting for us, though.”
“You’re probably right,” Alex said. “A weasel like him is bound to have something up his sleeve.”
Just looking at the smug, self-assured lawyer made her skin crawl. Navarre was just a thug who had never had any morals and never would. Cochrum, on the other hand, somewhere along the way had sold out whatever humanity he had in exchange for money. Although no one had been able to prove it, Alex was sure Cochrum was actually working for the Rey del Sol drug cartel or their enforcement arm, a gang that had originated in American prisons and now had members scattered throughout the border states and beyond. Some were illegals from Mexico, but many were native-born Hispanic Americans who had been lured into joining by easy money or misguided sentiments. Like all law enforcement personnel in this part of the country, Alex received frequent warnings about cartel activities.
About three o’clock that afternoon, Clint Barrigan, as the first officer to respond to the shooting call, was summoned into the courtroom to testify. That meant Cochrum was going the hostile witness route. That was the only course open to him, really, other than having his client testify and then resting his case.
When Clint came back out into the hall a half hour later, his rugged face was grim. He looked at Alex and gave a little shake of his head, but that was all. They had all been cautioned by Dave Rutherford about discussing the case.
Delgado was next, and then one by one, the EMTs. It looked like Cochrum was saving her for last, Alex thought. But the time was close to five o’clock now, so it appeared her testimony wouldn’t take place until the next morning. The case was already a lot farther along by now than she had realistically expected it to be.
Sure enough, a few minutes after the last of the ambulance guys emerged from the courtroom, the doors opened and the spectators and reporters began to stream out. An excited hubbub filled the corridor. When the lawyers appeared, the commotion got even worse. The attorneys for the defense drew a crowd, but Clayton Cochrum drew an even bigger