Home Invasion - J. A. Johnstone [52]
“There’s so much damage to his brain that he’ll never recover,” Rutherford finished what his colleague couldn’t bring himself to say.
For a long moment, Alex didn’t say anything. Then, “I know it’s terrible to feel this way, but maybe it’s for the best. My dad always said that going fast was like winning the senior citizens’ lottery. And after everything Pete’s gone through, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to live.”
“Maybe not, but he shouldn’t have been hounded to death by scum like Cochrum,” Joe said angrily.
“He’s not dead yet,” Rutherford pointed out, “and this is going to throw the whole legal situation into limbo.”
“I’m filing an appeal. Judge Carson gave us plenty of grounds in his instructions to the jury. He was clearly prejudicial.”
“And the way the courts have been packed by the liberals in the past dozen years, do you really think that’s going to do any good?”
Alex held up her hands. “You two can wrangle out the legal issues later,” she said. “For now, what do we need to do for Pete?”
Joe shrugged again. “There’s nothing we can do for him. It’s all up to the doctors now … and to El Señor Dios, as my grandmother would say.”
Alex nodded. “All right, then. I’m heading back to Home. The news of the verdict and Pete’s stroke is bound to have gotten there by now, and it’s liable to make the trouble last night look like nothing.”
“Maybe I’d better go, too,” Rutherford said, “in case the mayor needs my legal advice on anything.”
“Both of you go,” Joe said. “I’ll stay here and look out for Pete’s best interests, whatever they may be.”
They said their farewell, and Alex and Rutherford headed for the elevator used by hospital personnel that they had come up in earlier. Local police from the county seat were posted in the corridors to keep the media and everybody else away from the ICU.
There was a mob on the lawn in front of the hospital, too. Everybody in town knew Pete McNamara had collapsed at the conclusion of the trial, and most of them knew he had been brought here. Damn gawkers, Alex thought as she circled the sprawling building in her car and headed out of town on the state highway.
It was just human nature, though, to stop and stare at a tragedy … and there was no other word to describe this situation.
She turned on the radio as she drove, and the first thing she heard was Clayton Cochrum’s oily voice saying, “… regret that Mr. McNamara was stricken. Mr. Navarre also wants it known that he bears no personal ill will toward Mr. McNamara and wishes him a complete and speedy recovery.”
“Oh, barf,” Alex muttered.
The press conference was probably live, not on tape. Reporters shouted questions at Cochrum, their voices blending together. After a moment, Cochrum must have singled out one of them, because a woman’s voice rose and asked, “What effect does this have on the verdict reached by the jury today?”
“None whatsoever,” Cochrum replied without hesitation. “That verdict stands. Of course, under the circumstances, my client and I will not press for any hurried disposition of the damages phase of the trial until Mr. McNamara has recovered.”
“What if he doesn’t recover?” another reporter asked. “He’s in critical condition, according to our sources at the hospital.”
“Then in due time, we’ll deal with his estate.”
“What about the other settlements, the ones with the federal government and the gun company?”
“Those negotiations are proceeding, and announcements will be made shortly concerning them.”
“Do you feel that your client has been vindicated?”
Cochrum laughed. “Well, of course, I do. The jury sent a clear message today, don’t you think?”
“What about the criminal charges still pending against him?”
“I filed a motion a short time ago to have them dismissed. It’ll be up to District Attorney Hobson to decide whether to go forward with them.”
Alex had a pretty good idea what Everett Hobson would decide, too. It might not be impossible to try Emilio Navarre now