Derrick mouthed ‘thank you’ at the foreperson. He hugged his attorney. Gemma leaned over the railing and kissed him.
‘How do you feel?’
‘What’s it like to be vindicated?’
‘Where is Ed Carbone? Have you heard from him?’
‘Are you angry with the state?’
‘How about the witness, Faith Saunders? Are you angry with her?’
The bailiff yelled, ‘Order!’ and the crowd quieted for a moment.
‘Mr Poole,’ the judge said somberly, ‘the jury has returned a verdict of not guilty against you. You have been cleared of all charges. You are free to go, sir.’
‘Thank you, Your Honor. Thank you,’ Derrick replied humbly. ‘Thank you.’ He didn’t know if anyone actually believed him innocent, but the reporters were smiling and being chummy. Their loyalties changed quickly. They all wanted a quote or to snag an interview with him. Dateline had already been in contact, and they were filming here today. Rich Hartwick had told him that there had been calls about a cable movie on Lifetime based on him.
This was a new beginning. He wasn’t gonna run like he was sure Profe wanted to. Run and hide and then take up together in a new town somewhere far, far away, like California. Derrick was gonna cash in on his fifteen minutes before he left town. Maybe write a book. The urges might not come back. Profe had been the one with all the ideas, after all. Ed brought out the best and the worst in him. They hadn’t spoken in months and they’d made no contingency plan where or how to meet up in the event something went wrong, because they were never supposed to get caught. Nothing was ever supposed to go wrong. It never had before for Ed. He was the one with all the experience. The only fuck-up ever was Derrick’s – letting the desperate housewife and her kid go. Ed would definitely hold that over his head forever.
He knew Profe would want to get together again, and that it was only a matter of time before he got in contact. The guy was crazy. He loved doing sick shit, thinking up sick shit that no one had ever thought of before. And he loved showing off what he could do and all the crazy things he could think up. He would want revenge first, though. The guy didn’t let nothing go, like that dancer from Miami who he’d wanted to take out. She’d made the mistake of calling him a loser and he never forgot. She was the first one to go and Ed had enjoyed doing all sorts of sick shit with her, recording her screaming and then playing it back over and over again, making songs up with her screaming in ’em and using it for background noise. Derrick was no saint, but he wasn’t as bad as Ed. He didn’t want to be as bad as Ed. And the first person Ed likely would want to make a point with was gonna be Blondie and her little kid, and Derrick didn’t do kids. There had to be a line.
Maybe the urges would never come back now. He’d maintained control for six months: Who’s to say he couldn’t be normal forever? That he couldn’t get that incredible high from something else besides watching someone die?
‘Are you going to sue?’
‘Are you going to stay in Florida?’
Derrick smiled at the pretty reporters. Girls who wouldn’t have looked at him a year ago. Today wasn’t the day to think of tomorrow. Today was a day to celebrate.
‘Come on, Derrick,’ said Rich Hartwick, leading him through the mob into the congested hallway. Then down the elevator and into a lobby. He held Gemma’s hand as he followed his attorney through the crowd, ignoring the shouts and questions that came at him. He watched as bystanders stopped and pointed, wanting to know what was going on. He felt so famous. He felt so good. Helping the three of them make their way through the raucous crowd – along with some detractors, to be fair – were two uniformed officers. Derrick thought that was hysterically ironic. If the jury had convicted him, those same officers would have been escorting him to a death row cell in Starke right about now.
Lightning lit the sky as they stepped outside the front of the courthouse. The air was cool and breezy. It was about to storm.
Across the plaza, about fifty yards away, a black Town Car pulled up.
‘That’s ours,’ said Hartwick.
Someone opened the back door. The officers pushed the press back.
‘Derrick!’ a woman shouted, moving along with the crowd.
‘Derrick! I’m Kathleen Hodge with New Times. Can we get an interview?’
‘Derrick!’ a girl squealed. ‘Can I get your autograph?’
‘This way, Derrick,’ said his attorney over the tremendous clap of thunder that had sounded. ‘Before it pours.’
He felt like a celebrity. It was a high like no other he’d ever experienced.
In fact, he thought, as he and Gemma moved to the waiting Town Car and the skies began to open, listening to a woman’s adoring shouts of adulation might be a better turn on than listening to her screams of terror.