28

“YOU’VE GOT TO DO something,” Jacob told the short Topeka police officer, one of six now gathered at the dark shore of Lake Shawnee. “This same guy tried to run over my daughter and her friend last night in Vinings, right in front of her home on Primrose Lane. They filed a report with your department.”

“Mr. Bayliss, I can assure you,” the acne-faced officer said with clipboard, pen, and flashlight in hand, “we will do all we can to find the individual responsible for this. However, without a license plate or name, it’s going to be difficult. Topeka’s a fairly good-sized city. But we do have an APB out right now for a black Chevy pickup truck, badly dented, with dark windows.”

Static and monotone voices blared from the four black-and-white Topeka police cars parked at various angles along the lake’s soggy shoreline, some with their doors open, all with their blue lights still whirling. One officer with a bright orange glow-in-the-dark vest and flashlight kept traffic moving through the Winter Wonderland Celebration of Lights.

I was seated on the back end of an ambulance with Karen bundled up by my side while two young paramedics cleaned and bandaged the cuts on my arms, hands, and stomach. Initially, they insisted I accompany them to the hospital, but I had no intention of leaving. After thanking the paramedics, Karen and I said good-bye and strode over to Jacob, Sarah, and the police.

“I want you to understand, this person is tormenting my daughter,” Jacob blared. “Her house in Prospect Commons burned to the ground just a few weeks ago. The fire department ruled it as arson. The same person is responsible. What do I need to do to help nail this guy?”

“Sir, you’ve done just about all you can do. You’ve filed a report for each incident; you’ve given the best description possible of the perpetrator—large, white male; you’ve—”

“You need an investigator on this.”

“Mr. Bayliss, investigators are usually called in on murder cases and drug trafficking. Believe me, you’ve done the right thing. We’ve got your reports, and we’ll be watching for the truck.”

“If something happens to my daughter…” Jacob stopped himself from saying more.

The officer turned his back to confer with his colleagues, whose flashlights were scanning the muddy skid marks at the shore of Lake Shawnee as well as the dents and black paint remnants on the back of Jacob’s SUV.

“I want to find this guy,” Jacob hissed, as Sarah, Karen, and I drew close to him.

“Let’s go home, honey,” Sarah said. “I just want to go home.”

I paced in Jacob and Sarah’s quiet kitchen as they sat at the picnic bench–style table with Karen. Sarah had just closed the blinds in the bay window. The fluorescent light above the island was the only one on in the dark house. Somehow, the room didn’t look or feel as cozy as it had the previous night.

Jacob rose and walked to the coffeemaker. “Anybody want decaf?”

“I can’t let you guys stay here like this.” I turned my back to the kitchen cupboards and rested my palms on the beige counter. “I’m responsible! I got you into this. I need to get you out.”

“We’ve been over this, Everett,” Jacob said, removing a white paper filter from the cupboard. “We are where we are, okay? It’s where God has us. We’re not going to dissect the past.”

I walked to the table and pulled out a chair. “I want the three of you to consider coming with me to Miami.”

“Ha!” Jacob laughed as he dipped the small blue scoop into the green coffee bag. “Where did that come from?”

“I’ve got a huge house in Bal Harbour Village.” I rested my elbows on the table and animated the sales pitch with my hands. “You guys can take a vacation. Lose this wing nut for a while. Give the police a chance to track him down. C’mon. It’s on me, all expenses paid.”

“Fine with me,” Sarah said surprisingly, in a high-pitched tone.

“What are you saying?” Jacob set down the coffee supplies and faced us. “We can’t just…leave.”

“Why not?” Karen said. “I’ve got vacation time coming. And you can do your job from anywhere.”

“You guys are dreaming,” Jacob’s voice rose. “We’d come back and find both houses burned down.”

He realized too late how much that hurt.

I stood up and went to get a glass, filled it with tap water, and got some ice.

“Honey,” Sarah said softly. “Let’s leave for a little while. The house will be okay. We leave it to God.”

“I’m ready.” Karen perked up in her chair. “I’ll call my boss bright and early. We’re not that busy anyway.” She shook her shoulders and giggled.

“Jacob?” I said. “How ’bout it?”

“Okay, okay, let’s just pray about it. Can we do that?”

“Absolutely,” Karen said. “I’ll start.”

After leaving Brian with my sparse list of potential witnesses and the letter I received from Zane Bender two days ago, I had no idea what to expect when I showed up in courtroom B-3 on Monday morning. Wearing a light green suit and a yellow dress shirt, Boone looked fairly well rested and quite a bit more confident than the last time I saw him.

“Good morning, Everett,” he whispered, shaking my hand as I approached our table. “We’ve got a friend of yours on the stand today. I think it’ll be interesting. Thanks for the leads.”

“What about the note from Zaney? Can we admit it?”

“Problem is, anyone could have written it.” He shrugged. “Hang in there. We’re gonna have a good day.”

After a weekend breather, the courtroom was alive with chatter and movement as the media began to mega-hype the fact that the sensational case of The State of Florida v. Everett Timothy Lester was winding down.

I didn’t arrive a second too soon. We remained standing as Judge Henry Sprockett strode into the courtroom with his black gown flowing behind him. He immediately told the press corps to back up within its allotted boundaries.

As I sat in my all-too-familiar wood chair, I noticed two things that came as pleasant surprises. One: the cup of Starbucks positioned on the table directly in front of me. Two: the glimpse I got of Donald Chambers and his wife seated about ten rows back.

I mouthed a thank you to Boone for the coffee, and he stood to proceed with our defense.

As former DeathStroke bassist Ricky Crazee walked toward the witness stand, I offered a humble smile, but he glanced at me and looked away quickly. When Ricky first stood up to come forward, I recognized his wife, Alesia, seated next to him. She wore dark glasses and was dressed in brown leather from head to toe.

Ricky seemed the same. He wore jeans and a white T-shirt with pointed cowboy boots, a thick black belt, a fist-sized Harley-Davidson belt buckle, and a black leather sport jacket. His reddish-blond, shoulder-length hair resembled a bird’s nest, which is what we always used to tell him, but he still never brushed it.

Boone reviewed the history of our relationship and asked Ricky questions about our friendship in order to set the stage for his next line of questioning.

“How well did you get to know Madam Endora Crystal, during your years with DeathStroke?”

Ricky sat erect, with his hands clasped tightly against his stomach, as if bracing for a storm. I had seen him sit like that a million times at press conferences.

“Fairly well, I guess.”

“Would you say you were friends with Endora?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Did Endora ever give you a psychic reading, predict your future, delve into your past—anything like that?”

Frozen in the same position, Ricky said, “Once or twice, for the heck of it, she gave me readings. But it was just for fun.”

“What did the readings tell you?”

He laughed, pulling his clenched hands tighter toward his belt buckle. Then he pursed his lips, and his shoulders jumped up. “I don’t really remember, actually.”

Boone walked quietly along the railing in front of the jury. “So…you don’t remember what the readings were about? I mean, you weren’t on drugs like everybody else in the band, right? You were known as the sober one. Tell the court, please, what Endora’s readings revealed to you. I’m really expecting you to remember.”

Frank Dooley popped up. “Your Honor, is this relevant to the murder of Endora Crystal?”

“It may be,” said Sprockett. “Answer, please, if you can.”

Ricky looked at me momentarily. “Back when I was still on drugs—a long time ago—Endora talked me into letting her give me a reading. It was all casual, you know, I did it for fun. But in the middle of the thing, she got serious on me. Way serious. Told me there was…some sort of dragon in my life that needed to be slain. ‘Slay it,’ she said, or it would slay me.”

“And who or what was that dragon? Did she say?”

“No. She said I had to figure it out myself.”

“Did you figure it out?”

“Yeah, eventually.”

“And who or what was that dragon, Mr. Crazee?”

Ricky’s nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, his chest out, his shoulders pointing backward oddly. “Drugs and alcohol. I’m not ashamed to say it. The so-called dragon in my life was drugs and alcohol. I was addicted. It’s no secret.”

“And so,” Boone strolled in front of our table, jacket off, “what kind of drugs did you do and how bad was your addiction?”

“From the minute I got up till I crashed, I was on something,” Ricky said, perturbed. “Heroine, coke, uppers, downers—you name it.”

“Tell the court today, Mr. Crazee, how you ever came clean from such addiction. Did you check yourself into a rehab center? Some sort of clinic?”

Ricky shot Boone a look of disgust.

I glanced over and noticed his wife on her way out of the courtroom.

Something was definitely cooking.

“I think you know the answer,” Ricky said to Boone.

“That’s not the point, Mr. Crazee. The point is, I need you to tell the jury how you came clean from your debilitating drug addiction.”

“Okay! Endora hypnotized me. That’s what you wanted to hear, isn’t it?”

“Yes, in fact, that is what I wanted to hear,” Boone said, with his arms crossed, standing right in front of Ricky. “Why don’t you tell us more about your healing.”

“This is a farce, man…”

“Mr. Crazee,” Sprockett said. “I’ll remind you that a man’s future is at stake here. I’ll also remind you that you are in a court of law and may be held in contempt if you’re not fully compliant here today.”

“Just explain, Mr. Crazee.” Boone walked toward a bewildered Frank Dooley.

“She knew what the dragon was,” Ricky gave in. “Once I figured it out, I went to her. She told me she could help…by hypnotizing me.”

Ricky tried to continue, but the turbulence in the courtroom was too much.

Crack!

“People…” Sprockett yelled.

Crack!

There was a pause as the crowd quieted. The noise was reduced to the sound of an audience before a play—quiet chitter-chatter everywhere.

Boone didn’t want to lose his momentum. “Keep going, please, Mr. Crazee.”

Ricky seemed to relax with the bedlam. “We were in LA. Endora invited me to her place in Malibu.”

“For the specific purpose of hypnotizing you?”

“That’s right.”

“And how did that unfold? What happened? How did it work?”

“She gave me a couple of pills; I don’t know what they were. Then I just laid on a couch, and she told me I would be getting tired,” Ricky said. “Basically, that’s it. I woke up about an hour later and really didn’t feel any different. Really didn’t think it had worked.”

“But, had it…worked?”

“I haven’t had any illegal drugs since.” Ricky leaned toward the microphone. “I’m not ashamed of what I did. I’m clean and sober today because of it.”

“I’m glad for you, Mr. Crazee.” Boone walked away from red-faced Ricky, making sure it was good and quiet before he spoke again. “Tell the court, if you will, exactly what you remember about the time you spent under hypnosis with Madam Endora.”

“I told you, nothing.” Ricky shrugged. “I didn’t think anything had happened. It felt like I had taken a short nap, got up, and went on my way. Later I realized my drug cravings were gone.”

“But to clarify, you cannot tell the court one thing about what happened while you were under the power of Endora’s hypnosis?”

“No.”

“So you wouldn’t have known if she asked you to walk somewhere?”

He hesitated. “No.”

“You wouldn’t have known if she instructed you to call someone on the phone or go someplace in your car?”

Looking around uncomfortably, he said, “No.”

“And you wouldn’t have known if she told you to smash a rock waterfall or…shoot someone in the stomach?”

Dooley’s table actually moved slightly when he barged into it, shooting around the corner, objecting all the way to Judge Sprockett’s bench.

But it was too late. Boone had already opened the can of worms, sat down, and braced himself for Judge Sprockett’s scolding, which came in the form of a verbal lashing and a strict warning about being in contempt of court.

As far as I could tell, Boone’s strategy scored points for our side.

Karen usually got what she prayed for. That explains why, the morning after the incident at Lake Shawnee, she and her mom and dad found themselves lounging with me in the back of a gleaming white DeathStroke jet, sitting on the runway at Forbes Field ready to take off for Miami.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Jacob said, staring out one of the small, round, tinted windows while seated on a beige leather couch.

“I can’t believe it’s going to be warm enough to swim!” Karen said, as she examined the contents of a nearby refrigerator.

“I’ve never been to Miami,” Sarah said. “How did you end up with a place down there, Everett?”

“It started out as just another investment.” I accepted a cup of coffee from the brunette hostess. “My financial advisors told me I needed to buy more real estate. So, we did. Finally, I got down there one time on a video shoot and loved it. Then I started going there regularly.”

When the hostess had served each of us, we sat in silence for a few minutes as the three-person crew prepared for takeoff.

“I wonder if there are any good churches in Miami,” I said, looking at Jacob.

“Sure there are. You just need to start visiting some and see what fits you best. Maybe we can do that while we’re there.”

“That would be fun,” Karen said.

“I’ve been thinking about the story you told, Jacob, about knowing your testimony,” I said. “I want to write mine down.”

“Yours is going to be a doozy,” he said, smiling.

Karen reached out for my free hand. As she did, Sarah smiled ever so slightly from her seat in one of the soft captain’s chairs. Then she swiveled and took Jacob’s big hand in hers.

My phone rang, and I grabbed it quick, almost as if I had been expecting it.

“Where are you?” asked a rigid Brian Boone.

“On the tarmac at Forbes Field in Topeka, preparing for takeoff, you’ll be glad to know. Should be back to you in two, three hours. What’s up?”

“Who’s we?”

“Oh, did I say we?” I said jokingly to Karen and her folks, who looked embarrassed. “No really. My friend Karen is coming back with me, and her mom and dad.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s wrong, Boone?” My stomach rose and fell. I realized in that the moment I had been denying might have arrived. “Do they want me in for questioning?”

Nothing.

“Boone? Are you there?”

“You haven’t had the news on this morning, have you?”

“No.” I motioned for Karen to turn the TV on.

“It’s not good, Everett.”

“Tell me…what?”

At that moment, CNN lit up on the small screen. My picture was frozen in the upper left corner while a live feed showed a reporter outside Miami-Dade police headquarters.

“A warrant has been issued for your arrest, for Endora’s murder,” Boone said. “The whole world is watching. Are there camera crews on the ground at Forbes Field?”

I looked out my window and saw a lone white, blue, and yellow satellite truck racing down an access road. Then another one, farther back.

“They’re on their way.”

“Miami-Dade police want you to turn yourself in and surrender your passport,” Boone explained.

“Fine, what do I need to do?”

“Just come back to Miami International as planned. It’s going to be a zoo. They’ll take you in and book you. I’ll be there. We’re already trying to arrange bail. Not sure what’s going to happen with that.”

“What do you mean? Could I go to jail?”

“The county prosecutor, a guy named Frank Dooley, says they may be seeking murder one charges… Yes, you could go to jail.”

“Murder one?” I repeated, feeling faint.

Jacob had his arm around Sarah, who was in tears in front of the TV. Karen had come to my side and put an arm around my shoulder.

“Do you want me to make a statement for you to the press?” Boone asked.

“Just tell them…” I stopped. “For now, tell them I heard about the warrant and am coming back right away to comply in any way I can. I’ll write up a statement on the flight and have it ready by the time we get there.”

“Everett, are your friends prepared for this kind of media coverage? It could change their lives. It’s not too late for them to turn around.”

“We’ll talk it over,” I said, feeling a touch of sweat on my forehead.

“Sorry about this.”

“Me too, Brian.”

“I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Hey, Boone, while I got you…is there any more word on Olivia Gilbert?”

He was quiet for a moment. “She’s the same. It’s good of you to ask, though.”