Beach Wedding(72)

“Yeah, unnatural is the word of the day,” my brother said, blowing into his cupped hands.

“It’s still on, right? The big showdown?” I said as we started across the plaza.

“It’s on all right,” Marvin said. “You showed up at the right time, Terry. There’s going to be some fireworks today.”

The local media we walked past took some pictures of us this time for a switch. In the camera flash, I noticed that my big brother looked very tense as we walked toward the front door.

“You all right, Tom?” I said, leaning over to him. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I can cover for you today. You’ve been coming for the last two weeks.”

“You kidding me?” Tom said, adjusting his silk tie as a court officer ushered us all inside. “I wouldn’t miss today for all the world.”



98

The hall outside the courtroom on three was crowded as hell, just like last time. As was the inside of it. So much so that we weren’t able to see the occupants of the defendant’s table as we headed toward our seats near the front.

“Come to order,” one of the court officers suddenly called out as the judge—some stringy-looking fiftyish white woman wearing glasses—came in wearing her black robe.

As everybody sat, I finally looked to my right at the defendant’s table and saw him.

There he was sitting beside my old pal Byron Seager, Esquire.

Henry Sutton in the flesh.

The billionaire was facing two counts of murder in the first degree this cold January morning. One for ordering the murder of his brother Noah, and one for ordering the murder of my dad.

He was facing another first-degree murder charge in Massachusetts for ordering the killing of Philip Oster as well, but New York State wanted first dibs.

New York State no longer had a death penalty, but Henry Sutton was looking down the barrel at life without parole at the very least.

But even facing judgment, he still looked prissy, I saw. With the frosting of blond still in his hair, he appeared youthful and good-looking and smooth. He was also wearing a just-so silk cardigan that gave him an almost prep school boyish look.

Watching him, I also noticed something else. There were no other Suttons here this time. He was getting exactly zero support on that end. The Post said the others in the Sutton family weren’t even in the country. They had all fled to the Maldives for a British yacht race and weren’t expected back until all of this latest family slime was resolved.

I shook my head. It was hard to believe that the elegant man-child had his own brother murdered as well as my father.

But hopefully not that hard, I thought as I looked over at the jury. Or the prosecution was going to have its work really cut out for it.

Speaking of which, I thought as I watched the prosecutor, Katrina Volland, stand.

Volland, my old partner from my summer investigation, had become the interim district attorney after Wheaton was indicted in the FBI corruption case that had finally dropped.

Wheaton’s trial was starting next week. As was Courtney’s.

All dogs really did have their day, I thought.

In court.

“Your Honor, we would like to call Mr. Kyle Wilton,” prosecutor Volland said.

I looked over as the door to the left of the bench opened and in came the Texan drill sergeant who had killed my dad and had come a hairsbreadth from killing me.

It turned out that Wilton, Henry Sutton’s longtime fixer and hit man, had agreed to turn state’s evidence. According to the papers, Wilton had admitted to the assassinations of more than a dozen people over the years for Henry and Cold Springs Chemical, and he was now ready to talk about every single one of them.

Because of this, most people were speculating that Wilton was in the market for an assisted prison house “suicide” due to all the money and power involved.

But yet there he stood, I thought as I watched him head for the defendant’s table.

He looked fine. If anything, the former Green Beret sergeant, now wearing an orange prison jumpsuit, looked even more jacked than the last time I saw him.

I was looking down at his big cuffed hands to see where one of Officer Kelly’s bullets had blown off two of his fingers when pandemonium suddenly broke loose.

In the form of my crazy brother.

Before Marvin or I could blink, Tom, sitting beside us, suddenly leapt to his feet and ran like a shot down the center aisle and vaulted the rail.

Like myself and the rest of the courtroom, the court officers thought Tom was going for Wilton. But my brother fooled us all again.

At the last second, he juked to the right and then dived across the defendant’s table and took Henry Sutton out of his seat in a brutal tackle. On the way past, I happily saw Tom was even able to catch Byron Seager in the ear with one of his highly polished wingtips.

Tom managed to get in two really good loud, popping shots to the billionaire asshole’s pretty-boy face before three hulking court officers tore him away. As Henry Sutton stood, I could see the blood dripping out of his pin-straight nose and the huge tomato-red knot under his eye.

“Oh, my,” Marvin said, smirking. “Looks like Tom there let his emotions get the best of him.”

“No,” I said as I stood there still in shock. “I think old Henry got the best of Tom there for sure.”

Tom was handcuffed, yet smiling his pirate grin, as they frog-marched him past us out of the courtroom.