Hidden Summit (Virgin River #17)(77)

“The sooner you just get it behind you, the sooner you’re done with it. And when you come back here after the trial is over, are you going back to that little cabin? Or will you stay with me?”

He gave a nod and nuzzled her neck. “You’re going to have a hard time getting rid of me.”

“Do you think that someday we’ll actually be able to lay down on a bed together and not make love?”

“Maybe someday. Not soon.”

“Get in the shower, Conner,” she said. “I’ll get a pot of coffee going. You need to get on your way. And thank you. Even if it’s just a few hours with you, it means everything to me.”

Almost an hour later, he reluctantly left her at her front door and began his drive to Sacramento. Once he reached Clear Lake he phoned Max at the D.A.’s office and told them he was running a little late, but en route.

By ten he was walking into the district attorney’s complex. Max came out of his office to meet him in the reception area and escort him in.

Even though Max—Ray Maxwell, officially—had caused him a lot of personal complications by relying on him to testify in this trial, Conner liked the guy. He was young for a D.A.—under fifty—and no question about it, he was decent and honest. Judging the pictures in his office, he was also a happily married father of two. Conner could sense a certain commanding nature in Max, accentuated by his dark hair barely touched by silver at the temples, but today there was obvious warmth, as well. And he never for a second doubted Max’s gratitude.

“Good to see you, Conner. You won’t be Conner on the stand, by the way. However, there’s no legal trouble with your name change. Once you’ve testified, there’s a judge who will sign off on the petition immediately. Thanks for coming so quickly. I take it your family is doing well?”

“Katie and the boys seem fine and she’s decided to stay in Vermont, at least for now,” Conner said. “How long is this going to take?”

“The prosecution presents first,” he said. “We’ll prep you over the next couple of days and run your testimony by Friday at the latest. With any luck, sooner. Then you’re free to go, but understand you can be recalled by the defense, in which case you’ll have to return. Which brings us to the next item—you’ve had some more time to think about it now. Have you thought of anything they might bring up to discredit you?”

He frowned and shook his head. “I think we went over all this. I had a traffic ticket—speeding. Seven years ago. I paid my taxes on time, took my sister and nephews to church once in a while, never got arrested. No mental illness in the family that I know of and I don’t take any drugs, prescription or otherwise.”

“And never visited a massage parlor or strip joint?”

“Never had the time. I’m not saying I’m above that sort of thing,” Conner said with a grin. “I just never had the time. I had a business and a family.”

“You’re sure?”

“Trust me, I’d remember.”

“Because your ex-wife was an occasional visitor to The Blue Door, one of Dickie’s more notorious clubs. One in which Regis Mathis was a silent partner.”

“Yeah,” Conner said. “Not a big surprise. I told you about her. What does that have to do with me?”

“While you were still married, it turns out,” Max said.

He was shocked into silence, but then an immediate huff of laughter escaped him. “I take that back. Consider me surprised. Of course I didn’t know that. Still, what’s that got to do with me?”

“No telling,” Max said. “They haven’t listed her as a witness, but the information that our only witness’s wife frequented the victim’s club—that turned up. Whether they’ll use it, we don’t know.”

“How could they use it?”

“Oh, let’s use our imagination on that,” Max said. “How about—you’re a very jealous man and you had a motive for killing the owner of one of the clubs your wife frequented for extramarital sex.”

“Wow,” Conner said. “No offense, but I’m glad I don’t have to think like a prosecutor. That would never have occurred to me. I never hurt my ex, never hurt the kid I caught her with, never knew she went to clubs. I’m not all that surprised, but I didn’t know.”

“If there’s anything…”

“Max, I’m such a straight arrow I’ve missed half my life, working and taking care of my sister and her kids. In fact, if I hadn’t been taking out the trash after closing the store, this wouldn’t be happening to me.”

Max showed him a half smile. “Every prosecutor knows he’s telling the jury a story—‘Here’s what happened.’ Then the defense takes over and tells a different story—‘Here’s what really happened.’ In some ways this is predictable—I usually try to run the police testimony first because they’re well-trained witnesses. Then the eyewitnesses and finally, the forensic experts. Even though we have powerful forensics, the defense will undoubtedly cite cases in which evidence was mishandled or misinterpreted, trying to discredit the science.” He gave a shrug. “Even though an eyewitness account is often the least reliable, you’re our ace. Exactly why we’ve gone to some trouble to keep you out of harm’s way. This isn’t going to be a long trial—five to seven days, then deliberation.”