Hidden Summit (Virgin River #17)(81)

“I’m not alone,” she said in a very soft voice. But she was alone. And so needed some support.

The phone on Paul’s desk rang, and he picked it up. “Haggerty Construction. Yeah? Yeah? I’ll be damned. Well, I guess I’m not at all surprised. I’ll see you in a couple hours, then. And I’ll bring Les.” Then he hung up.

“Bring Les where?” she asked.

“Apparently it took Preacher about two minutes on the computer to find out that Danson Conner, the owner of a hardware store in Sacramento, witnessed a murder in the alley behind his store and is going to testify against a very powerful man in the murder trial. And guess what? He’s been here for a few months. Did you know that Jack’s little sister was a Sacramento County prosecutor? He says this has Brie’s fingerprints all over it, so he called her and offered to buy her a beer at around four today. We’re going to join them.”

“We are?”

“Yes, we are. I can see you’re scared. Brie knows how much of this she can let out, and that’s bound to reassure you a little bit. So you can talk!” He sat back down. “Go on—get things wrapped up and we’ll go have a beer.”

Nineteen

Conner had skipped the opening remarks at the trial, but decided to go to court for the testimony of the police officers who answered his call. He was escorted by an officer in an unmarked car, his truck safely stowed in a very large, crowded mall parking lot where it would not be linked to him and not tampered with.

There were a lot of cops testifying, not to mention a coroner. The coroner’s report would come later, but the photos and examination of the deceased at the scene were entered as evidence and testimony.

For the first time since this whole ordeal had begun, he had a very uneasy, unsure feeling. Regis Mathis didn’t look like a murderer in this setting. Conner already knew he didn’t sound like a murderer, this pillar of the community. There was nothing slick about him. He didn’t look like the kind of man who would be friends with Dickie Randolph. And the D.A.’s allegation that they were even in business together seemed impossible.

Mathis was a tall, regal man with expensive tastes. This wasn’t something Conner would have known, had his off-duty cop protector and escort not said to him, “Man, that’s at least a ten-thousand-dollar suit.” And as Conner watched Mathis from the back of the courtroom, the man was very clearly comfortable, confident, very much at ease with these proceedings, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. And he had four attorneys up front, more assistants in the gallery along with his distinguished-looking family and two priests.

On the other side of the courtroom, divvied up like the bride’s side and the groom’s side, sat a couple of cheap-looking young women with men who had a disreputable look about them—Randolph’s associates, perhaps?

At one point Mathis looked straight at Conner and gave him a half smile and nod, almost a welcoming gesture. Welcome to the party, son! It was impossible to picture him in an orange jumpsuit. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he couldn’t imagine him doing what he’d done. It was, in a word, incomprehensible.

And Regis Mathis did not expect to be convicted.

Conner wondered if he’d been too optimistic. If he were a seated jury member it would be hard for him to imagine this stately, polite and reserved man as the kind of cold-blooded killer who could put a bullet in a man’s head, drag his body out of a car and heft it into a Dumpster. Harder still, if a meticulous man such as Regis Mathis, a man who constantly pulled at his crisp white shirt cuffs, wanted someone dead, why didn’t he hire it out? Why get his own hands dirty? He was, after all, richer than God.

Conner didn’t expect him to be convicted, either. While the story was completely true, it was unbelievable. If it had been any other kind of murder, maybe. But this kind? In a dingy alley, bullet to the head, tossed in a Dumpster? A victim with duct tape over his mouth and binding his wrists and ankles? Not this man, this very classy man who endowed charities and endorsed politicians.

He was required to be in court the next day, or at least in the building, available. He had a brief temptation to buy an equally expensive suit, though he knew it wouldn’t look the same on him as it looked on Mathis.

While he paid attention to the testimony of cops, homicide detectives and other officials who had been on the scene, all he could think about was that he couldn’t wait until the day was done and he could call Leslie and Katie. And he was afraid to call them. He wasn’t sure how he could keep from saying, It’s hopeless. I’m going to be in hiding for the rest of my life. And anyone who throws their lot in with me will be hiding, too.

When court was dismissed for the day, Conner exited with his cop and waited in the hallway for the room to empty. Then he doubled back to the courtroom and said, “Give me a second with the D.A.” Then he reentered the courtroom. At the front table, Max was speaking quietly with one of his associates as they both shuffled papers into their briefcases. Conner came up behind them and cleared his throat.

Max turned. “Yes, Conner?”

Conner looked around to be sure they weren’t overheard by any bystanders. Then he looked back at Max. “You’re never going to get him, are you?”

“I am going to,” Max said confidently.

“He doesn’t look like a killer,” Conner said. “If I were a juror—”