Hidden Summit (Virgin River #17)(83)

“This has to stay in this tight little group,” Brie said, holding on to a longneck beer. “Just between the five of us. Jack?” she asked.

“What?” he returned, insulted.

Her gaze connected with Paul, Leslie, Preacher and finally her brother. “You’re the only one I worry about. You know—you like to talk.”

“Not if I know it’s a secret!” he said.

“Until this trial is over, it’s a secret. Until the trial is completely over, it’s a secret, get that? Because being the only witness is a pretty tenuous position.”

“Got it!” Jack said, not happily.

“So, he’s the only witness. He left town to spend a little time with his family, location confidential, and then to Sacramento to appear. Another week or so, depending on how long the jury takes, it should be behind us. Then, with luck, he’s no longer a threat to the defendant and we can all relax.”

“Have you talked to him?” Leslie asked.

“I haven’t. I’m keeping up with the trial and it seems to be going all right for the prosecution so far. They’ve called police, detectives and the coroner—there were so many on the scene, it took the first days,” Brie said.

“Hold on,” Preacher said, reaching for the remote.

The volume on the TV had been turned way down, and he turned it up as a face appeared. A very confident and distinguished man was speaking into a lot of handheld microphones. “Blood?” he asked. “I don’t know that there was blood in the car. There certainly wasn’t any blood anyone could see. I hear claims that there had been blood at one time, revealed by some old lab test. One of my sons wondered if it could be his—apparently he had a severe bloody nose after a round of golf. I was unaware of that because he was fine and it was cleaned up.”

“The defendant,” Brie said.

“Didn’t the prosecution allege it was the victim’s blood?”

“From some C.S.I. kind of magic lab test?” he returned with a chuckle. “We know those DNA tests are never wrong, don’t we?” he asked facetiously. “That’s why so many wrongly accused felons have been released from prison lately, right?”

“How would you explain the presence of blood in your car?” someone asked.

“No further comment,” another man, presumably his lawyer, interjected.

“Mr. Mathis, it’s been speculated that you invested in Mr. Randolph’s businesses....”

“Look, I have a lot of employees, a few of them responsible for accounting and investments, and I assure you, if it is discovered they invested in shady businesses like those of Mr. Randolph, they’ll be looking for work. We’re investigating that now. But I had never met the man.”

“Wasn’t your car seen at the scene?” a reporter asked.

“Cherry,” he said, smiling, “my family owns fourteen cars.”

“Clever,” Brie said. “He knows the reporters by name....”

“No further comment,” the lawyer said again. “We’ll let this play out in court and I have no doubt, it will have a satisfactory end.”

While the reporters continued to fire questions at the men, a confident and smiling Regis Mathis walked away from the cameras, giving friendly waves as he got into the backseat of an expensive town car with a couple of his lawyers. A group that appeared to be his family, two younger men, a mature woman and a very young woman, entered the town car behind Mathis’s.

Preacher turned down the volume. Leslie sank onto a bar stool, looking pale.

“You all right?” Jack asked.

She turned dark liquid eyes up to his face. “He doesn’t look very worried.”

“Mr. Mathis has been to court before,” Brie said. “He knows how to act. Try not to worry. I know the district attorney. He’s a brilliant man.”

“Why isn’t there some kind of gag on him?” Leslie asked. “How can he be allowed to talk to the reporters about evidence that’s going to come up?”

“There’s more than one way to play that hand, Leslie. I don’t have any idea what the D.A.’s strategy is, but you can believe if he didn’t want to hear what Mathis has to say to the press, he’d find a way to gag him. You probably just heard part of his defense—old blood, forensic errors, maybe it was someone else driving his car, et cetera. That’s not to say there won’t be surprises, but…” The color wasn’t coming into her cheeks, so Brie said, “Jack, give her a drink.”

“Coming up.”

“Don’t panic yet,” Brie said.

Leslie took a sip of her wine. “When can I go ahead and panic?”

“I’ll give you a call when it’s time,” Brie said.

“Paul,” Leslie said. “I think I might have to take tomorrow off. Hang around the TV.”

“Want to watch at my house?” Brie asked. “I have good satellite reception.”

“I’d rather be home, near the phone, but my TV reception is iffy.”

“Call him tonight,” Brie said. “Tell him where you’ll be. Court doesn’t convene until 9:00 a.m., so don’t rush. Come when you can.”

“I’ll be there by nine.”