Chapter Twenty #2
A much younger-looking Mitch Bellingham positioned himself across from the large mirror above the fireplace.
The entire room was reflected back to the camera.
He smoothed down his thinning hair. Adjusted his jacket collar where he’d obviously hidden a camera beneath the lapel.
There was a hint of youth to his movements.
Only a bit of gray in his beard. He was more solidly built than the elderly man Emmy had seen in the nursing home CCTV.
Mitch adjusted the camera again. He was clearly nervous, terrified of being caught.
Suddenly, the dog gave a low growl.
Mitch turned toward the marble hallway.
A solitary man walked in. He said nothing, but his gaze was locked on Mitch as he crossed the room.
He stood in front of the windows, crossed his arms over his chest like a gangster.
Mitch had kept his body turned toward the man so the camera would capture every detail.
Late twenties, around five-nine, with brown hair and eyes, roughly 186 pounds.
Jude said, “Shane Marcus Russell.”
Emmy had recognized him from his booking photo, but she still couldn’t recall the traffic stop from sixteen years ago.
There was something feral about Russell.
He bounced on the balls of his feet as if he needed to be ready to pounce.
His gaze pinged around the room. He was clearly uncomfortable in the opulent setting.
He looked over his shoulder at the pool and mumbled a curse under his breath.
“How about we start with a drink?”
The question had come from the hallway. Mitch turned. The camera captured the man’s entrance. Tall, dark hair with streaks of gray at the temples. Rugged good looks. Dressed as if he’d just come off the golf course.
Emmy knew him instantly. “That’s Ezekial Gilchrist.”
Jude said, “He looks exactly the same.”
Gilchrist walked behind the bar. His back was to the camera, but Emmy heard the sound of ice hitting a glass. Liquid being poured.
“Make mine a gin,” a woman said. “Neat.”
Mitch turned toward the hallway again.
Emmy watched Bernadette Grayson’s languorous walk across the room.
She slumped onto the couch in front of Shane Russell’s post by the windows.
She looked like a kid, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her flat stomach showing between a cropped T-shirt and shorts.
Her bare feet hooked onto the coffee table as she made herself at home.
“You got beer back there?”
Emmy recognized Reggie’s voice before Mitch turned toward him. He walked with his arms curved out from his body like a chimpanzee. Nothing about Reggie had changed in the last two decades except for the limp.
He said, “None of that IPA shit. Gimme the real thing.”
Gilchrist chuckled, probably because he wasn’t used to anyone speaking to him that way. He tossed a can to Reggie, who caught it with one hand. Gilchrist handed Bernadette her drink and sat beside her on the couch. Then he rested a proprietary hand on her leg.
Emmy guessed he’d found a way to deal with the loss of his wife.
“Mr. Bellingham, please, you’re my guest.” Gilchrist gestured toward the couch across from him. “Make yourself comfortable.”
Mitch didn’t sit. The camera moved along with his body as he looked around the room. “Is this where she died?”
“There.” Gilchrist pointed toward the wall of windows. He was ignoring Russell. They all were. The dog had gotten more attention. “Evelyn was almost to the door. Then Neil Delano shot her.”
“You don’t know it was him,” Mitch said. “You don’t got the proof.”
“For—” Reggie let out a wet-sounding belch. “Forensics found Delano’s fingerprint on the handle of the fridge door.”
“What are you talking about?” Mitch’s voice had gone up in surprise. “We ain’t heard that in the trial.”
“Found the slide with the print in a box yesterday. Got mixed in with evidence from another case. Totally my fault.”
“Hell no,” Mitch mumbled. “That’s bullshit.”
“Nonetheless,” Gilchrist said. “Reggie will be called to testify when the trial resumes tomorrow. Mr. Bellingham, you said you couldn’t change your vote without a compelling reason. Are you compelled?”
Mitch huffed in disgust. “You crooked old bastard. You think I’m an idiot? I could knock your head off for what you’re trying to do.”
Russell took a menacing step forward, but Gilchrist waved him off.
“Mr. Bellingham, I prefer to think of you as a pragmatist. I know they’ve cut back your hours at the factory. You’ve got a wife and son to support. Don’t you want a better life for Holly and Evan?”
Emmy didn’t need to see Mitch’s face to know he understood the threat. Gilchrist knew the name of his wife and child. What else did he know?
Mitch said, “You can stick that money up your ass. It’s exactly where your bulldog left it in my shed. I’ll burn it down before I spend a penny.”
“Now, Mr. Bellingham—”
“You sound just like Ruel Clifton,” Russell said.
Everyone looked at him. No one spoke. The camera moved slightly as Mitch turned toward the three other people in the room. Reggie. Bernadette. Gilchrist. He knew that things had changed. He wanted to make sure the video captured the moment.
Reggie said, “I should get ready for court tomorrow. Never testified before.”
He left the beer can on the bar and walked out of the room. Seconds later, a door slammed shut. Then there was the distant whine of a motorcycle speeding away.
Gilchrest patted Bernadette on the leg as if she was a child who needed coaxing. She got up and left the room. The silence on the video stretched out. Mitch raised his hand, his arm momentarily blocking the camera as he probably wiped the sweat from his face.
“Come on.” Mitch’s voice was strained. “You gonna threaten me? Go ahead and try. I fought men with my bare hands in the dark ten feet underground. Even the rats didn’t fuck with me.”
Russell walked around the couch, sat on the arm. “It was nice of you to go to Ruel’s funeral. I saw you flirting with his daughter. She’s pretty hot.”
Mitch said, “I was consoling her, dipshit.”
“Yeah, I’d like to console her, too.” Russell smiled, but the emptiness in his eyes reminded Emmy of death.
“Ruel talked about his tiny baby girl at the end. Begged me not to hurt her. Man couldn’t stop crying.
Kept choking on the water. Wish I’d had more time with him.
Damn river pulled him down like a stone. ”
Emmy could only think of Taybee. She had adored her father. She would see this video one day. She would hear exactly what Shane Russell had done to him.
On the video, Mitch said, “The cops said it was an accident.”
Russell shrugged. “The cops say whatever Mr. Gilchrist tells them to say.”
The silence stretched out again. Emmy could hear Mitch’s heavy breaths on the microphone.
“Mr. Bellingham,” Gilchrist said. “I have tremendous respect for your service to our country.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s why—”
“Shut your mouth.”
Mitch lunged toward Gilchrist.
Then he stopped. He turned.
Russell was pointing a gun at him. Snub-nose six-shot. He cocked the hammer.
“As I was saying,” Gilchrist continued, “that’s why I’m having this conversation with you rather than through my intermediary. Out of respect for your service.”
“Go ahead and shoot me, pal.” Mitch squared his chest toward Russell. “Make sure you don’t miss, buddy boy, ’cause I’m gonna tear your throat out with my bare hands.”
Russell drew down, ready to do just that.
Gilchrist said, “Perhaps you should speak to your wife?”
Mitch swung around on Gilchrist. “What?”
Gilchrist said, “Holly’s an interesting woman, wouldn’t you say?”
This question was directed at Russell, who gave one of his crocodile grins.
Mitch made a strangled sound that fried the computer speakers. “What did you do to her?”
“You should ask yourself what you’re doing to her, Mr. Bellingham. Holly’s fate is completely in your hands.” Gilchrist stood up. “You might want to check on your son. A child should never be separated from his mother.”
Mitch didn’t lunge for Gilchrist again. He ran up the marble hallway. Yanked open the front door. Emmy saw an old Dodge truck parked in the driveway, then the video cut to black.
Jude shushed out a breath between her teeth.
Emmy sat back in the chair. She needed a moment to consider what she’d seen. A group of people connected to a trial. The husband of a murder victim. A cop who offered last-minute testimony. A juror who voted for guilty. Another juror who was forced to do the same.
She looked at Jude. “Bernadette and Reggie left the room, but Gilchrist was right there when Russell talked about the murder. I can build a conspiracy case off that.”
“It’s going to take time,” Jude said. “Gilchrist can argue that he had nothing to do with the murder. The camera isn’t on his face when Russell gives the details. He could say he felt intimidated into silence.”
“I’d need Russell to flip on Gilchrist. He’d have to testify against him.”
Jude said, “I know you can make it work.”
Emmy wasn’t so sure. “Russell would only flip for a deal.”
“Allison’s murder and the attempted murder of Mandy qualify for special circumstances. If you can take the death penalty off the table, Russell will do whatever you need.”
“Then I’d need to connect him to the shooting,” Emmy said.
“Right now, all I’ve got is Talia’s word that Russell was abusing Mandy.
If I’m being cross-examined on the stand, any defense attorney worth his salt is going to get me to admit that Talia has consistently lied to me about Russell.
And there’s no way Pam Guthrie will let Skylar anywhere near a trial.
I have no idea what information Mandy can or will give me.
Even if she can’t remember that Russell’s the shooter, she’s been protecting him this whole time.
If he’s her father and she’s still under his thumb, there’s no guarantee she won’t continue to protect him. ”