Page 94 of Jon's Helter Skelter Cold Case

“Uh…sure.” I scratched my head and looked at my niece and wondered where she got these nerves of steel from. ’Cause I was still jumpy, not going to lie.

I felt sorry for anyone who messed with Abby in the future. They might not survive Skylar’s wrath afterward.

Sighing, Franky spoke into the walkie attached to his breast pocket. “Dispatch, can I get an ambulance at Jon’s place?”

The response was loud and clear: “Did Jon get hurt?!”

“No, Donovan got Solomon before he could do damage, but now Solomon’s out cold. We need a stretcher.”

“Oh. Copy that, I’ll dispatch one to you.”

I loved how no address was needed for us. Just “Jon’s place.” Should that worry me?

You know what, I chose to not stress about it. I had enough on my plate and only so many spoons available.

Shelly, very apologetic about the whole thing, spoke. “Sorry, everyone. You’ll need to come down to the station. File charges, statements, all that.”

“Yeah,” I agreed on a long sigh.

Jon also made a face, glaring down at Solomon. “I have to get into a vehicle again because of you,andI didn’t get my fries.”

“Babe. Are you seriously more upset about the fries than being held at gunpoint?”

“Of course I’m upset about the other, too.”

Really? ’Cause it didn’t look that way to me.

The ambulance arrived shortly after, hauling Solomon away. We gathered up Skylar and Abby, informing both girls to call their parents and fill them in. They’d need a guardian to oversee their statement, and it was wrong to leave parents in the dark about what just happened, anyway.

I was more than peeved with everything that had gone down, but just as we got to the police station, Jon leaned in to whisper near my ear. “Hot monkey sex when we get back,” he promised in a low tone. “Because I, for one, could use it.”

I nodded vigorously. Me too. My adrenaline was still hopping and needed an outlet; otherwise, I’d be up half the night.

I wasn’t saying I wanted to marry this man because of how well he knew me, but it was a definite plus.

Abby opened the back door once we parked and she said with confidence as she disembarked, “Solomon’s not going to get out of this one. Asshole’s going to jail for sure.”

You know what? She was likely right.

33

Nothing about the law was fast. Anyone who worked in law would tell you that it could and had moved slower than cold molasses rolling uphill. So imagine my shock when Solomon went to trial one month after he tried to kill me.

I knew before this that I had a lot of friends in the judicial system. I didn’t know how mad those friends were until I saw Solomon’s court date. In fact, the civil case against him had beenforcibly moved past the criminal date, as the judge wanted to try the criminal case first. Not an uncommon occurrence, and Craig was happy to wait. Solomon had shot himself in the foot here. He’d have been fired and fined for what happened to Dwayne, but it would have been hard to get him any jail time. But trying to kill me? Oh, he’d done fucked up good.

Today was the last day of the trial. The defense attorney had been good, no fault on him, and it was clear the mayor had paid for the best he could find. But there was too much evidence. Between Skylar’s video (god above, I loved my niece for her quick thinking), the witnesses, the sloppy way Solomon had attacked me—there was just nothing to defend. They’d gone for a temporary insanity plea because what else could they do? But their argument had been beyond weak. Trying to blame all the events on me, and justifying Solomon attacking me, didn’t work when there was plenty of evidence other people also had it out for Solomon. Captain Olivia was quite happy to take the stand and testify she had been building a case against Solomon for almost a year.

Solomon had a Pikachu face over that one, like it had never occurred to him someone would be gathering evidence to get him fired. It made me wonder—did he truly think I was the sole one out to get him? Was he that oblivious?

Obviously, the answer was yes.

To make matters better (for us), we had Judge Agatha McClain presiding over this case. The more she’d heard, the more unhappy she’d gotten. Right now, she was bouncing between glaring daggers at Solomon and smiling at the jury. Message was pretty clear:Bury the bastard.

“Defense, you may make your closing argument,” Judge McClain said.

I was pretty sure the poor man had gotten the short end of the stick in the office because he looked quite unhappy to haveto stand up and say anything. I could see from his lines he didn’t like Solomon and didn’t want to defend him, but he had a job to do. So he stood, straightened out his suit coat, and spoke.

“People of the jury, you’ve heard all the evidence. There is no doubt my client was in the wrong. But I plead with you to give him some grace. This is a man who was on the brink of losing a career he loved. One he’d invested decades into. Anyone faced with that kind of heartbreak and stress would go a little crazy. He’s entirely remorseful for making the decision he did. But this man needs help, not a jail sentence.”

---