Page 2 of No Surrender
“Or that time we drove five hours to the training class?” Hargrove added.
“Geez, make one mistake ordering lunch, and no one ever lets you forget.”
Nothing about the current situation was funny, but dark humor was a police specialty.
“Jokes aside, I worry about the media coverage affecting the jury selection,” Hargrove said. “Or causing a mistrial.”
“Which would suck,” Vic added.
“Look—we’ve got the best prosecutor in the state on this,” Ross pointed out. “The case is as close to air-tight as it ever gets. We have witnesses to his attack on Simon, and we can put him at the scene of several of the murders. Let’s not count ourselves out before the trial even convenes.”
“I’m still bothered by the fact that it took a civilian—psychic or not—to recognize a pattern behind the disappearances and murders that we missed,” Hargrove said. “I’m totally grateful for Simon’s help, but it stings that we didn’t spot the problem first, even if it took a while to find the answer.”
“Myrtle Beach is a resort town—plenty of people in seasonal positions come and go all the time, and they don’t often make friends who’ll notice something is wrong,” Vic replied. “So the only people who realize they’re gone are their employers—who have their own reasons for not reporting the absences. Makes it hard to put the pieces together.”
“Just makes me wonder what else we might not be noticing.” Hargrove’s expression and tone made it clear to Vic how much the thought weighed on his captain.
“We can’t catch them all, Cap,” Ross said. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got.”
“Yeah, but we can try,” Hargrove replied.
Vic glanced at the muted TV they kept tuned to the local news channel. “Hey, that’s the D.A. on camera. Turn it up!”
Hargrove reached for the remote, and the volume rose, catching the interview mid-soundbite.
“—confident that we have a strong case and that William Fischer will be held accountable.” Hamilton Andrews, the Horry County District Attorney, looked the part with his perfect blond hair, strong profile, serious expression, and a pair of “smart but not too nerdy” fashion-statement glasses.
“Are a psychic’s perceptions admissible in court?” The reporter pressed. He was a short man with dark hair and a receding hairline, and the graphic on the screen identified him as Walt Baker with one of the local channels.
The D.A. wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something bad. “I assure you that various…investigative methods…were used; we have hard evidence that meets all legal standards.”
“Any truth to the rumor that there will be a séance? Will the ghosts of the Strand Slitter’s victims take the stand?” Another reporter called out the questions from the back of the group.
Andrews laughed until he apparently realized the reporter hadn’t made a joke. “You’re serious? No. Absolutely not.” He looked out over the pool of journalists on the courthouse steps. “Good chat, everyone. We’re done here for today.” Several large men in dark suits stepped up to escort Andrews through the sea of people. The reporters jabbed microphones at him and held cameras to capture a glimpse as he passed, but Andrews did not answer their shouted questions or give a second glance to the photographers. Then he got into a waiting black SUV with heavily tinted windows and drove away.
The picture switched back to the two anchors, a man and woman who reminded Vic of the dolls his nieces played with, too meticulously coiffed to be real.
“I don’t know about you, Amy, but I’m interested to see what the jury makes of having a psychic as a witness. Not everyone in these parts is comfortable with the supernatural.”
“I agree, Trey. That’s going to be a wild card. I guess it all depends on what role this ghost whisperer played in the investigation and whether the jury believes in woo-woo.”
“Christ,” Hargrove muttered before muting the channel as the talking heads continued to natter.
“Fuck.” Vic glared at the screen as if it could pass along his sentiments to the news anchors.
“That’s exactly what we don’t need,” Ross added. “But I guess there’s no way to prevent it. Maybe they’ll get the whole ‘woo-woo’ thing out of their systems and then realize how boring the real trial will be.”
“I hope you’re right, but sensationalism sells—and every channel wants to win the rating game.” Vic knew his colleagues could read the disgust in his voice.
“Andrews is a damn good prosecutor. He’ll do everything he can to keep the arguments on track and not let the defense pull a bunch of cheap tricks,” Hargrove said. “And Judge Byrnam runs a by-the-books court. She’s not much for lawyers who play to the cameras. We’re going to have to trust the system—and hope it works.”
Privately, Vic had concerns.What if the publicity sparks a copycat killer? What if one of the Slitter’s groupies comes after Simon to stop him from testifying? What if, after all the hard work and danger, Fischer ends up walking free?
“I wish there was a different defense attorney handling Fischer,” Ross put in. “There’s a reason Hugh Wessell is nicknamed ‘the Weasel.’ Judge Byrnam is going to have her hands full keeping him in line, or Wessell will pull every dirty trick in the book.”
“All of that is out of our hands, boys,” Hargrove said with a shrug meant to convey indifference. Vic could read how much his boss cared in the hard glint of his eyes. “We did our job—now we have to hope the court can do right by the victims.”
“Any chance Simon can get the ghosts to haunt Wessell and scare him into good behavior?” Ross’s tone suggested he was only partly joking.
