Page 4 of Coming Home

“The DA often will call and speak with jurors about the verdict,” he said gently. “Whatever you have to say about the case, you should share it with her.”

“I can’t,” she hissed, glancing around. “He would know.”

Jackson didn’t have to ask who he was.

“I think you need to go home, Mrs. Peterson.”

She reached into her purse, fumbling a moment, then bringing out her cell phone. She tapped in her passcode and took a moment bringing something up.

Turning the phone so it faced him, she said, “Here. See?”

He looked at the picture on the screen. A decapitated cat hung from a porch rail. His stomach twisted violently as he met her gaze.

“That was Pudding. My cat,” she whispered, returning the phone to her purse.

Jackson already knew what would come next.

“He texted me. After closing arguments.” She cradled her belly protectively with both hands. “Told me that I better vote not guilty—and that I would know why. When I got home, I found Pudding.” She shuddered. “Then another text came in. It said that would happen to my baby if I didn’t vote the right way. My baby! That monster threated to cut open my belly and pull out my baby and behead it, Mr. Martin. How sick is he?”

“You should have gone to the judge,” he said neutrally, disgust filling him.

“I couldn’t!” she said, her voice rising with hysteria. “The text messages had disappeared. I know he’s some IT guy. Somehow, he made that happen. And he must have some accomplice. Someone... who would do... that. To my cat.”

By now, tears streamed down her cheeks. “I had no proof. I was terrified. For me. For my baby. I was the lone holdout on that jury, Mr. Martin.” She wiped at her tears. “They berated me. Bullied me. But I wouldn’t change my mind. I can’t tell that to the DA Or the judge. But I had to tell you.”

She paused, her body now shaking violently. “In case you didn’t understand just how violent and crazy your client is. Be careful, Mr. Martin.”

Sarah Peterson turned and walked away.

Jackson watched her go, bile rising in his throat. McGreer was clever enough to get text messages to disappear. After all, he was a computer whiz. Something like that would be child’s play for him. But the dead, decapitated cat meant he had someone on the outside, someone just as depraved as he was, that had helped send Juror Number Four that physical threat. That someone might have been an accomplice to the rape and murder Gerard McGreer had been tried for.

Cold fear pooled in Jackson’s belly. Quickly, he ran to his car and unlocked it, climbing in and locking it. Blood pounded in his ears.

If he had any doubts before now, hearing Sarah Peterson’s confession cemented his decision.

Jackson was leaving L.A. tomorrow.

For good.

---