Page 78 of Deadline

“All right, I’d bought some pills from Ray Dale. Yesterday, a rookie deputy was sent upstairs with me while I changed clothes. He was green, easily distracted with jabber. I snatched the bottle of them off my nightstand, and when he allowed me to go to the john, I flushed them.”

“Clever you.” Headly backed out of the parking slot, muttering angrily under his breath.

“Will you relax?” Dawson said. “They were—”

“I know what they were. I found your stash in your apartment.”

“Excuse me? You broke into my apartment?”

“Don’t go all righteously indignant on me. I’m not the drug addict.”

“I’m hardly an addict.”

“No? Then why are your hands shaking?”

He’d hoped no one would notice. “Look, I only needed something to take the edge off.”

“Off what?”

Dawson clammed up, then said, “I wasn’t taking anything you can’t get from a doctor.”

“Then why aren’t you getting them from one, instead of buying them off guys on the street with names like Ray Dale? God only knows what they’re laced with.”

Dawson was about to argue that, but truth be told, he couldn’t vouch for the pharmaceutical integrity of the pills he’d been taking. His only criterion for quality control had been that they worked. Their numbing effect was swift and short-term, but even a moment away from the nightmare was worth the risk of taking compounds of dubious origin.

“I was careful,” he mumbled.

“Buying only from reliable, upstanding illegal drug dealers.”

Dawson didn’t address his godfather’s sarcasm, knowing it was justified. His recklessness was indefensible, so he didn’t even attempt to excuse it. “Take the next right, then the hotel is up one block on the left.”

When he’d relocated to Saint Nelda’s, he’d taken only what he thought

he would need at the beach and hadn’t checked out of the hotel, a decision he was glad of now. He left Headly in the lobby while he went upstairs to shower and change clothes. He was back down in five minutes. In less than ten more, they were entering the courthouse.

Chapter 14

Court convened shortly after nine o’clock. The judge said she hoped everyone had enjoyed the holiday weekend, then asked Willard Strong’s defense attorney if he was ready to cross-examine the witness.

Mike Gleason stood. “Ready, Your Honor.”

Amelia was escorted in. As she took her seat in the witness box, she was reminded that she was still under oath.

Sitting beside Dawson in the gallery, Headly harrumphed. “What did you notice first, her intelligence, her modesty, or her self-control?”

Dawson didn’t answer. Mike Gleason had already fired the first volley by asking Amelia if she had formed an opinion of Willard Strong even before meeting him.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What I mean is this, Ms. Nolan. Your husband returns from war. He’s obviously suffering from PTSD. What do you do? Encourage him? Nurture him? Exercise patient, loving kindness? No. You leave him and rob him of his sons.”

Jackson was on his feet immediately. “Objection.”

“In fact, Ms. Nolan, isn’t it true that your first reaction to anything that diverted your husband’s attention away from you, including and especially his friendship with Mr. Strong, was—”

“Your Honor—”

“Spiteful jealousy?”