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“That got us nowhere,” said Shaky. “What happened, Swyteck? Did you get bad information from your wife?”
“I don’t getanyinformation from my wife,” said Jack. His voice had an edge, fueled by both the judge’s remarks and the bomb Andie had dropped on him.
A down elevator arrived. The defense team rode alone, lawyers and clients staring straight ahead at the chrome doors. Shaky’s lawyer broke the silence.
“We need to discuss whether the defendants will take the stand when the time comes,” she said.
“Too early to say,” said Jack.
“Shaky doesn’t want Imani to testify.”
“Does that mean Shaky will not be testifying?” asked Jack.
“Shaky most definitely will testify,” said Ellis. “It’s critical that the jury hear him say he is innocent.”
“Hold on,” said Jack. “Are you proposing that Shaky testifies in his own defense, but my client does not?”
Shaky spoke up. “Imani will make a terrible witness.”
“Fuck you, Shaky. I’ll make a great witness.”
“You cry over a bad album review,” said Shaky. “How are you going to handle a prosecutor’s cross-examination?”
“You get caught in a lie every time you open your mouth. How areyougoing to handle cross-examination?”
The elevator stopped.
“Quiet,” said Jack.
The ex-spouses exchanged one last hateful glare, but when the elevator doors parted, their expressions were pleasant, like the flip of a light switch. They’d been through this drill before. The media was waitingin the lobby, and the joint defendants faced the onslaught of reporters, cameras, and microphones without the slightest hint of a break in solidarity. Weird, thought Jack, how looking happily divorced could be as much work as the illusion of a happy marriage.
“Mr. Swyteck, what happened at the closed hearing?” a reporter asked.
“Are you happy, Imani?”
Similar questions followed. Jack ignored them and continued across the lobby, keeping Imani at his side. Shaky and his lawyer followed right behind. It took a while to reach the exit doors, and for Jack it seemed like forever. His singular focus was to get out of the building, break away from the crowd, and call Andie. Thewhomp-whompof the revolving door ahead of them was a sign of slow but steady progress. Jack sent Imani through first, and he followed. Shaky was next, but before he could emerge on the other side, the revolving door came to an abrupt stop. At least four reporters had tried to jump into the single slot behind Shaky and jammed the door. Shaky was momentarily trapped inside the glass wedge, like a goldfish in a tiny bowl, waiting for the media to find its manners and unclog the exit.
Jack was right outside the door when the tempered glass exploded into a hailstorm of diamond-like pellets.
Shaky dropped like a stone—and then Jack saw the blood.
“Shooter!” somebody screamed, unleashing utter hysteria.
It was like a swift kick to an anthill, with people running in every direction, some in search of cover, and others just utterly confused. MDPD crowd-control officers had been positioned outside the courthouse from day one of the Imani Nichols trial. One of the officers immediately grabbed Imani, shouting for her to come with him.
Jack followed, shattered glass crunching beneath his feet, as the officer pushed and shoved through the hysteria. The winding path to safety was across the courthouse steps to another door marked “Employees Only.” Jack caught a glimpse of the revolving door as they passed. The glass partition in front of Shaky had completely shattered. The glass behind him was intact but sprayed red with blood. Shaky was a lifeless heap with a grievous wound to the head.
“Oh my God!” Imani shrieked.
The MDPD officer’s radio crackled with a transmission from another officer on the scene. Jack didn’t understand the numeric police codes the officers shared, but he heard enough to understand what had happened.
“Sniper” was the operative word.
Chapter 51
Tower Bridge was aglow over the River Thames, with St. Paul’s Cathedral in the distance. A perfectly positioned moon above made for an exceptional photo op.
Theo and Kelly, whom he formerly knew as Gigi, shared a bench in King’s Stairs Gardens, a riverside park along the south bank. They were a short walk from the nearby remains of the fourteenth-century manor house of King Edward III and the adjacent conservation area named in His Majesty’s honor. It was now a recreational green space with hundreds of mature oak, ash, cherry, sycamore, maple, and silver birch trees. They were well upriver from the Tower of London, but if Theo looked closely, he could spot it. Theo had called her cell from a phone booth after leaving the U.S. embassy. She’d told him to meet her there at 5:00 p.m.
