Cold Snow: A Legal Thriller (17 page)

That was when she'd thought it for the first time.
Are they people, or just monsters…?

Suddenly, her caretaker had snatched the newspaper from her hands. At that moment she was certain: Moose Killers killed her parents. The obvious question remained though. She had been too young then to muse on the philosophy of the word "why", but knew she had to answer it.

Sarah had fled her New York suburb and gone north to Woodsbrook on a bicycle. When she arrived, she intended to hide and look for Roland Orson, but the orphanage found her first, and there she spent the next two years. During that time, she had come to believe that a tropical disease killed her parents, and the Moose Killers, along with Roland Orson, had slipped from her mind. Even when she saw him in a newspaper, she didn't think much of it. She'd all but forgotten the determination that led her to flee New York, until she met Alex.

An asshole,
she thought,
but I'm glad I found him. He made me remember my past. And he'd better be trying to get us out of here.

Alex and Anthony found a stash of one week's provisions in a nearby hollow the first night they were there, along with a piece of paper bearing a mysterious message

12:30 SIX DAYS

which Alex recognized as the scheduled time for the trial. It dawned quickly on Alex that Ordoñez was toying with them, but Anthony couldn't find anything wrong with them, and quickly dug into the first meal he'd had all that day. Neither of them slept a wink that night, aware of their predicament. They had agreed that one of them would take watch while the other slept, then they would switch placed, but quickly abandoned that plan, as both of them tried desperately to shut their eyes. They couldn't.

When you're scared as hell,
Alex thought,
sleep's the first thing that goes.

They waited there for six days, keeping themselves entertained by planning their assault on paper Alex had kept in his backpack. Alex had a risky proposition worked out, which Anthony agreed to immediately: he loved risks, and saw their conflict with Ordoñez as a game for his life.

Rain found Ridge City on the second night, and continued until the middle of the fourth day. Alex loved rain; once he had stashed the paper in a hollow, he went exploring the trails that led back into the mountains and forest. Anthony thought his companion had lost his mind; he stayed in the cave for two days.

The morning before the trial was to occur and their plan was to be carried out, Alex and Anthony were feeling the effects of staying awake. Neither of them had slept more than 5 hours a night; however, they were still pumped, if fatigued.

The two of them began to walk down the hill, not slowly enough to be spotted easily but not quickly enough to draw attention to themselves. Alex had based his plan of attack on the fact that the trial, in this small town, would be somewhat of a spectator event. They crept into the town at around noon, half an hour before the beginning of the trial. The streets were mostly empty, but they kept their heads down and their hands on the weapons in their pockets.

Nobody was standing on the first street they went along, but they were given somewhat of a scare when Alex saw a woman looking out of her window. They ducked behind a fence, and she turned around quickly enough.

They continued down the side street, and turned onto another. Alex realized with a jolt that this was the same street on which he had first met Jeffries. Anthony was more afraid of something else: a man in jeans and a winter coat, walking toward them.

Quickly, Anthony grabbed Alex's shoulder and pulled him behind a wall. They both held their breath: in this quiet street, a single sound would likely get them noticed. The man's path was by now almost parallel to the alley, and they decided to compound their hiding place by covering behind a pair of trash cans. The cans clattered slightly as Alex and Anthony crouched, making a noise that sounded to them like an elephant's trumpet but that the man barely heard. He turned his head, and Alex's stomach flipped over. He turned away soon after, though, and they waited several minutes before continuing on.

They reached main street five minutes before twelve-thirty, and broke the silence some so they could run. It was important that they saw the entire trial so they knew when to make an entrance.

They came up to the courthouse's large windows just at the right time, and found a spot masked from the road by bushes. The skies were bleak and gray, and rain was on the way: not the kind that makes you want to run out in it and dance, but the dark kind that makes you hate to be alive.

Alex and Anthony crouched low as two police cars drove up to the doors of the court, and Sarah and Jake were led out in handcuffs. They entered the door moments later, and Alex watched them sit down, his hand tightly gripped around the pistol in his pocket. Their cuffs were undone, and they sat down in the defendant's chairs. The court-appointed lawyer was there already, and Jake consulted with him for a moment. Sarah was icily silent, and Alex couldn't help but feel that her quiet anger was directed at him. The window was cracked open slightly for ventilation, so they could hear everything that was going on.

"Court attention!" the bailiff called, and everybody turned their eyes to the front. "Court is in session, the honorable Judge Maurice Grover presiding!"

Maurice Grover rapped his gavel lightly. "The multiple homicide trial of Mr. Jacob Harwell and Ms. Sarah Jones will now begin. Mister prosecutor…"

Alex looked down for a moment to clear his head. The opening statements were made, the court-appointed lawyer sounding decidedly incompetent. When Alex looked up again, it was time for the prosecutor to call his witness.

The prosecutor cleared his throat; he was obviously a man who liked to make an effect. "The prosecution," he said, "would like to call Alberto Ordoñez to the stand."

Ordoñez rose from the crowd and walked gracefully to the stand, taking his time. He arrived at the stand a sat down; as he did this, Alex could have sworn he threw a glance toward the window they were sitting under. He shook his head to purge the thought and continued watching.

The clerk had produced a bible and Ordoñez placed his right hand on it, raising his left. "His hand should burn when it touches the bible," Anthony whispered before Alex shushed him.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God," Ordoñez swore a meaningless vow.

"State your name and occupation," said the clerk.

"Alberto Ordoñez, I'm a car dealer."

"Mr. Ordoñez, do you claim to have witnessed all three of these murders at the scene?"

"That I do," said Ordoñez.

"Did you notice anybody but Alex Orson and his accomplices at any of the crimes?"

"No."

"Tell me," began the prosecutor, "which murder will you testify about first?"

"That would be the horrible death of Harold Quinn."

"How did you come by the scene of the murder?"

"The death of Quinn was the final in the series of three murders. I had been following Alex Orson and his accomplices since I happened to witness the death of Marcia Philbrook."

"Please tell the court what you saw that day."

"Alex Orson, Jacob Harwell, Sarah Jones, and Anthony Anderson entered Quinn's building a little after 1:00 PM. They crossed the lobby, and I tailed them the whole time. They went up the elevator, and Alex went into Quinn's office. Ten minutes later, I heard three gunshots, and that was the end of it."

The prosecutor paused in the middle of a confident stride. "Mr. Ordoñez, you are aware that the body of Quinn was found in a stairwell?"

"That," smirked Ordoñez, "was the role played by the defendants. After the murder, they carried the body and deposited it up two flights of stairs, on the level platform in front of a door. Then they fled the scene."

"No further questions, your honor."

Judge Grover hit his gavel once. "You may stand down. Does the defense have a witness to call?"

"I…um…" The court-appointed lawyer had lost his nerve, but it wasn't as if he'd lost—it was as if he was about to do something desperate.

Finally he spoke again. "There is a warrant for Alex Orson's arrest. Is he in custody?"

"Go," Anthony whispered. "This is the perfect time for a grand entrance. Just like the movies."

"Are you sure?"

"Go! I'll follow in a second."

"He is not in custody," Grover said, "and has not even been sighted for six days."

The defense attorney looked flustered. "I was planning to call him as a witness…"

There was a murmur throughout the court at this sentence, and Grover banged the gavel for order. "Then you have nobody?"

Anthony, watching from the window, was the first to see Alex burst through the door. "I'm here, your honor."

Everybody was surprised. Several people gasped, someone fainted, and someone shouted. It was Sarah and Jake who were the most shocked, though: Jake was looking at his friend wide-eyed and open-mouthed, and Sarah looked the happiest Alex had ever seen her. Grover called for order and spoke.

"Since Mr. Orson has decided to show up, and since he is not currently on trial, the defense may call his as a witness."

Alex walked calmly to the stand and sat down, placing his hand on the bible.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God, although I'm an atheist."

The defense attorney walked up to the stand. "State your name and occupation."

"Alexander Matthew Orson, unemployed."

"Will you testify as to the charges against you?"

"Thank you for asking that," Alex said, smiling confidently. "It just so happens that I can prove I had nothing to do with any of the three murders."

"If you can," the defense attorney said, "do so now."

"Alright, let's go in order," Alex said. "First, Marcia Philbrook. Ms. Philbrook was a successful banker and businesswoman, murdered in her own home, by me and the defendants, as the prosecution would like you to believe. First off, I'd like to point out that I have nothing even resembling a motive."

"I thought you'd say that," said the prosecutor. "Get on with it. Get to the point."

"As you wish," Alex said. "Philbrook was shot and killed on February 25, if I remember right. I would like to request that the court make an international call."

"To where?" asked the clerk.

"To the ASPCC in Woodsbrook, New York, who can attest to when I left there."

The clerk left the room for several minutes, presumably to find the number. After that, he returned, and dialed the telephone on the wall. A hush fell over the court as the phone rang.

Finally somebody picked up. "Is this the Woodsbrook ASPCC?" the clerk asked.

"Yes," replied a voice on the other side. "My name is David Scarborough, how can I help you?"

"This is a court of law, and we need you to testify remotely," said the clerk. Scarborough was given the oath, and the clerk switched on speakerphone. He then handed the phone to the defense attorney.

"Name and occupation?"

"David Scarborough, social worker."

"Are you familiar with the case of Alex Orson?" he asked.

"I'm working on it personally," Scarborough replied.

"Will you tell the court when Orson left Woodsbrook?"

"That would be February 11th."

"And, drawing on your experience with runaway children, how far could three twelve-year-olds travel on foot in two weeks?"

Scarborough hesitated. "If he was very determined…perhaps to the Canadian border."

A murmur ran through the court. The defense attorney raised his hand. "Ms. Philbrook was killed in Quebec City."

"No further questions," said the defender, and he hung up.

The prosecutor's face turned red, and small bits of spittle flew out of his mouth. "You've won one victory, Orson. But you're still the prime suspect in two murders!"

"I'd like to move on, if the court will allow me," Alex said. "Next up, Mr. Mauter. Louis Mauter was shot twice outside a gas station on the Quebec Transit, near the Niagara River. The date of death was February 28."

"So!?" the prosecutor said angrily.

"I'd like the court to make another call. This time, to Transit Quality Fuel, and its proprietor, Wayne Eidson."

The phone was dialed again. "Is this Wayne Eidson?"

"Yeah. Who is this?"

The clerk explained and Eidson was put under oath. The defense attorney put on speakerphone. "Name and occupation?"

"Wayne Eidson, I run a gas station and convenience store."

The defense attorney, now unsure of what to say, looked at Alex. "Let me ask the questions," Alex said.

"Mr. Eidson," he continued, turning toward the phone, "do you recall the murder in your parking lot?"