Dangerous Girls (26 page)

“She wasn’t angry because you attempted to spike her drink with liquid Ecstasy?” Gates demands. Niklas snaps his head back around.

“What? No.” His face darkens. “Who said that?”

“Again, we have statements from several witnesses at the club—”

“Objection!” Dekker rises. “The witnesses say Miss Chevalier accused Mr. van Oaten of spiking the drink. We have no evidence that any drugs were actually—”

“Withdrawn.” Gates sighs.

I knew this would happen, but I still dig my nails into my palm with frustration. They warned me that without chemical tests, and drink samples, it was my word against his that Niklas even spiked the drink at all.

As if reading my mind, Niklas gives me another look, this one dark and full of loathing.

“So, Mr. van Oaten,” Gates continues, “You didn’t attempt to drug the victim that night?”

“No.” Niklas keeps his gaze fixed on me, furious.

“Have you ever taken liquid Ecstasy?” Gates presses.

“No.”

“Never? Interesting. But did you know that it’s a drug most commonly used by date rapists—”

“Objection!” Dekker flies to his feet.

The judge nods. “Sustained.”

Gates walks back to our table and leafs through some papers, regrouping. “He’s lying,” I whisper frantically, but Gates just shakes his head at me and gestures to me to keep quiet.

“The victim rejected your advances that night, isn’t that true?” Gates returns to the stand. “She insulted you, publicly, made a laughingstock of you, in fact?”

Niklas shrugs again. “It was nothing.”

“You weren’t hurt, or angry at all?” Gates asks. “A pretty girl, making fun of you, in front of your friends . . .”

“I didn’t care what she thought.” Niklas is relaxed again, his mask back in place.

“Why not?”

“Would you care what a dog thought? A roach?” Niklas smirks. “She was just some American slut.”

There’s an audible intake of breath in the courtroom, and
even the judge’s mouth drops open a little. I can picture Judy and Charles behind me, listening to this, but as much as my heart breaks for them, I feel hope rise again in my chest. This is what we need.

“You didn’t value her opinion,” Gates muses. “What about her consent?”

“Objection!” Dekker leaps up again before Niklas can reply. “There is no evidence that Mr. van Oaten made any attempt to rape the victim. In fact, we’ve heard testimony that their encounters were entirely consensual.”

Gates steps up too. “Miss Chevalier has testified that the victim was increasingly uncomfortable with Mr. van Oaten’s sexual fetishes—”

“Yes, well she would say that,” Dekker interrupts with a snort. “I urge Your Honor, please stop the defense’s smearing Mr. van Oaten’s good name. These are not allegations to be taken lightly.”

“Yes, yes.” Judge von Koppel stops him, then pauses for a long moment. I wait, clutching the table in front of me, silently urging her to let Gates keep going. All the things Elise said about Niklas being weird in bed—dominating, wanting to make her beg—it would fit with the murder. We just have to push him far enough.

After thinking, Judge von Koppel sighs. “I’m afraid I have to agree with the prosecution on this. It’s hearsay. We have nothing except the defendant’s testimony regarding Miss Warren’s feelings. Please move on.”

My heart falls.
Stop!
I want to cry out.
He needs to answer this. You have to see!
But Gates just checks his notes again, figuring out another move.

“Where were you, the afternoon of the murder?” Gates asks, but I already know it’s over. We’ll get nothing from him, not when he’s lying like this.

“At home,” Niklas drawls. “With my father.”

“The whole afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing?”

Niklas shrugs. “I don’t remember.”

“But you remember that you were home? The whole afternoon?”

“Sure.”

“Is there anything that can verify your story?” Gates presses. “Security records, perhaps. You live on a large estate—I assume there are security cameras and alarms posted.”

Niklas lifts his body forward toward the mike as if it’s a great effort. “The system was down.”

“Down?” Gates repeats. “For how long?”

Niklas shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“So you have no way of proving—”

“Objection!” Dekker rolls his eyes this time. “The witness has accounted for his whereabouts the afternoon in question. We have statements from him and his father.”

The judge surveys Gates over her glasses. “I agree, we should move on. Do you have anything else to ask?”

Gates pauses for a moment, but there’s no delaying the inevitable. “No. No further questions.”

The judge bangs her gavel, calling a short recess. Disappointment crashes through me. After everything, I thought Niklas was the key—that once he was up there on the stand, it would all come out. The drugs, the balcony, the fight. Surely they would have to see how crazy he is. How dangerous.

I was naive to believe it would make a difference at all.

The crowded courtroom disperses briefly in a wave of chatter and conversation. Gates takes a seat beside me at the table, staring blankly at his notes. “That’s it?” I exclaim, fighting to keep my voice low. “Their security cameras conveniently go down the afternoon she’s murdered, and he’s still not a suspect? He could have done it!” My voice breaks with frustration.

“His father gave him an alibi.” Gates shrugs, helpless.

“He could be lying to protect him!”

“Even if that’s true, there’s nothing we can do. Niklas’s father is a respected man; he has interests in shipping, and hotels, and—”

“Owns half the island,” I finish, sitting down with a thump. “I know.”

I look around, watching Niklas saunter from the witness stand. He flutters me a wave as he passes, and then heads on
back to meet his father: a large blond man in a designer suit, flanked by other lawyers. They smile and nod, clearly pleased with Niklas’s testimony.

His lies.

“This is how it works, isn’t it?” I murmur softly, seeing it all play out so clearly now. For weeks, I’ve had my faith in justice chipped steadily away with every one of Dekker’s half-truths and sneering implications, but now, the last fragile pieces crumble into nothing. This is a sham, all of it.

“Niklas, and Tate—they’ve got money, they can buy their way out of anything.” I realize. “Say what they like, just to protect themselves. And here I am . . .” I trail off, thinking of my one lawyer compared to their dozens; dad’s company, sinking under the weight of my fees and expenses; the extra mortgage on the house, and all the fresh worry lines on my dad’s face. “It’s no contest, is it?”

Gates doesn’t reply, he just takes off his spectacles and polishes them on his tie, exhaling slowly.

That’s when I know—it’s over.

I swallow back a sudden rush of tears. It’s not his fault. He’s done what he can, but sometimes, David doesn’t beat Goliath—not when they’ve got an army at their disposal.

A noise comes from the back of the courtroom. We turn.

It’s Lee, pushing through the crowd, flustered but determined. His shirt is rumpled, and he looks as if he hasn’t slept
in a week. He hasn’t been in court the last few days, but I figured it was just too much for him—the memories of his sister’s trial.

“I’ve got it!” he announces, arriving at our table.

“Got what?” I ask, confused, but Lee doesn’t answer me—he’s passing a slim memory drive case to Gates, carefully, like a treasure.

“It’s all there, just like Carlsson said.” Lee catches his breath, running one hand through his hair. “Just play the files. The first one’s the official cut, then the full clip.”

Gates grasps the memory drive, and slaps Lee on the back. “You did it,” he smiles, as if he can’t believe it.

Lee gives nod. “Time to nail the bastard.”

“Someone tell me what’s going on?” I ask again. My heart is already beating faster—their energy infectious even though I still have no idea what’s caused this change. “Is there new evidence? What’s happened?”

Lee turns, giving me a happy grin, just as the judge returns to the room and people begin taking their seats again. “Something good,” he promises as von Koppel bangs her gavel for quiet. “It’s the break we’ve been looking for.”

I don’t want to get my hopes up, but I stay forward in my seat, on edge, waiting for their reveal. After Niklas’s testimony turned out to be a joke, we need something now—anything to turn this trial around.

The judge looks up from her notes, over to Gates. “Any further witnesses?” she asks.

“Yes, Your Honor. For my last witness, I’d like to call Klaus Dekker back to the stand.”

Dekker looks surprised, but he makes an expression as if to say,
Sure, why not?
He saunters up to the witness chair and settles in, looking amused.

Gates loads up the memory stick, bringing up the video on the screen overhead. “You’ve been in charge of the investigation from the beginning, is that true?”

“Yes,” Dekker replies bluntly.

“And all evidence, all materials relating to the case, they run through you?”

“Everything.” Dekker nods. “We have a chain of command, and I’m at the top.”

“So you decided what leads to pursue, and, in fact, what evidence to present here in court today?”

“I have presented all evidence relevant to the case, yes.” Dekker frowns, like he’s trying to figure out what Gates is leading toward.

He’s not the only one. I wait, breathing softly, praying that this big break is something real and substantial, and won’t just fade away like Niklas or Juan or all the other arguments we’ve made these last weeks.

“Can you tell me what this is?” Gates asks. He hits the
controller, and a familiar video begins to play, up on the screen.

I exhale, disappointed. We’ve already seen this: the security footage from the grocery store down the street from the house. There’s date and time stamp in the corner showing the afternoon of the murder, and Elise is clear in view, idly browsing the snack aisle.

Lee leans forward from the seat behind me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Just wait,” he whispers with another grin.

Gate hits pause on the video, still waiting for an answer.

Dekker answers cautiously. “It’s the tape from the store, the last time the victim was seen alive.”

“You already showed us this footage, I know.” Gates smiles. All his previous weary defeat has disappeared, now he’s the shark, circling for the kill. “In fact, you used it to establish the time of death, and prove that Tate Dempsey couldn’t have been the one who killed her.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Dekker is looking worried now. His eyes dart to the back of the courtroom, like he’s seeking someone out. “The time of death gives him an alibi, but not her.”

“And by her, you mean the defendant.”

“Yes, of course,” Dekker snaps. He’s riled, I realize, watching carefully. He knows what this is about—what’s coming. Lee’s grip on my shoulder tightens in matching anticipation.

“Where did you get this tape?”

“From a source,” Dekker replies. “An outside investigator hired by the Dempsey family.”

“But this isn’t the full tape, is it?”

There’s a beat. Silence. Dekker opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

The judge leans over. “Detective?”

“I . . . I’m not sure what you mean.” Dekker’s sweating, his forehead shiny and red. He looks guilty, although of what crime, we don’t know yet. The courtroom is totally still, all of us waiting for the next words.

“Then let me show you.” Gates beams. “This is the video you submitted as evidence.” He starts the video again and the frames run through on the screen, grainy and black-and-white. Elise enters the store, browses the aisles. She grabs a bag of chips and a soda, pays, and leaves. The video cuts.

“But that wasn’t the only footage given to you, was it?” Gates says loudly. Dekker is silent. “There was footage from a second camera, outside the store.”

This is news to me—and everyone else. Fevered whispers fill the courtroom.

Gates hits play and another video starts, this one angled from the doorway, with a view out into the busy street. We see Elise stroll toward the store and enter, but there’s another figure in the frame, several steps behind.

Juan.

I inhale in a rush. Even in the grainy recording, it’s him: dreadlocks and a loose linen shirt. He follows Elise down the street, then drops back as she enters the store. He stops, waiting on the other side of the road.

Gates pauses on him lurking there, watching the grocery store. “Is this the man known to you as Juan?” he asks.

“Yes,” Dekker replies quietly.

“The man named as a suspect by the defense, whom the defendant says argued with the victim and followed them back on their first day.”

Dekker is silent, but then offers a grudging “Yes.”

“And in this footage, does he appear to be following the victim, again? Stalking her?”

Dekker doesn’t say a word.

“Let’s take a look for ourselves.” Gates hits play again.

The video continues: Juan loiters opposite the grocery store. Elise emerges, just a blond head in the frame. As she exits to the right of the camera shot, Juan crosses the street, moving closer toward us—and Elise. Gates freezes the video just before he disappears from the frame: the large figure heading determinedly after Elise.

There’s a long silence.

I can’t believe it—that the video existed, all this time. Dekker saw this and tried to bury it. I knew he hated me,
but I didn’t realize he would tamper with evidence just to see me go down.

Lee’s hand slips from my shoulder, but I reach to grab it, holding tight. We share a breathless, hopeful smile as Gates circles for the kill.

“When did you decide to edit this video?” Gates demands.

“I . . . it wasn’t a decision, as such,” Dekker fumbles. “There were many leads—”

“But this offers clear proof that Juan was the last person to see the victim alive.”

“We don’t know—”

Gates talks over him. “So not only did you ignore a crucial suspect but you deliberately withheld evidence that would help clear my client!”