Vigilare (28 page)

A few familiar faces, Chief Burns and his secretary, Bonnie, scurry through the commotion to the appropriate courtroom. Everybody is seated, waiting on Judge Carter to enter. The energy in the room is strained, quite obvious it’s verdict day. Chief and Bonnie spot Tony, sitting in the back as usual, an easy exit. He is bent over his knees, elbows resting on them, absently rocking back and forth, hands fidgeting. He catches Bonnie and Chief out of the corner of his eye. Motioning them over, he makes room to accommodate them both, surely offending the lady to the left of him who actually has to put her purse on her lap to make space. Tony blows it off, used to the disapproving eye roll. Chief, a little more PR-friendly, extends a subtle wave and smile to the woman as he sits down on the other side of Tony. She smiles back, smirks at Tony (who pays her no attention) and nods her head as if she has been vindicated.

“What happened to you?” Chief asks, assessing Tony’s bruised cheekbone, split lip and scratches trailing from his jaw along the length of his neck.

Tony smiles, ducking his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“What’s this, you requesting a transfer to New Orleans? Saw the papers on my desk this morning,” Chief inquires. Removing his glasses, he wipes them haphazardly across the stomach of his shirt, attempting to remove the greasy fingerprint he accidentally placed there after his morning bear claw and coffee.

“Only temporary. Need to look into something down there.”

“DeLuca?” Chief asks, knowingly, looking through his glasses.

Disappointed with the smudge that still remains, he goes back to rubbing them across his shirt. Bonnie huffs, prying the glasses from his hand, dragging the appropriate accoutrement, a chamois, from her purse, efficiently tidying up the lens.

Tony nods, his eyes failing to meet Chief’s, his line of sight focused on his hands, rubbing briskly together.

“Nothing more you could’ve done, Gronkowski,” Chief sympathizes.

“Oh, there’s a lot more to be done, Chief. Just have to follow the crumbs.”

“And your cookie’s in New Orleans?” Peering through the lenses, Bonnie approves, nudging Chief with her elbow. “Thanks, Bonnie.” She smiles, looking straight ahead, intently focused on Gina at the defense table.

Tony watches the two of them, shaking his head, a low chuckle surfacing.

“Stuff it, Gronkowski,” Chief mutters, his vision renewed through the flawlessly clean lenses.

Tony leans back, looking around the room, at Dr. Ryan, Dr. Godfrey, William and Emily Truly, Aubrey Raines, Gina. “You ever get the feeling that things are not the way they seem? People aren’t who they appear to be?”

“You still got a hard-on for Dr. Ryan?” Chief’s attention is piqued as Judge Carter walks into the courtroom. “Battle axe,” he mutters under his breath.

“Didn’t you say she transferred here from New Orleans, Dr. Ryan?” Tony affirms. “Battle axe? She’s soft as down,” he further comments on Judge Carter.

“She would be to you. Total panther,” Chief speaks out the side of his mouth, as Judge Carter nears her podium. “Get a few years on ya, then we’ll talk.”

Tony chuckles, appeased he can rely on Chief for comic relief considering the pressure of the verdict. He leans forward again, forearms resting on his knees, hands beginning to fidget, looking up at Chief Burns.

“What?” Chief says.

“Cougar, Chief. The appropriate terminology is cougar.” He shakes his head, grinning.

The sound of Judge Carter’s gavel brings immediate silence to the courtroom as all eyes and attention are paid to her. “Bailiff, please call the jurors.” She allows them to file in, taking their seats, pulling her reading glasses from the pocket of her robe.

Mr. McVain eyes the jurors, maintaining a friendly smile, yet again fluffing his lavish locks with his fingertips. Aubrey exchanges an apprehensive glance with Gina, who nods her head reassuringly. Dr. Ryan, quite conceivably the most emotionless person in the room, sits astute and pulled together as the scene unfolds.

“Ms. Foreperson,” Judge Carter addresses the lead juror. She stands dutifully. “Have you, the jury, reached a verdict?”

“Yes, we have, Madam Judge.” She extends several folded sheets of paper to the bailiff, who transports them to Judge Carter.

Judge Carter takes a moment, scanning the documents, double-checking that they remain the same as the official forms reported to her chambers before handing them off to the court clerk for reading. “Will the defendant please rise, along with counsel?”

Gina stands. Aubrey joins her.

The court clerk, a petite woman with a surprisingly resonant voice, clears her throat. “In the case of The City of Vanguard versus Gina Marie DeLuca. As to the charge of first degree murder of Thomas Boyd, verdict is to Count One, we the jury find the defendant, ‘not guilty.’”

A nearly uniform sigh rings throughout the courtroom, accompanied by a few gasps. The court clerk has to coerce her lips from curving into a smile. Aubrey grabs Gina’s hand, squeezing tightly. Bonnie does the same to Chief Burns. Mr. McVain slaps his hand down on his table, shaking his head, contemplating the fact he may lose his first case. Dr. Ryan remains perfectly unruffled, while Tony and Gina hold their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“As to the charge of first degree murder of Victor Peebles, verdict is to Count Two, we the jury find the defendant, ‘not guilty,’” the court clerk continues.

At this point, Gina’s ears maintain function while her mind grows jumbled, confused and disbelieving as she listens to the remaining twelve verdicts, all the same as the first two.

The momentum of the court clerk shifts gears as she nears the last two verdicts. “As to the charge of first degree murder of Trenton Biggs,” (the attempted rape of Aubrey Raines with the accompanying DNA in the form of skin), “verdict is to Count Fifteen, we the jury find the defendant, ‘not guilty.’ As to the charge of voluntary manslaughter of Trenton Biggs, verdict is to Count Sixteen, we the jury find the defendant, ‘guilty.’”

This time, nearly uniform gasps chime throughout the courtroom, attended by a few sighs. Tony’s chin falls to his chest, recognizing the lesser charge of voluntary manslaughter versus first degree murder, still somehow disappointed. Gina’s eyes close, her head dipping in one solitary nod, grateful for the verdicts, acknowledging her fate and fully stunned at the lack of a more stringent outcome. Mr. McVain shrugs, flitting his head to the side, pursing his lips, disillusioned yet appeased by a charge of any sort, sustaining his perfect record.

“Thank you, Madam Clerk,” Judge Carter interjects. “Considering your lack of criminal record,” she begins addressing Gina, “and the fact you served this city as a peace officer, and from all accounts did a fine job of it, I hereby sentence you, Gina Marie DeLuca to the minimum requirement for voluntary manslaughter per my jurisdiction—two-years imprisonment.” She turns fluidly to Mr. McVain. “Your petition to release Ms. DeLuca into the psychiatric care of Dr. Patricia Ryan is denied. “Guards, please take Ms. DeLuca into custody.” With a bang of her gavel, she exits her podium and the courtroom.

“Viva Vigilare! Viva Vigilare! Viva Vigilare!” the chant breaks out in finite groups throughout the room, receiving discernable looks, gestures and a few vocal reprimands from attendees who disagree.

Dr. Ryan quickly rises, making her way through the crowded, noisy aisle. She exchanges glances with William and Emily Truly as she passes them, slipping a note into the pocket of Dr. Godfrey’s white lab coat prior to walking out the large wooden doors.

Chief Burns pats Tony on the back. “Could’ve been a lot worse, kid.”

Tony nods, remaining seated, still leaning forward, his forearms rest on his knees, his hands clasped together.

“I’ll put in a call to corrections. See if we can get her some eyes on the inside,” Chief consoles.

Again, Tony nods, speechless.

Chief motions to Bonnie as he stands to leave.

“I’ll sit with Tony,” she says solemnly. Chief pats her on the shoulder and pushes through the milling crowd.

Bonnie slides closer to Tony. She sits upright, her shoulders a little rounder than usual, her customary large, bold eyes now small and timid, her hands resting numbly in her lap. Neither says a word nor expects such, they simply sit in silence as the crowd flits around them. Mr. McVain makes it a point to track Bonnie with his stare, as he stands from the prosecution table headed toward the exit. Even in her dejected disposition, she is a sight to behold. Her auburn hair cascading against a royal blue dress, matching the color of her eyes. Her fair skin like white chocolate, luscious in its design. She looks up feeling the searing heat of Mr. McVain’s glance. He flashes her his best smile, running his fingers through those golden locks. She huffs, darting her eyes away from him, folding her arms defiantly across her waist, which does not help her cause, as it only further defines the voluptuous V, already prominent at the top of her dress. He walks on by, consoling himself with the fact that one victory shall suffice for the day.

Chapter 21

FOUR HOURS LATER. Vanguard County Jail. Gina awaits transportation to the federal corrections facility three hours outside the city limits.

“DeLuca, and Barnes,” an officer reads last names from the transport papers rounding the corner to Gina’s cell.

“Yep,” a rather large man confirms, accompanied by another man of equally paramount stature in federal prison guard gear.

“Bring Barnes up from the back,” the officer yells.

“I’m aware my insight may not be wanted or welcomed at this point, but you really think it’s a good idea to put me and Barnes on the same transport?” Gina confronts the officer.

Familiar with her and the case, he agrees, “She does make a good point.”

“Warden’s transfer papers say DeLuca
and
Barnes,” the guard speaks up. “If the warden ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.” He smiles. “We’ll handle it.”

“All right.” The officer shrugs.

Randall, less than enthused, is delivered to the guards, unaware of Gina’s presence.

“Tessa and her mother can finally rest well at night,” she deduces, standing on the inside of her cell. The officer slides the door from in front of her.

Randall jumps back, his eyes wild. “I’m not getting on a bus with this crazy bitch,” he contends.

Gina shrugs. “I told them it might not be the best idea.”

“Seriously,” he pleads. “She’ll kill me.”

The guard pushes into Randall, grabs him by the elbow and leads him toward the exit. “We’re the ones armed with AR-15s, and you’re worried about her,” he scoffs.

A short, white bus with black lettering idles in front of the jailhouse. One guard mans Gina, and the other Randall, loading them into the back of the bus. The original seats have been ripped out and replaced with two long benches running parallel to each other against the sides of the large, white metal rectangle on wheels. Gina’s handcuffs are connected to ankle cuffs, further locked down to a large steel ring bolted to the floor underneath her seat. Randall undergoes the same procedure. They sit, facing one another. A driver eyes them through his rearview mirror. The guards load up in front of the massive sheet of steel fencing that separates them from Gina and Randall. One of the guards holds up his index finger, swiftly circling it. The driver gives the clutch a little action, shifting into gear.

An hour into the trip, Randall continues talking incessantly. Gina manages to ignore him up to this point, her head relaxed against the glass of the window behind her. Her eyes take turns closing and opening for intervals, as she takes in her surroundings and attempts to block Randall out. They are far beyond the city limits, the middle of nowhere, to be exact. On a narrow two-lane road, no houses around for miles, fall foliage nears its end, as the trees stand scarecrowed and brown. Her head jerks from side to side in the back of the bumpy bus, too wide to maintain its position between the lines on the confined road, the tires take turns riding on and off the berm. They steadily climb, ascending and descending, the roads winding in their terrain. The guards sit stoic, making occasional eye contact and signals, but there is no conversation, no vocal interplay. She pays close attention to them, something unsettling about their demeanor. A black Sedan comes into view intermittently. One that has been doing so since they left Vanguard. Gina looks at Randall, his lips still moving, totally clueless. She shakes her head.

“You ever been to jail?” Randall asks. “I bet you haven’t, being a cop and all,” he continues, answering his own questions as he has been doing for the past hour. “Maybe juvy or something? Bet you never did anything you shouldn’t do. Were you a good girl?” he inquires jeeringly. “Bet you were a good little girl.” He licks his lips with a sly smirk.

Gina stares at him, her expression blank. No sense carrying out a conversation with an invalid she reasons.

“You don’t talk much, huh?”

“Maybe you should take some lessons,” she replies, her vocal tone jaded and commanding.

He smirks again, pleased with himself for drawing something out of her. “Why don’t you break out of those things?” he motions to the chains surrounding her hands and feet. “
Vigilare
,” he says with contempt, “wouldn’t let chains stop her.” He puffs his chest out with a cocky undertone. “Come on, superhero. Where you at?”

She remains unfazed, looking at him, through him.

“Ooh,” he mocks. “You gonna do that eye thing?”

“What eye thing?” she retorts, reprimanding him with her intonation of his fabricated testimony.

He sits back, grinning smugly, letting the air leave his puffed out chest. “How’s the shoulder?” he digs, alluding to his handy work.

She darts her glance away from him, instinctively as the bus speeds up, shifting to and fro on the bumpy, winding turf. The eyes of the driver in the rearview mirror communicate with those of the guards. He reaches toward the dash, pushing a button that releases harnesses from above the three men. Five-point seatbelts, those found in the speediest of race cars, drop from the ceiling. They assume the position, until the harnesses have locked and secured them. Looking out the window behind Randall, Gina searches for guardrails, of which she unfortunately finds none.