Private Vegas (Private 9)

“On June fourteenth, the night in question, did you go to Ms. Carmody’s house?”

“Yes. I did.”

“And tell the court what happened.”

“I came over. I parked in her driveway. I saw the UPS guy across the street, so I waved to him.”

Rick smirked. I wished he hadn’t done that.

“Then what happened?”

“I think Vicky waved to him too. Then she let me in the house.”

“Please go on.”

“She made tea. I got a beer from her fridge. We had some uncomfortable small talk, and I gave her back her camera. Then I kissed her cheek on the way out the door. I told her to take care. She said, ‘You too.’

“I drove home. I went into my house and took a six-pack into the living room and I watched a ball game. I woke up on the couch and it was about two. I went to bed. Next day, I went to work.”

“Did you ever get into a fight with Vicky?”

“No. Well, I may have done a little shouting. Where I come from, shouting is like belching. It doesn’t mean anything. But I never hit her. I never threatened to hit her. I never would. I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”

I thought Rick’s testimony had gone pretty well, but now Caine had to turn the witness over to the other side.

I had a very sick feeling thinking about that.

Chapter 66

DEL RIO LOOKED confident, bordering on smug. I knew this look. It wasn’t really confidence—it was his way of signaling his rage before he went crazy.

I wanted to sit him down and talk to him. I wanted to get right in his face and shout, Don’t blow this.

But Rick didn’t hear my silent scream. He just squared himself in the witness box and sat back as ADA Dexter Lewis crossed the courtroom to him.

“Mr. Del Rio, please state your full name.”

“Rick Del Rio.”

“Is that Rick for Richard?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the name you were born with?”

“I was born Ricardo Esteban Del Rio. Okay? Born in California, U.S.A.”

The ADA’s question was provocative, but it was smart and ethical. He was showing the jury that Rick could have aliases, that he wasn’t even truthful about his name. But Rick had taken it as an ethnic slur. Twenty feet from where I was sitting, a fuse had been lit.

“Okay, Mr. Del Rio. Where’d you meet Ms. Carmody?”

“Online.”

“In some kind of matchmaker chat room?”

“That’s right.”

“And on your first date, did you take her out to dinner?”