I TOOK A BACK WAY out of the courthouse. I usually did that anyway, but on this day it was essential. I had to avoid the crowds and the press, and I needed to have a private moment to recover from my time on the witness stand.
I’d just had my ass pretty well kicked by an expert asskicker. Tomorrow, Cathy Fitzgibbon would try to undo some of the damage in cross-exam.
I was in no hurry as I walked down a back stairway that was used by maintenance and cleaning people in the building, and also served as a fire escape.
It was becoming clear to me that there was a chance Geoffrey Shafer would be acquitted. His lawyers were the best, and we’d lost important evidence at the suppression hearing.
And I had made a bad mistake at the homicide scene, when, in my rush to help Patsy Hampton, I’d neglected to put on gloves.
It was an honest mistake, but it probably created doubt in the minds of the jurors. I’d had more blood on me than Shafer. That was true. Shafer might actually get away with murder, and I couldn’t stand the thought. I felt like yelling as I descended the twisting flights of stairs.
And that’s exactly what I did. I yelled at the top of my voice, and it felt so damn good to get it out. Relief flowed through my body, however temporary it might be.
At the bottom of the concrete stairs was the basement of the courthouse. I headed down a long, dark hallway toward the rear lot where the Porsche was parked. I was still lost in my thoughts, but calmer after hollering my fool head off in the stairwell.
There was a sharp bend in the hallway near the exit to the parking lot. I came around the turn and saw him. I couldn’t believe it. The Weasel was right there.
He was the first to speak. “What a surprise, Dr. Cross. Sneaking away from the madding—or is it ‘maddening’?—crowd. Tail between yo
ur legs today? Don’t fret, you did all right upstairs. Was that you yelling in the halls? Primal screams are the best, aren’t they?”
“What the hell do you want, Shafer?” I asked him. “We’re not supposed to meet or talk like this.”
He shrugged his broad shoulders, wiped his blond hair away from his eyes. “You think I care about rules? I don’t give a shit about rules. What do I want? My good name restored. I want my family not to have to go through any more of this. I want it all.”
“Then you shouldn’t have killed all those people. Especially Patsy Hampton.”
Shafer smiled. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you? You don’t back down. I admire that, to a degree. I played the game of being a hero once myself. In the army. It’s interesting for a while.”
“But it’s much more interesting to be a raving lunatic murderer,” I said.
“See? You just don’t back down from your bullheaded opinions. I love it. You’re wonderful.”
“It’s not opinion, Shafer. You know it, and so do I.”
“Then prove it, Cross. Win your pitiful, sodding case, will you? Beat me fair and square in a court of law. I even gave you a home-court advantage.”
I started to walk toward him; I couldn’t help myself. He stood his ground.
“This is all an insane game to you. I’ve met assholes like you before, Shafer. I’ve beaten better. I’ll beat you.”
He laughed in my face. “I sincerely doubt it.”
I walked right past him in the narrow tunnel.
He pushed me—hard, from behind. He was a big man, and even stronger than he looked.
I stumbled, almost went over onto the stone floor. I wasn’t expecting the outburst of anger from him. He held it in so well in court, but it was close to the surface. The madness that was Geoffrey Shafer. The violence.
“Then go ahead, beat me. See if you can,” he yelled at the top of his voice. “Beat me right here, right now. I don’t think you can, Cross. I know you can’t.”
Shafer took a quick step toward me. He was agile and athletic, not just strong. We were almost the same size—six-two or -three, two hundred pounds. I remembered that he’d been an army officer, then MI6. He still looked to be in excellent shape.
Shafer pushed me again with both hands. He made a loud grunting noise. “If you’ve beaten better, then I should be a pushover. Isn’t that so? I’m just a pushover.”
I almost threw a punch; I wanted to. I ached to take him down, to wipe the smug, superior look off his face.
Instead, I grabbed him hard. I slammed Shafer up against the stone tunnel wall and held him there.