Chapter
96
“Nobody moves or this man dies!” Detective Sergeant Drummond roared, and he jerked at the rope he had tied around Bell’s neck and hands, which were horribly swollen and bruised. Several of Bell’s fingers pointed in directions they shouldn’t.
Spectators began to cry, panic, and push back toward the walls. Nana Mama squealed in fear beside me, and I held up an arm to shield her. Bree started for her backup pistol, but I said, “Don’t. I know this guy.”
Drummond shouted, “Unload your gun there, Bailiff, and put it on the floor. You. In the witness box. Same.”
Frost and the bailiff did as they were told.
Drummond scanned the room for threats, said, “You too, Chief Sherman, and you, Detective Carmichael. Primary weapons and backups on the floor.”
Sherman and Carmichael seemed shocked that the madman knew their names, but they did as they were told. Then Drummond marched Bell deeper into the courtroom. Marvin Bell looked more lost than frightened, shuffling forward, staring at his hands and quivering in pain.
As they got close, I stood up, said, “Sergeant, what are you doing?”
Drummond turned his scarred, expressionless face past Bree and toward me, said, “Something I should have done a long time ago.”
“C’mon, Drummond. You don’t want to do this.”
“You don’t understand, Dr. Cross. I have to do this.”
The sergeant pushed and dragged Bell into the well of the court. He glanced at Strong and Naomi, said, “Take a seat, Counselors.”
Then he motioned for Frost to get down, said, “This man wants to testify.”
The detective hesitated, but then climbed from the witness stand. Drummond said, “Sit there on the floor by the jury box.”
Frost did as he was told. The sergeant maneuvered Marvin Bell into the chair and got behind him, keeping the gun at his head and dropping the rope so it dangled off the back of the chair.
“Sergeant, whoever you are,” Judge Varney began, “and whatever problem you might have with Mr. Bell, this is not the way to address the—”
“With all due respect, Judge,” Drummond said, “we are no longer in a court of law. This is truth-seeking where the ends justify the means.”
Beside me, Bree typed on her phone and then held it up. I realized she was filming him. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Patty Converse and Pinkie Parks had gone wide-eyed.
What do we do? Pinkie mouthed.
“Not a thing,” I whispered, and looked at my aunts, who were sitting forward in their chairs and raptly watching Drummond.
The sergeant peered around the courtroom as if he owned it, then focused on the jury box, said, “Wouldn’t you just like to know what happened for once? No BS. The whole thing out in the open for you to judge?”
Despite their collective fear, several jury members nodded.
“I would too,” Nana Mama whispered. “You know him, Alex?”
“Met him in Florida,” I whispered. “He’s a cop.”
“What happened to his face?”
“First Gulf War.”
I knew the source of the scarring, but what had happened to Drummond in the few days since I’d seen him? Why in God’s name would he do something this rash? Destroy his career and reputation? His life?
I’d talked to Drummond about Marvin Bell and how frustrated I was at not being able to link him to the web of secrets we’d been uncovering in Starksville. And the sergeant had asked me about Bell several times. He’d done it on the phone that very morning. Drummond had obviously been close by when he called me. And Bell had never left the area. The sergeant had been holding him hostage somewhere, torturing him into a confession.
But why?