I had no idea, so I ignored him, but Nana Mama snapped, “How many times have you asked a stupid question in the pursuit of idiocy?”
After that, it took everything in me to tune it all out as we crossed the sidewalk to the Suburban. I saw the rest of my family inside the SUV, climbed up front, and shut the door.
Nana Mama let out a long breath.
“I hate them,” Jannie said as we pulled away.
“It’s like they’re feeding on Dad,” Ali said.
“Bloodsuckers,” the driver said.
All too soon we arrived in front of the District of Columbia Courthouse at 500 Indiana Avenue. The building is a two-wing, smooth limestone structure with a steel-and-glass atrium over the lobby and a large plaza flanked by raised gardens out front. There’d been twenty vultures at my house, but there were sixty jackals there for my rendezvous with cold justice.
Anita Marley, my attorney, was also there, waiting at the curb.
Tall and athletically built, with auburn hair, freckled skin, and sharp emerald eyes, Marley had once played volleyball for and studied acting at the University of Texas; she later graduated near the top of her law-school class at Rice. She was classy, brassy, and hilarious, as well as certifiably badass in the courtroom, which was why we’d hired her.
Marley opened my door.
“I do the talking from here on o
ut, Alex,” she said in a commanding drawl just as the roar of accusation and ridicule hit me, far worse than what I’d been subjected to at home.
I’d seen this kind of thing in the past, a big-time trial mob with local and national reporters preparing to feed raw meat to the twenty-four-hour cable-news monster. I’d just never been the raw meat before.
“Talk to us, Cross!” they shouted. “Are you the problem? Are you and your cowboy ways what the police have become in America? Above the law?”
I couldn’t take it and responded, “No one is above the law.”
“Don’t say anything,” Marley hissed, and she took me by the elbow and moved me across the plaza toward the front doors of the courthouse.
The swarm went with us, still buzzing, still stinging.
From the crowd beyond the reporters, a man shouted in a terrified voice, “Don’t shoot me, Cross! Don’t shoot!”
Others started to chant with him in that same tone. “Don’t shoot me, Cross! Don’t shoot!”
Despite my best efforts, I could not help turning my head to look at them. Some carried placards that featured a red X over my face with a caption below it, one reading END POLICE VIOLENCE and another GUILTY AS CHARGED!
In front of the bulletproof courthouse doors, Marley stopped to turn me toward the lights, microphones, and cameras. I threw my shoulders back and lifted my chin.
My attorney held up her hand and said in a loud, firm voice, “Dr. Cross is an innocent man and an innocent police officer. We are very happy that at long last he’ll have the opportunity to clear his good name.”
CHAPTER
3
THE POLICE OFFICERS manning the security checkpoint watched me as I entered the courthouse, the media still boiling behind me.
Sergeant Doug Kenny, chief of court security and an old friend, said, “We’re with you, Alex. Good shoot, from what I hear. Damn good shoot.”
The other three all nodded and smiled at me as I went through the metal detectors. Outside, the horde descended on my family as they fought their way toward the court entrance.
Nana Mama, Damon, and Jannie made it inside first, looking shaken. Ali and Bree entered a few moments later. As the door swung shut, Ali faced the reporters peering in. Then he raised his middle finger in a universally understood gesture.
“Ali!” Nana Mama cried, grabbing him by the collar. “That is unacceptable behavior!”
But with the security team chuckling at him and me smiling, Ali didn’t show a bit of remorse.