“Facedown on the floor!” I shouted. “Hands behind your back!”
Soneji started to follow my orders but then Binx came up from behind and hit my gun hand with both her fists. The blow knocked me off balance, and my gun discharged before a fourth spotlight went on, blinding me.
Then the lights died. I threw myself to the factory floor. I stayed there several moments, peering around, before I lurched to my feet. Gun up, I ran hard to the nearest alcove on the north wall.
I shouted, “I’ve got backup, Gary. They’re surrounding the place!”
Leaving the alcove, I moved west along the north wall of the factory to the next anteroom, the one directly beneath the mural. The camera on the opposite roof caught me from behind and gave the viewer a decent look inside the north alcove, where large rolls of canvas were stacked on tables made of plywood and sawhorses.
From deep in that alcove, Virginia Winslow, disguised as her late husband, stumbled out of the darkness. Stooped and far forward on the balls of her feet, she took two sharp, halting steps before straightening up. The camera zoomed in on us. Her right hand started to rise.
“Stop,” Wills said.
The screen froze on Gary Soneji’s widow with her palms almost turned up.
“No gun,” Wills said.
The videos started again.
Mrs. Winslow opened her mouth and raised her hand. I shot her. She fell and Binx screamed.
It went on like that for several more minutes, with Wills stopping the videos to show Watkins dressed as Soneji and me shooting him, then taking cover behind two old oil drums. The prosecutor froze the video one last time to show Leonard Diggs unarmed and up on the roof above the north alcove just before I shot him. Before the videos mercifully ended, you could hear Binx sobbing.
I blew out some air and looked over at the jury. Juror five had recoiled in his chair and was studying me like I was a war criminal. Juror eleven covered her mouth with a well-manicured hand and shook her head in horror.
CHAPTER
57
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, I could see outright suspicion on the normally guarded face of Gayle King, co-anchor of the CBS morning news.
As a sound tech hitched me up to a microphone in our house, King came over and said, “Five minutes, Dr. Cross?”
“I look forward to it, Ms. King.”
“Call me Gayle. And we’re agreed? No ground rules?”
“Ask away,” I said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Your grandmother?” King said. “She’s something.”
“She is that.”
She smiled, but I saw some pity in it. She walked away.
Bree came over and handed me water. “You’re sure about this?”
“Anita and Naomi seem to think it will humanize me. And there’s nothing else we can do until Anita’s experts have a go at those videos.”
At the close of court proceedings, Judge Larch had granted Anita’s motion to adjourn through the following Monday morning to do just that.
“Your FBI friends?” Bree asked, adjusting my tie.
“Mum,” I said. “Not surprising. I would think the U.S. Attorney’s Office got Rawlins analyzing the videos for the prosecution.”
“Well, that would be good, right? He’ll find the flaws.”
Before I could answer, King said, “Dr. Cross?”