Page 118 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“Did he give it to you personally?” Mark pauses for a moment, then clarifies. “I mean, did you receive it directly from his hand?”

“Yes sir. Mister Ferry shook my hand, said something along the lines of ‘here, I picked up a little something for you,’ and then placed the case in my arms.”

“Thank you,” Mark says, again jotting something down on his notepad. “And have you ever removed the lining from the guitar case?”

“No sir. It didn’t appear to be removable. It was glued down.”

“And—forgive me, I know that ASA Cooper asked you this question already—is it your testimony that you didnotknow there were drugs concealed in your guitar case?”

“That is correct, sir. I had no idea.” Frank looks down at his knees for a moment, shaking his head. “I mean, who even thinks to ask that? You get handed something by your boss, by a guy you practically worship. A guy whose music you’ve been listening to since you were just a kid, he hands you a guitar, and, well, who would think to ask hey, just to make sure, you didn’t hide a whole bunch of illegal drugs in here, did you?”

Mark glances back over his shoulder as another wave of low murmurs runs through the gallery, and he’s grinning when he looks back at Frank.

“Just one more question,” he says. “The night you were arrested, did anyone tamper with your guitar case?”

“I…” Frank hesitates for a moment, biting his lower lip as he considers his answer. “I don’t know if it wastamperedwith, but when I came off stage it wasn’t where I left it.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I went out on stage, the case was right next to the door. It was set right there, right where I could get to it easily if I needed a new pick or something, and I could put my guitar away right as soon as I left the stage. But after the show, it was all the way down at the other end of the room, right next to the refreshments.”

The crowd noises pick up as one reporter after another understands the implication of this statement, but Mark isn’t about to let anyone leave the room without forming the right impression.

“So, let me make sure I understand this,” he says, grinning hugely, holding up a finger. “You’re saying that you were given a guitar and case, by your employer, and that it turned out later to be full of illegal drugs?”

“Yessir.”

“And that there was no opportunity for anyone to have added the Ecstasy pills after you took possession of the case?” Mark puts up a second finger now, wiggling them around in a vee-shape.

“That is correct.”

“And then finally,” Mark says, and the third finger joins the first two, “you’re saying that on the night you were arrested, some other party moved your guitar casedirectlyinto the path of a drug detection dog that was—in an absolutely unprecedented turn of events—invited into the backstage area?”

“Yessir. That is true.”

“No further questions,” Mark says.

As he returns to his seat at the defense table, the whispers in the gallery grow louder and louder. Even Maureen gets in on the action.

“I told you there was something funny going on,” she says, smugly self-satisfied.

The bang of Judge Merryweather’s gavel brings a sudden silence.

“I will have order in my court.” The judge pronounces every syllable distinctly, underlining his irritation with the talkative reporters. “ASA Cooper, call your next witness.”

Gabriel turns his head and for the first time since our momentary eye contact this morning, he seems to see me. I know why he’s looking: the next witness on the schedule is presenting the lab results. And when we rebut that with my evidence tampering, Frank will go free, and I’ll be headed for prison instead. I can feel my face reddening again, but I won’t be the one to look away first.

Fortunately, I don’t have to. A young man with an ID badge from the State Attorney’s office hanging around his neck walks briskly up the aisle and leans over the rail to whisper in Gabriel’s ear.

I couldn’t hear what he said, but Gabriel’s eyes snap away from me, locking on to the young man. Their whispered conversation is brief but intense. What are they talking about? And who is this guy? I don’t recognize him. A new hire, perhaps?

“ASA Cooper,” the judge says, his voice deceptively mild. “Will you be calling your next witness in the near future?”

“One moment, Your Honor,” Gabriel answers quickly, then turns back to the younger man. “Are yousure?” he asks, and for the first time today there’s a hint of real passion on his face. It’s just a spark, a small one, but he’s not acting any longer.

“Well?” Judge Merryweather’s patience is running thin.

“Your Honor,” Gabriel says, rising to his feet. “The prosecution requests that we adjourn these proceedings for the day and resume in the morning.”

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