Page 49 of Fish in a Barrel
For a moment Jackson stared at him like he was stupid, and Ellery actually saw the moment he remembered they were doing this for the all-important audience of twelve.
“Because the people implicating Ezekiel Halliday were also police, in spite of all evidence pointing to the fact that he couldn’t possibly have committed the assault. Ms. Frazier’s description of the man involved in pressuring Mr. Gabriel to commit assault led me to believe one of the witnesses for the prosecution had an active part in the crime committed against Ms. Frazier. This meant that Cody Gabriel was more in danger from his fellow cops than he was from anybody else, including himself. It’s why we called in the Federal Marshals and asked them to help us keep Cody Gabriel safe, including through rehab. His testimony wasnotgood for Engall Goslar’s happy little gang of nut-busters, so we needed to not tell them until absolutely necessary.”
He and Ellery both paused then, looking to see if Arizona was going to object, but she waved them on.
“So you approached Mr. Gabriel on the streets. Tell us what happened next.”
Jackson recounted his night then, from the tentative contact with Cody through the horrific bus ride as the unwilling participants fell into a drugged sleep. He finished with getting off the bus and trying to hide their identities from the police officers waiting on the ground by the bus door.
“Tell us why you didn’t want to be taken in by the policemen who had escorted you to this unexpected place,” Ellery instructed, ignoring the roiling in his stomach.
“For one thing, they were brutal to the people on the bus, and nonconsensually medicating them was a criminal act. Obviously we were not comfortable with what they might do to us. And for another, I heard them talking about ‘Do you see him?’ ‘Not yet—maybe he’s not here.’ ‘Let me know if you find him,’ as Cody was dozing off next to me. He was a hunted man, and nothing good was going to happen to him if we were found.”
“Objection,” Arizona snapped. “Calls for speculation.”
“Mr. Rivers is here with proof that it’s true,” Ellery said. “It calls for demonstration.”
Arizona raised her eyebrows at his rhyme, and he raised his back blandly. So he was frickin’ Dr. Seuss. Sue him.
“We need to get to this proof soon, Mr. Cramer,” Brentwood warned.
“Oh, we will. So what happened when you got to the ground and they recognized you, Mr. Rivers?”
Jackson inhaled. “Well, they grabbed for us, but we went running into the dark. They didn’t identify themselves or warn us, and then they shot at us. Twice.”
“Do you know which officer did this?”
“McMurphy. Goslar yelled at him not to because he was using his registered weapon, which means they were aware that if theyhitus, it was an illegal shoot.”
“What happened next?”
“We kept running, they followed, and I rolled my ankle and tumbled down a hill into a campground. They caught up with us, and Fred McMurphy got me in the back with a three-inch fixed-blade knife, which is an illegal weapon, by the way.”
“When you say ‘got you,’ could you explain what you mean?”
Jackson stood. “How about I show you.”
Ellery turned his eyes to Brentwood, who was staring at Jackson Rivers like he was the demon from which there was no escaping. “Your Honor, with your permission, Detective Rivers is going to demonstrate what sort of damage a three-inch fixed-blade knife can do.”
And Brentwood nodded, seemingly incapable of resisting. “Go ahead,” he said gruffly.
Jackson slid his jacket off, and Ellery kept his gasp of dismay to himself. The blood had soaked through the lining and into the wool of the jacket—Henry was right. The piece was toast. Then Jackson turned around and unbuttoned his shirt and cuffs with minimal movements. When he was done, he reached to his neck and hauled his dress shirt and his T-shirt above his head, making sure the jury got a good look at the patched-together line of bloody gauze bandages that tracked from his shoulder blade down to his waist.
Ellery bit his lip, using the stunned silence to control his own beating heart. He hated this. He hated putting his lover’s pain on display. But Jackson stood defiantly, glaring at Judge Brentwood with the full force of his recrimination, and Brentwood had to look away.
“One last question,” Ellery said. “Because I know the prosecution is going to want to know this. Do you have anything that links the wound on your back to Fred McMurphy, who is sitting in the witness area?”
“We grabbed the knife,” Jackson said. “It was raining, but the prints were pretty solid, and the knife has my blood on it. We also grabbed the knife that Goslar was holding to Cody Gabriel’s throat after we incapacitated Goslar, before he could use it.”
“Where are those weapons now?”
Jackson looked directly at Brentwood. “With the Federal Marshals, waiting to get processed by their crime lab so the DOJ can bring charges if the county does not.”
Brentwood blinked, and Ellery saw the full implications hit him. If the Department of Justice became involved, Brentwood himself would be targeted in the investigation.
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” he said grimly.
“Well, that will be up to you, sir,” Jackson replied.
