Page 85 of Backtrack

“There’s a good chance Foster shot the driver—”

“What?” The DA’s shiny forehead wrinkled like he’d just eaten something bitter. “Why the hell would one guard shoot another? Are you saying they were both inside men? Or did Foster force him to pull over?”

“No,” Cutter said. “LJ’s right. From what we learned at the Show Pony, Watts was their inside man. I think Foster was just new to the job, scared out of his wits and trying to maneuver the shotgun inside the cab—then boom.”

The chief deputy sighed. “You’re saying Foster murdered Watts?”

“Don’t know if I’d call it murder,” Cutter said. “But the evidence suggests Foster shot him. There’s a spent 12-gauge shell on the floorboard of the passenger seat. It tracks that Foster fired while he was still inside the truck, then racked in another round before he jumped out. His shotgun was found in the grass with one live round still in the chamber and two in the tube, indicating he fired one time.”

“Interesting theory,” Reed said. “And a pile of horseshit that I’d appreciate you keeping to yourself. Duvall and Pink need to get what they deserve.”

“I want them to get what they deserve,” Cutter said. “They, we, all of us, deserve the truth.”

“Well, aren’t you just awfully damned noble,” Reed said, sneering. “I hate to break it to you, Deputy Cutter, but the only truth that matters in court is one that I can prove. We have three murdered armored car personnel. One of them lived long enough to give us general descriptions of the assailants and at least one of their vehicles. If Foster shot their inside man, he deserves a medal.”

Cutter didn’t argue. It was his job to present the facts.

“I need to demonstrate to the jury there was premeditation in order to get Duvall the death penalty. I have to show they planned to kill everyone in that truck from the jump.”

“Do you, Jim?” Langford mused. “I’m having a hard time seeingwhat else you need here. You have these bastards for murder during the commission of a robbery. That’s a capital offense right there. This premeditation crap is just bolstering. Tire-track evidence puts them at the scene of the Ewell boy’s murder in Jack County. And you can get them for cutting Trina Foster to pieces. Torture feels pretty damned premeditated to me. Good Lord, man, any one of those things alone should be enough for a Parker County jury to dispense with the electric chair and string them up from an oak tree on the courthouse square.”

“Due respect, Sheriff,” the DA said. “But just because you see it all so clearly doesn’t mean a jury will. Everyone in this office has been in enough courtrooms to know what I mean. Even the smart jurors only listen to a third of the evidence presented. The rest of the time they’re thinking about their own shitty lives or how to get into the panties of the hot juror two chairs down. If I present evidence that confuses them, it’s game over for the case, especially when we’re dealing with a fifteen-year-old being tried as an adult. You can bet the defense attorney will play the poor baby’s age card every chance he gets.”

A pained expression creased Cutter’s face.

“How is any of this confusing?”

“What does it matter who pulled the trigger on Watts?” Reed said. “He was shot during an armed robbery.”

“It matters because it’s what the evidence tells us,” Cutter said, as if it was all so simple.

The district attorney wheeled. “I’m not sure you’re the one who should be schooling me about what the evidence shows. You’ve shot three men over the course of three days. Killed two of them. Talk about premeditated—”

Sheriff Langford rocked forward in his squeaky chair with such speed and force it sounded like a gunshot. “How many men have you killed, Jim?”

The prosecutor recoiled.

“What?”

“Simple question,” Langford said. “How many?”

“W … well, I haven’t killed any.”

“There you go,” Langford said. “I have killed my share. Each of them deserved it, and I would kill them again given the same set ofcircumstances. But that does not mean I take any of their deaths lightly. Do me a favor and don’t throw around talk of body counts with so much ease when you don’t know what the hell you are talking about. Makes you look like an idiot.”

Reed gathered his case files and turned toward the door. “Just get all your ducks in a row, gentlemen. I’m not going to make an ass of myself in open court.”

“Shut the door, LJ,” Langford said after the DA had gone.

“Is it just me,” Johnson said, “or does it seem like the district attorney was making an ass of himself already?”

“Easy to forget that most of them are only temporarily on our side,” Cutter said.

Johnson scrunched up his face. “Temporarily?”

“Lawyers are master arguers,” Cutter said. “Most—not all, but a good many—are happy to debate either side of the V with equal gusto.”

“The V?”