Both the judge and the district attorney were digging through the doc.u.ment, looking for the reference.

Naomi gave them twenty seconds and then said, "These are facts that cannot be spun. All the evidence found at the murder scene has to be considered tainted. The vodka bottle, Mr. Tate's school ID, the meth sample, and the s.e.m.e.n must be thrown out."

Strong said, "Judge, the vodka, the meth, and the ID are solid."

"No, they are not," Naomi said. "The placement of those three pieces of evidence is illogical at best, especially since they were left by a so-called berserk killer. My client's s.e.m.e.n was clearly planted. So were the vodka, the meth, and the ID."

My niece turned to face the bench. "In short, Judge Varney, the state no longer has a viable case against my client. I move for mistrial and release of Stefan Tate from custody immediately."

The courtroom exploded.

Stefan rocked back in his chair, looking toward the heavens and hugging himself. Aunt Hattie started cheering and clapping. Pinkie, Nana Mama, and I joined her.

Judge Varney looked panicked when he whacked his gavel and called for order in his courtroom.

Bree tapped my elbow and held her iPhone in front of me, showing me riderless boxcars going through one of the railroad crossings south of Starksville. Then she showed me a picture of the same containers going through the crossing on the main Starksville road. Two riders were aboard.

"What-" I began.

Delilah Strong cried, "Judge, there remains other compelling evidence that links Mr. Tate to this murder."

Naomi said, "Judge, it's clear now that someone else killed Rashawn Turnbull and framed my client for the crime."

"The defense offers no evidence of that at all," Strong said. "Who does she think killed that boy?"

"That's really not our concern," Naomi said. "But we have a theory."

"Alex, you have to see this," Bree said, shoving the iPhone in front of me again. I glanced at the screen, saw a satellite view of train tracks by an industrial complex. I held up my index finger and then looked back to Naomi.

My niece glanced at me, and I nodded.

She said, "Judge, we have evidence that the meth planted in Mr. Tate's bas.e.m.e.nt is tied to a drug ring using the trains that pa.s.s through Starksville to distribute methamphetamine and other drugs up and down the East Coast. My client had growing suspicions about the freight trains, and we believe the drug traffickers killed Rashawn and framed my client for the murder to keep him from digging further."

"This is ridiculous," Strong said. "The defense has introduced no evidence of any such drug ring. Judge, you can't-"

The rear doors to the courtroom were flung open with a bang.

Strong, Naomi, Judge Varney, the bailiff, the clerk, and many of the jurors gaped in disbelief and fear.

I twisted around in my seat to see what they were gawking at and got the shock of my life.

Palm Beach County's Detective Sergeant Peter Drummond looked like he was out for blood as he pressed the muzzle of a sawed-off pump-action Remington twelve-gauge to the side of Marvin Bell's head.

CHAPTER 96.

"n.o.bODY MOVES OR this man dies!" Detective Sergeant Drummond roared, and he jerked at the rope he had tied around Bell's neck and hands, which were horribly swollen and bruised. Several of Bell's fingers pointed in directions they shouldn't.

Spectators began to cry, panic, and push back toward the walls. Nana Mama squealed in fear beside me, and I held up an arm to shield her. Bree started for her backup pistol, but I said, "Don't. I know this guy."

Drummond shouted, "Unload your gun there, Bailiff, and put it on the floor. You. In the witness box. Same."

Frost and the bailiff did as they were told.

Drummond scanned the room for threats, said, "You too, Chief Sherman, and you, Detective Carmichael. Primary weapons and backups on the floor."

Sherman and Carmichael seemed shocked that the madman knew their names, but they did as they were told. Then Drummond marched Bell deeper into the courtroom. Marvin Bell looked more lost than frightened, shuffling forward, staring at his hands and quivering in pain.

As they got close, I stood up, said, "Sergeant, what are you doing?"

Drummond turned his scarred, expressionless face past Bree and toward me, said, "Something I should have done a long time ago."

"C'mon, Drummond. You don't want to do this."

"You don't understand, Dr. Cross. I have to do this."

The sergeant pushed and dragged Bell into the well of the court. He glanced at Strong and Naomi, said, "Take a seat, Counselors."

Then he motioned for Frost to get down, said, "This man wants to testify."

The detective hesitated, but then climbed from the witness stand. Drummond said, "Sit there on the floor by the jury box."

Frost did as he was told. The sergeant maneuvered Marvin Bell into the chair and got behind him, keeping the gun at his head and dropping the rope so it dangled off the back of the chair.

"Sergeant, whoever you are," Judge Varney began, "and whatever problem you might have with Mr. Bell, this is not the way to address the-"

"With all due respect, Judge," Drummond said, "we are no longer in a court of law. This is truth-seeking where the ends justify the means."

Beside me, Bree typed on her phone and then held it up. I realized she was filming him. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Patty Converse and Pinkie Parks had gone wide-eyed.

What do we do? Pinkie mouthed.

"Not a thing," I whispered, and looked at my aunts, who were sitting forward in their chairs and raptly watching Drummond.

The sergeant peered around the courtroom as if he owned it, then focused on the jury box, said, "Wouldn't you just like to know what happened for once? No BS. The whole thing out in the open for you to judge?"

Despite their collective fear, several jury members nodded.

"I would too," Nana Mama whispered. "You know him, Alex?"

"Met him in Florida," I whispered. "He's a cop."

"What happened to his face?"

"First Gulf War."

I knew the source of the scarring, but what had happened to Drummond in the few days since I'd seen him? Why in G.o.d's name would he do something this rash? Destroy his career and reputation? His life?

I'd talked to Drummond about Marvin Bell and how frustrated I was at not being able to link him to the web of secrets we'd been uncovering in Starksville. And the sergeant had asked me about Bell several times. He'd done it on the phone that very morning. Drummond had obviously been close by when he called me. And Bell had never left the area. The sergeant had been holding him hostage somewhere, torturing him into a confession.

But why?

"We'll start at the beginning, Marvin, way, way back, more than thirty-five years," Drummond said. "You sold drugs in Starksville then, built a nice little business out of it, didn't you?"

"No," Marvin Bell said, sounding bewildered. "I-"

From out of nowhere, Drummond pulled out a small ball-peen hammer. He snapped it forward with power, speed, and accuracy. The round head of the hammer smashed into Bell's swollen left hand, and he howled in agony.

"Try again, Marvin," Drummond said, waving the hammer in Bell's peripheral vision. "You sold drugs. You built a gang."

"Yes," Marvin Bell whimpered. "I sold drugs. I built a gang."

"Here in Starksville?"

"Yes."

"Name of that gang?"

"The Company."

There it is, I thought. Bell started the Company. He's Grandfather.

Drummond said, "You had a ruthless business model, Marvin. Got people addicted on freebies until they were like your slaves. You had people killed. You killed people yourself."

"I never killed anyone," Marvin Bell said, crying. "I keep telling you that and you don't believe me."

CHAPTER 97.

"I DON'T BELIEVE you," Drummond said, wagging the hammer. "But we'll come back to that. You admit you made a lot of money dealing drugs?"

Marvin Bell looked from his hands to the hammer, and nodded sullenly.

"You laundered that money in legitimate businesses all around Starksville," Drummond went on.

Looking as if his world was ending, Bell said, "Yeah."

"But even after you'd bought the legit businesses, you didn't stay away from the drug trade, did you?"

Bell set his jaw as if he were going to argue, but then he shook his head.

"Course not," the sergeant said. "Moving c.o.ke and heroin and meth was just too lucrative. The money was almost too easy if you were smart about it. So one day you noticed the freight trains going back and forth all day and all night through Starksville, and thought, Why not use them? Why not expand? Am I summarizing your personal history correctly?"

Bell tried to move his hands and gasped before nodding.

"Yes," Drummond said. "You built a distribution network that stretches from Montreal to Miami?"

Again, Bell said, "Yes."

"And with all that money, you bought yourself an estate up on Pleasant Lake, a gorgeous beachfront place down on Hilton Head, and a condo in Aspen. Trips all over the world. Art collector. Isn't that right?"

He nodded.

"Got your adopted son, Finn Davis, involved too."

Bell swallowed, said, "Finn's part of it."

"Finn kill his ex-wife?" Drummond asked. "Sydney Fox?"

I heard a creak behind me as Pinkie sat forward.

Marvin Bell looked around the room as if desperate for someone to rescue him. Drummond lashed out again with the hammer, hit Bell's right hand. Bell let out a scream that shook everyone in the room except Drummond, who seemed calm, clinical.

"Answer the question, Marvin," the sergeant said. "Did Finn Davis shoot Sydney Fox?"

"Yes." Bell moaned.

"f.u.c.king knew it," Pinkie said, and he smacked his fist in his palm. "That sonofab.i.t.c.h."

"Why did he kill her?" Drummond asked.

"'Cause he hated her, and she needed killing."

"Why did Sydney Fox need killing?"

"Having been married to Finn, she suspected too much," Bell said. "And she was talking to Tate, who was poking around the train tracks. It was all no good, so he killed her."

Drummond asked, "Did Sydney Fox know about your supplier?"

Marvin Bell groaned and shifted in his chair, said, "No."

"Your distribution system got so big you were having trouble getting supply, especially methamphetamine, correct?" Drummond flipped the hammer in the air and caught it.

Marvin Bell flinched, said, "Yes."