Free Deadly Charade by Virna Depaul Page A

a few months ago. But that wasn’t what she did.
    As the bed sheets started to catch fire with her still on top of him, Toby screamed, “Why? Why are you doing this?”
    Why? Her brow crinkled when the lick of heat against her skin made her gasp.
    Once again she thought of the man who’d sold her the Rapture.
    She shrugged. “Why not?”

Chapter 11
    S everal days after visiting Tony in the jail infirmary, Linda sat in the courtroom audience as Neil handled Tony’s preliminary hearing. While Neil questioned one of the responding officers, Tony sat with his defense attorney, Roger Lock, a man who had an impressive reputation for getting his clients off the hook. At this point in the proceedings, however, Lock’s skill was hardly necessary. Neil simply had to establish probable cause that Tony committed murder so the court could hold him over for trial. As soon as the judge learned about Tony’s confession, that standard would be met.
    “Who discovered the weapon on the defendant?” Neil asked.
    Scott Anderson, a baby-faced police officer, leaned toward the mic, his gun belt creaking softly. “The EMTs. They were there when my partner and I arrived and were already working on the defendant, who was unconscious. They pointed out the weapon they’d found on the defendant’s person.”
    Linda glanced at Tony. He sat sprawled out and loose limbed in his chair, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Nonetheless he seemed unusually subdued. Was he still feeling the effects of Moser’s beating? Was he in unbearable pain? Or was he so high on painkillers that he really was lost in his own world?
    “Who took possession of the weapon?”
    “I did. I bagged it. Took photos of the defendant before he was transported to the hospital.”
    Neil had the officer authenticate the wrench and then continued with his direct examination.
    “Was anyone besides Mr. Cooper there?”
    “There was a dead body. Of a man later identified as Mark Guapo.”
    Neil stopped to pull out some photographs, which he then marked. “Your Honor, I’d like to mark these photographs as People’s Exhibits 7 and 8.”
    “They will be so marked,” the judge said.
    “Now, Officer, in Exhibit 7, is this the man, Mark Guapo, you’re referring to?”
    Anderson studied the picture that Neil held out. Linda knew what that photo looked like—not pretty. “Yes.”
    “Did you take this photograph?”
    “Yes.”
    “Does this photograph accurately represent the man’s condition that night?”
    “Yes.”
    Neil held out another picture. “And in this picture, Exhibit 8, is this the man you found unconscious?”
    “Yes.”
    “Was the man injured?”
    “Yes.”
    “Can you please tell us if those injuries are reflected in the photographs?”
    Once again Linda looked to Tony. This time he lifted his chin and stared at her, a tight line in his jaw. But his eyes didn’t hold the same anger and insouciance they’d held the first time she’d seen him in court. He looked away again.
    The officer pointed out the injuries as he spoke. “He had trauma to his head and leg. He was bleeding from both.”
    “And it appears you’ve taken a close-up of those injuries in Exhibit 8, correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “Okay. Now, do you recognize the man in those pictures in the courtroom today?”
    “Yes.”
    “Please identify him for us.”
    “He’s sitting at the table with defense counsel. Wearing the orange jumpsuit.”
    The officer pointed at Tony. The bruises he’d sustained from the other inmate’s attack stood out, adding to the picture of a career criminal in the making.
    A twinge of pain passed through Linda as if her body experienced his pain in sympathy.
    “Your Honor, may the record reflect that the officer has identified the defendant?” Neil requested.
    “The record will so reflect,” the judge said.
    “Thank you, Your Honor.” Neil walked to his table, took a sip of water then turned back to face the witness. “At some point, Officer, did