The Dark (A Detective Alice Madison Novel)(113)

“Mr. Newton, where is your case?” the judge asked him.

“Your Honor, have you seen the records of the injuries inflicted on Mr. Salinger?”


John Cameron sat at the defense table. There were two guards by the side door, one by the door to the corridor. The stenographer stole a glance at him every so often, then quickly lowered his eyes.

All these people have done wrong today, he reflected, was to wake up and come to work.


“I have seen the pictures, Mr. Newton. What is your point?” Judge Martin said.

“There was an extreme use of violence not warranted by—”

“He was defending himself,” Quinn interrupted him. “Was any kind of weapon found on my client at all?”

“No.”

“Was there any weapon recovered at the crime scene?” the judge asked Newton.

Newton sighed. “A handgun with Mr. Salinger’s prints was found on the scene.” It was almost too painful to continue. “And a hunting knife with Mr. Salinger’s prints was also found nearby.”

Quinn turned to the judge. “Detective Madison’s testimony says that there were stains on Salinger’s shirt that appeared to be blood—the blood of the little boy who had been kidnapped. And all the weapons on the scene belonged to Mr. Salinger. What do you think was the state of mind of my client at that point? He was trying to stop a murderer from running away and ended up fighting for his life. That was the only intent.”

“What does Mr. Salinger say about all this, if anything?” Judge Martin asked Newton.

“He says he didn’t put up a fight at all.”

The statements had been taken; Quinn had read them. “What else, Scott?” he said.

“Counselor?” The judge was fast reaching the end of an already extremely short tether.

“In his statement my client says that he didn’t start fighting Mr. Cameron until he realized that Mr. Cameron did not intend to kill him as he had hoped he would.”

“He fought him so that Mr. Cameron would kill him in the fight?”

The prosecution attorney nodded.

Judge Martin looked from one to the other. She was angry about at least twelve different things going on with this case, and nothing was worse to her than the feeling of justice not being properly served in her court.

“Give me something, Mr. Newton. Right now. I’m begging you,” she said. “Anything.”


Time had stretched brittle and thin, and John Cameron waited in his seat. He waited because his desire to be away from these walls came up against his trust in Nathan Quinn, and the next step, once taken, was irreversible.

The door opened, and the judge and the attorneys returned to their places. Quinn looked blank and ashen; then again, so did Scott Newton.

Quinn turned to Cameron and nodded.

“This case is dismissed, and Mr. Cameron is free to go, Mr. Newton,” Judge Martin said. “Not a great day for the office of the King County’s Prosecutor, I’d say. This case should have never gotten this far with what you had. And what you didn’t have, you should have found by now. Mr. Quinn?”

“Your Honor.”

“I’d congratulate you on winning your case, but you didn’t win it—they lost it. It was a mess from start to finish, and you just turned up today and told me all about it. But I will congratulate you on still being alive. Today that’s all you get from me.” Judge Martin stood to leave. “Mr. Cameron, I’m not really sure what to say to you, except that I hope I’ll never see you in my court again.”


John Cameron and Nathan Quinn left the courthouse and went directly to the underground parking lot where Quinn had left his car. Neither one of them said a word.

When they stopped at the traffic lights on 5th Avenue, Cameron wound down his window and stretched his hand out into the freezing rain, so sharp against his skin and so welcome.





Chapter 53





Deputy Warden Will Thomas replaced the handset on the telephone. The call had been from the Inmate Transport Department, which had in turn received a call from the Seattle courthouse to say their van would be coming back minus its prisoner and they’d have one more empty cell tonight. The paperwork would follow.

Will Thomas sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was not a man who had ever looked for the easy ride in his life, for the paycheck with medical and the weekends off but, sweet Jesus, was he glad to be rid of that man.

That detective had been right: no one had really incarcerated or caged him; he had just stayed with them for as long as it pleased him. And now he was gone, and so was the infernal drumming. And even the violent incidents would go back to their usual numbers in a couple of days.