False Witness Read Online Free
Author: Scott Cook
covering this thing is the one guy who’s not allowed to.”
“Flattery will get you a beer later,” said Alex, trying to sound cooler than he felt. “Assuming Hodge doesn’t walk out of here a free man and look up my address. If that’s the case, I’m pretty sure I’m booked for a radical tonsillectomy via my rectum tonight.”
Chuck slapped a handful of knobby fingers off the back of Alex’s head. The look on Chuck’s face was one Alex had seen often during the trial and the weeks leading up to it – that look said Sgt. Charles MacRae Palliser was in hardass cop mode, and all bullshit was to be set aside immediately.
He pointed a finger at Alex’s nose. “What’d I say?”
Alex sighed. “That I’ve got nothing to worry about?”
“Don’t say it like that, like you don’t believe me. I told you, Hodge is going down. Period.”
“Look, Chuck, no disrespect, I owe you a lot, but it’s easy for you to say there’s nothing to worry about – you carry a gun. I carry a pen, and contrary to what a certain proverb might lead you to believe, it’s really not mightier than a sword. As a matter of fact, it’s pretty goddamn flimsy.”
Palliser opened his mouth to answer but Singer spoke first. “I agree with Charles,” she said distractedly. “The verdict is guilty. But now is not the time to be discussing the matter.” She extended a pudgy arm and gently moved Alex and Palliser back towards the wall as the crowd of reporters parted.
Singer had seen what the other two hadn’t: four heavily fortified guards were escorting Rufus Hodge to Courtroom One to learn what the Queen, via her servant Gregory Larocque, had up her dusty old sleeve for his future. Alex felt his pulse quicken and tasted the coppery tang of adrenaline in his mouth. This was the closest he’d ever been to the man who had executed Tom Ferbey right in front of him. Even now, months later, Alex would pitch upright in bed in the middle of the night, a silent scream hissing out of his dry throat, the image of Ferbey’s vaporized face etched indelibly into his mind’s eye.
Time slowed in Alex’s mind as Hodge and his entourage came within easy striking distance. He heard Chuck bark something about the guards being stupid motherfuckers, but it seemed as if the sound was traveling through water instead of air. The sense of time moving like molasses deepened as the guards pulled Hodge by his arms to the other side of the hallway.
Hodge swiveled his head to face Alex. He’d seen the killer’s face a hundred times before, but never this close; at this range, Alex could see the relief map of scar tissue on Hodge’s high forehead, the deep furrows under his eyes and on his cheeks, the pock marks and pits that whispered “you should see the other guy.” His shoulder-length rat-brown had been pulled back from his high forehead in a ponytail for the occasion.
Hodge locked his gaze with Alex for only a moment, but it was enough to slide a rusty blade of fear into his belly. Hodge’s eyes were the color of lead. If the eyes are the windows of the soul , Alex thought, this guy’s got a nuclear winter blowing through the spot where his is supposed to be. Hodge finally turned to face front again, but before he broke eye contact, Alex thought he might have seen something in that gray gaze – but what?
Before he could give it any more thought, Chuck was ushering him into the seating area of the courtroom while Singer shuffled over to the prosecutor’s table. Hodge was led to the prisoner’s dock, where he could watch the proceedings behind a wall of Plexiglass.
Chuck gave Alex a wink and chucked him lightly on the shoulder as they sat down.
“Look sharp,” he said with a grin. “It’s showtime.”
#
Bike gang leader gets life for murder
Hero reporter pleased with sentence for man who shot security guard in front of him
By Sam Walsh
Exclusive to The Chronicle
Alex Dunn will sleep easier tonight knowing that Rufus Hodge, the
“Flattery will get you a beer later,” said Alex, trying to sound cooler than he felt. “Assuming Hodge doesn’t walk out of here a free man and look up my address. If that’s the case, I’m pretty sure I’m booked for a radical tonsillectomy via my rectum tonight.”
Chuck slapped a handful of knobby fingers off the back of Alex’s head. The look on Chuck’s face was one Alex had seen often during the trial and the weeks leading up to it – that look said Sgt. Charles MacRae Palliser was in hardass cop mode, and all bullshit was to be set aside immediately.
He pointed a finger at Alex’s nose. “What’d I say?”
Alex sighed. “That I’ve got nothing to worry about?”
“Don’t say it like that, like you don’t believe me. I told you, Hodge is going down. Period.”
“Look, Chuck, no disrespect, I owe you a lot, but it’s easy for you to say there’s nothing to worry about – you carry a gun. I carry a pen, and contrary to what a certain proverb might lead you to believe, it’s really not mightier than a sword. As a matter of fact, it’s pretty goddamn flimsy.”
Palliser opened his mouth to answer but Singer spoke first. “I agree with Charles,” she said distractedly. “The verdict is guilty. But now is not the time to be discussing the matter.” She extended a pudgy arm and gently moved Alex and Palliser back towards the wall as the crowd of reporters parted.
Singer had seen what the other two hadn’t: four heavily fortified guards were escorting Rufus Hodge to Courtroom One to learn what the Queen, via her servant Gregory Larocque, had up her dusty old sleeve for his future. Alex felt his pulse quicken and tasted the coppery tang of adrenaline in his mouth. This was the closest he’d ever been to the man who had executed Tom Ferbey right in front of him. Even now, months later, Alex would pitch upright in bed in the middle of the night, a silent scream hissing out of his dry throat, the image of Ferbey’s vaporized face etched indelibly into his mind’s eye.
Time slowed in Alex’s mind as Hodge and his entourage came within easy striking distance. He heard Chuck bark something about the guards being stupid motherfuckers, but it seemed as if the sound was traveling through water instead of air. The sense of time moving like molasses deepened as the guards pulled Hodge by his arms to the other side of the hallway.
Hodge swiveled his head to face Alex. He’d seen the killer’s face a hundred times before, but never this close; at this range, Alex could see the relief map of scar tissue on Hodge’s high forehead, the deep furrows under his eyes and on his cheeks, the pock marks and pits that whispered “you should see the other guy.” His shoulder-length rat-brown had been pulled back from his high forehead in a ponytail for the occasion.
Hodge locked his gaze with Alex for only a moment, but it was enough to slide a rusty blade of fear into his belly. Hodge’s eyes were the color of lead. If the eyes are the windows of the soul , Alex thought, this guy’s got a nuclear winter blowing through the spot where his is supposed to be. Hodge finally turned to face front again, but before he broke eye contact, Alex thought he might have seen something in that gray gaze – but what?
Before he could give it any more thought, Chuck was ushering him into the seating area of the courtroom while Singer shuffled over to the prosecutor’s table. Hodge was led to the prisoner’s dock, where he could watch the proceedings behind a wall of Plexiglass.
Chuck gave Alex a wink and chucked him lightly on the shoulder as they sat down.
“Look sharp,” he said with a grin. “It’s showtime.”
#
Bike gang leader gets life for murder
Hero reporter pleased with sentence for man who shot security guard in front of him
By Sam Walsh
Exclusive to The Chronicle
Alex Dunn will sleep easier tonight knowing that Rufus Hodge, the
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