Chapter 22: The Stand

The trial opened on a Monday, and I had been on the stand all of Tuesday.

On Wednesday I sat in the gallery with Sadie's shoulder against mine and listened to the driver.

He wore a borrowed suit, and he kept his sling on, and he looked at the jury when he spoke.

"Mr. Dane told me to skip the brake service," he said. "He gave me ten thousand dollars to keep quiet."

"Did he tell you which road to take that morning?" the prosecutor asked.

"The night before, on my own phone. The bridge ramp."

"Why?"

"He said the other road was being repaired."

"Was it?"

"No, sir. It had been open for weeks."

The prosecutor held up a page.

"This is your call log, and it shows a four-minute call from Mr. VanHorne's number at 9:12 the night before. Is that the call?"

"Yes."

The jury leaned forward as a group.

Dane's lawyer stood for the cross.

"You were paid, weren't you? Ten thousand dollars."

"Yes."

"You took the money, and then you kept quiet for three weeks."

"Yes, I did."

"You're a man who can be bought."

"I was," the driver said. "I'm not for sale today. The company put my pension in a trust, and I'd say it the same if they hadn't."

"Objection," the lawyer said, without much heart.

"Overruled," the judge said. "The jury heard it."

At the defense table, Dane sat with his chin on his hand, and he didn't look at the witness.

He looked at Joanna in the front row.

She sat very straight in a plain navy suit, with her hands folded in her lap.

She did not look at him.

The prosecutor rested at four o'clock.

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