Read Online Trial by Fury (9780061754715) by Judith A. Jance - Free Book Online Page A

long enough to hear my introductory remarks, then left when Peters and I started our routine questioning process.
    It took all afternoon to work our way through the group, one at a time. It was a case of patient prodding. The kids were understandably hesitant to talk to us. Candace Wynn, the guidance counselor, hovered anxiously on the sidelines.
    Peters was a lot more understanding about that than I was. I had no patience with what I viewed as a direct impediment to our conducting a thorough investigation. As a consequence, we split the room by sex. I talked to the boys, the team members, and Peters dealt with the girls, the cheerleaders—helpless chicks to Mrs. Wynn’s clucking mother hen. At least it kept her out of my hair.
    Surprisingly, in spite of all that, we did get a few answers fairly early on. One of the first team members I interviewed was a gangly kid named Bob Payson, captain of the basketball team. I asked him if he had noticed anything unusual about Darwin Ridley’s behavior the night of the game.
    Payson didn’t hesitate for a moment. “It was like he was real worried or upset or something.”
    â€œHe was preoccupied?” I asked.
    Payson nodded.
    â€œBefore the game? After it? During?”
    â€œThe whole time,” Payson answered. “He was waiting at the gate when the team bus got there.”
    â€œThe gate?”
    â€œTo Seattle Center. The team buses all stop at that gate there on Republican.”
    â€œAcross from Bailey’s Foods?”
    Payson nodded. “That’s right.”
    â€œHe didn’t ride on the bus with the team?”
    â€œThat was weird, too. Always before he rode the bus, but not this time.”
    My ears pricked up at that. Something out of the ordinary. Something different in the victim’s way of doing things the night of the murder. Most human beings are creatures of habit. They don’t like change, they actively resist it wherever possible. A change in Darwin Ridley’s behavior the night he died might well be connected to his murder.
    â€œSo he didn’t ride the bus, and he seemed worried when you saw him?”
    â€œYeah. He was looking up and down the street like he was waiting for someone. He told us to go on in and suit up, that he’d be inside in a minute.”
    â€œWas he?”
    â€œNo. He didn’t come in for a long time. In fact, he got to the dressing room just before we had to go out and warm up. He didn’t even have time to give us our pep talk.”
    â€œThat was unusual?”
    â€œYou’d better believe it.”
    â€œHe was a good coach?”
    â€œThe best.”
    â€œSo what happened during the game?”
    â€œWe were leading by two points at halftime. He talked to us then, told us we were doing great.” Payson paused.
    â€œAnd then?” I prompted.
    He frowned. “Just before time to go back on court, someone came to the door and talked to him.”
    â€œDid you see who it was?”
    â€œNo. They knocked. He opened the door and talked through the crack to whoever it was. After they left, he went over and sat down on one of the benches. He told us to go on, that he’d be out in a minute. He looked real upset.”
    â€œThere wasn’t anyone in the hallway when you went out?”
    â€œNo. At least I didn’t see anybody.”
    â€œAnd did he come right out?”
    â€œI don’t know exactly when, but it was after the half started.”
    â€œThat was unusual?”
    â€œI told you. Coach Ridley was a good coach. He never missed part of a game before that, as far as I know.”
    â€œWhat about after the game?”
    â€œWe were pissed.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œThe ref made a bad call in the last two seconds. They won by two points. On free throws.”
    Payson was suddenly quiet. He sat there fingering the intertwined M and I emblazoned in white felt on his maroon letterman’s jacket. He seemed close