Truman realized too late that it had been a mistake to invite Royce along to Joshua Forbes’s arraignment.
The young cop wouldn’t stop talking or asking questions. Sitting by Truman in the courthouse, Royce delivered a running commentary under his breath as the judge arraigned other defendants. Twice Truman had told him to be quiet, but the cop’s lips kept moving.
Truman was ready for the judge to ask Royce to leave.
Joshua sat at the front in the county jail’s bright-orange inmate clothing. His chin was up and his shoulders held stiffly back. He stood out from the other inmates, who slouched and stared at their feet. Truman hadn’t seen the sovereign citizen turn around, and he wondered if Joshua knew he was there.
The judge called Joshua Forbes.
“Finally,” Royce muttered.
Truman liked Judge Parks. The older man was direct and took no bullshit from lawyers or defendants. He’d already made one defendant cry that morning.
Joshua rose and stepped in front of the bench, his hands cuffed behind his back.
Judge Parks looked at him over his reading glasses. “You’ve got quite a list of charges here, Mr. Forbes. No license, no registration, speeding, resisting arrest. How do you plead?”
“I am not Joshua Forbes.”
Even from his seat in the back, Truman could see the gleam in the judge’s eye at Joshua’s statement. Joshua didn’t know what he was up against.
“Well, who are you?”
“I am the representative of Joshua Forbes. I’m here to challenge the jurisdiction of this court,” Joshua announced. “It has no authority over me.”
“What the hell?” Royce whispered.
Truman shushed him.
“Why is that, Mr. Forbes?” The judge’s tone was polite.
“This is a maritime admiralty court—”
“No, it’s not,” shot back the judge.
“Maritime?” Royce asked. “Does he mean like in the ocean?”
“I have no idea,” whispered Truman.
“Is this a common-law court?” Joshua asked.
“No.”
“I am not accountable to your laws.”
“The laws apply to everybody,” answered the judge.
“I am not a US citizen. I am sovereign under God.”
Royce started coughing uncontrollably, and Truman slapped him on the back, glancing at the judge. The judge was focused on Joshua.
The judge removed his reading glasses. “Is that a not-guilty plea on the charges?”
“I will not plead. I am only here to challenge jurisdiction.”
“When there is no plea, I enter a plea of not guilty for you,” said the judge. “Do you have an attorney to represent you at trial?”
“No. I will represent myself.”
“This court strongly recommends you have an attorney.”
“There is no need. I know my rights.”
The judge sighed. “Of course you do.” He proceeded to schedule a trial for Joshua and dismissed him.
Truman didn’t miss the stunned look on Joshua’s face.
“Did he really think the judge would dismiss the charges?” Royce whispered behind his hand to Truman.
“Of course he did. Just like he believed his diplomatic license gave him the right to drive however he wanted,” Truman answered. He stood. “We’re done here.”
“Mercy, you’ve got a visitor,” the FBI office manager, Melissa, stated as she stepped through Mercy’s open door.
“Who is it?” Mercy glanced up from her computer screen, where she’d been searching for information on the out-of-state murders that Grady Baldwin had told her about. They existed, but public details were scarce. She’d have to contact sources in both cities for more information.
“She wouldn’t give her name. But she’s got black hair and a Lab with her.”
Britta.
Mercy pushed back her chair and followed Melissa out front. Britta Vale sat in the small waiting area, Zara at her side. Again Mercy noted Britta’s constant stroking of the dog and wondered if the dog always accompanied her. Zara didn’t wear one of the service animal vests that Mercy always viewed with skepticism. Anyone could order a vest off the internet.
The tall woman was dressed for the rain in boots and a hooded jacket, her neck tattoo barely visible. Raindrops glittered on Zara’s fur, and she had wagged her tail as Mercy entered the room. Mercy greeted Britta and patted Zara’s head.
“Can I talk to you outside?” Britta asked as she glanced at Melissa, who’d returned to her desk behind a glass window.
“It’s raining,” said Mercy, curious as to what the woman wanted. “Why don’t you come to my office?”
“I’d rather not. Right outside the door is a covered area.”
Mercy agreed and buttoned up her thick cardigan as she followed Britta. Outdoors, the woman had a hard time looking Mercy in the eye. “What is it?” Mercy finally asked.
Britta took a breath and met Mercy’s gaze. “Someone was outside my home last night. Do you know who it was?”
Mercy stiffened. “No. What happened? Did they threaten you or do some damage?”
“Nothing happened. I think they left when Zara barked.” The woman’s throat moved as she swallowed. “I’d hoped you’d know if it was some sort of police investigation.”
“They would have come to your front door like I did. Why do you suspect the police?”
“I don’t. I just hoped . . . I don’t like to think of the alternative.” She bent over to rub Zara’s head.
“Tell me what happened,” Mercy ordered.
Grady Baldwin said his brother kept tabs on Britta through the internet. Has he changed to doing it in person?
“It was about two in the morning. Zara went crazy barking and jumping at the front door. I’d installed a lot of outside lights, so I have a good view right around the house. I looked out, expecting to see a coyote or cougar, but I didn’t see anything.” She swallowed again. “But I couldn’t see beyond the lighted area. It was pitch-dark last night.”
Mercy waited. She wouldn’t come to me with a possible coyote sighting.
“This morning, when I let Zara out, she immediately headed to the orchard on the east side of the house. I had her on a leash because I didn’t want her taking off after a cougar trail.”
“What did you find?”
“Boot prints under a tree. I don’t think they got any closer to the house than that.”
“That was plenty close. Could you see more tracks?”
“I followed them for a little bit, going in the direction of the main road, but then the prints disappeared because the rain washed them away except for right under the trees.”
“Did Zara try to follow the prints?”
“She led me all the way to the road, where she stopped. I think they parked on the road and walked in.”
“Someone knew exactly where they were going,” Mercy added.
It’s the right decision to contact Grady’s brother soon.
She was pleased Britta had come to her with her concern. Even if Britta didn’t admit it, on some level the woman trusted her. “How is the security at your home?”
“The best. It’s the one thing I sank money into before moving in. I don’t rent a place unless the owner agrees that I can add new locks, outside lights, and a security system. I need it for peace of mind.”
Mercy understood the turmoil on Britta’s face. She had her own needs for peace of mind. Knowing that her cabin wasn’t rebuilt yet was giving her a low level of constant stress. The supplies are still up there. And makeshift sleeping quarters.
But it wasn’t the same as the solid four walls of her cabin.
“What are you going to do?” Mercy asked.
Frustration crossed Britta’s face. “I don’t want to move again already. I’m prepared to protect myself if needed.”
Mercy frowned. “Britta . . . do you have a suspicion of who it was?”
“No.”
Her answer was too quick for Mercy. And most people wouldn’t consider moving just because they’d found the footprints of a prowler. She decided to take a risk. “Britta, have you ever been contacted by Grady Baldwin?”
Her gaze flew to Mercy’s, and Mercy knew she was about to lie. But Britta pressed her lips together for several seconds. “A long time ago he sent letters to my aunt. I was still a kid. My aunt didn’t tell me about them, but I found them. I think she reported them to the police, because they stopped.”
“You didn’t tell your aunt you found them?”
“No.”
“What did Grady write?”
Britta looked away. “He wanted me to tell the truth about what I’d seen that night. He believed I knew things that would set him free.”
“Do you?”
She met Mercy’s gaze again. “No. I remember nothing.” She zipped up her jacket a few inches to her chin and rearranged her grip on Zara’s leash.
“I think we should talk inside,” suggested Mercy.
“No. It was stifling in there. The rooms are too small.”
Mercy agreed. Both the waiting area and her office were definitely not roomy. “How many times have you moved since the murders?” She knew the answer, but she wanted to open the subject with Britta.
Britta’s brows came together. “Why?”
“I’m trying to understand what your life has been like.” Grady Baldwin’s claims of similar murders in those other cities went through Mercy’s head. She wasn’t about to mention them to Britta before she finished investigating.
Britta raised one shoulder in a dismissive gesture. “I haven’t kept count.”
“You told me before that you move when you feel uneasy in a location. Were your other homes approached like last night?”
The woman paused, holding Mercy’s gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Why would someone do that?”
“I’m a single woman living alone, although I’ve lived with other people at times in the past.”
“Both.”
“Did they think there had been prowlers?”
“No one ever saw anything, but everyone always agreed it was possible because we lived in suburban areas. This is the first time I’ve lived out in the country.”
“Are you armed?”
“Besides my rifle, I own a handgun and keep it beside my bed. I practice once a month.”
Mercy wasn’t surprised.
“Did you figure out the identities of the remains you found?” Britta asked. “The ones with the . . . damaged skulls?”
“Not yet.” Mercy watched her closely. The identification of the children hadn’t been released to the press yet.
“I can’t get the thought of them out of my head,” Britta said angrily. “Why did you tell me about them the other day?” Accusation shot from her tone and gaze.
“I can’t stop thinking about them either,” Mercy admitted. “You know I told you in hopes that you could help us out. The way they were murdered was too similar . . .” To your family.
“I know nothing. I knew nothing as a ten-year-old, and I know nothing today.” Desperation permeated her tone.
The emphasis of Britta’s words struck Mercy’s bullshit meter. Britta was trying too hard to make her point.
Grady Baldwin was right. What is she scared of?