Stone Cold: Rebecca Watson Crime Thriller, #1

By James Glass

Detective Rebecca Watson is tracking a vicious serial killer in Eugene Falls, Florida. As a distraction, she's dragged back into court for the retrial of a man convicted of murdering his girlfriend five years earlier. His defense attorney will use any means to get his client freed, including uncovering old wounds from Watson's past.

As the case takes a few hard turns, nothing can prepare her for the world she's about to encounter, the past that haunts her, and the truth behind the serial killer's motive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gritty Crime Thrillers
• Release date: Mar 19, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224381128

James Glass

James Glass retired from the United States Navy after 22 years of service. After retiring, he exchanged his rifle for a pen. He and his family moved back to the Florida Panhandle. He’s married and has two children. James is also the President of the Panhandle Writer's Group.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Friday, 9:45 a.m.

But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.

~James 3:8

The worst part about waiting to testify is I spend the entire time terrified the lawyers will uncover some huge mistake that screams how lazy and incompetent I am. I tell myself a hundred different ways that I always do the best I can...but I don't really listen.

After so many appearances in court you’d think I’d have no problem when it comes time to testify. But it never fails. Every time the bailiff comes to get me from this small waiting room, the cycle begins.

The door swung open and a big woman with a horsey face and short gray hair enters. Her uniform hugs her well-nourished figure. The web belt is off- center and sags to her right, the holster almost resting on her thigh. She looks directly at me and I’m waiting to see if her voice sounds like John Wayne.

Detective Rebecca Watson? she asks in a soft voice.

That’s me. I wipe my sweaty palms on my black slacks.

Like clockwork, my stomach twists into a knot, pushing its contents toward my throat as I stand and follow her into the courtroom.

****

The courtroom is overflowing with spectators and media. Knees trembling, my high heels echo off the marble floor as I approach the witness stand, carrying a red binder, also known as a murder book. Today is going to be a very tough day. This is no ordinary case. The Florida Supreme Court awarded Leonard Lee Lucius a new trial or whatever verbiage they used. Some crap about tainted evidence. Anyway, his new defense team argued a crucial piece of evidence, the knife used to kill his girlfriend, Teri Goodson, was exposed to foreign fibers after being collected from the crime scene and before being signed into the evidence locker.

Apparently, neither the jurors nor his lawyers saw fit to argue this point during the previous trial. The jury found him guilty. The District Attorney sought the death penalty, but Lucius ended up with life.

All eyes in the courtroom focus on me. I keep my head straight to avoid their stares. As I step closer to the witness stand, it feels like I’m the one on trial. This isn’t true, but I can’t wrap my head around the fact they’re judging me, even before being sworn in.

Chapter 2

10:00 a.m.

The bailiff swore me in. My right knee trembled. I have a ruby birthstone where my wedding band used to be. Sometimes, like now, when I’m nervous I twist it around my finger.

I took a deep breath to try and calm my nerves. Two people are sitting at the defense table. One is old enough to be my grandfather, or Santa Claus, by his obese appearance, but his real name is Nicholas Crane. Instead of wearing red and white, he sported a charcoal suit that looked like it would cost more than my annual salary, but the suit couldn’t hide his jelly-rolled neck. The man next to him is the defendant. I haven’t laid eyes on Leonard Lee Lucius in five years. Prison hadn’t been kind to the man. Good.

He shaved his head, since the last time I’d seen him. He was bawling his eyes out as the bailiff and two other officers of the court dragged his sorry ass off to prison. I wondered if the decision to go bald was his idea—give the illusion of being tougher while incarcerated.

The lines on his forehead seemed more prominent than I remembered and his arms were much bigger, as they bulged through the sleeves of his navy-blue suit, a loaner no doubt from his hotshot attorney. His thumb and forefinger rubbed the salt and pepper hairs of a well-trimmed goatee as he and his lawyer seemed to be joking around. I wondered if their banter was staged, to make him appear less threatening to the jury.

Looking at Lucius and his shitty grin only intensified the knot in my gut. All the deepest, darkest fears of that night five years ago remind me of the animal he is and always will be. No matter how much a person tries to change, you can’t disguise a turd. My interpretation of course, but hopefully the jury would come to the same conclusion.

The prosecutor, Veronica Theriot, nicknamed the Raginʼ Cajun stood at the other table. She’s a no- nonsense kind of gal. I’m not sure if you follow boxing, but the Raginʼ Cajun held the title for several years, until a number of injuries over time knocked her off her game. Although she doesn’t box anymore, Theriot fights crime in the courtroom.

She flipped through several pages of a yellow notepad then looked at me. Although we previously went over the testimony, butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Not because I have anything to hide, I never do. I don’t have a clue what Saint Nicholas has up his sleeve.

I’ve been an expert witness for a number of years, and the one thing I’ve learned is no matter how much you think you know, words can always be twisted. In the end, it all depended on who played whom.

Trials have always reminded me of playing chess. Each side begins with opening statements. Then the prosecutor plays its strategy through evidence, each piece vital to capturing the defendant’s king.

The defense, however, tries to maneuver each

piece, knocking down the prosecutor’s strategy by striking back with its own countermoves, penetrating weaknesses in the witnesses, and going in for the win— checkmate.

Right now I feel like a pawn, used to set up the next move. I hope I’m not sacrificed before the day is over.

Theriot smiled at me. She doesn’t show signs of aging, despite her prominent chin and a nose that snakes up her face from years of boxing. Her gaze shifted to the jury. I feel at ease as their eyes move from me to the prosecutor.

A soft hum echoes above me and to the left as a white screen rolls down from the ceiling. The lights dim in the courtroom. Gasps emit softly from the spectators as a gruesome photo appears on the screen.

Detective Watson, the prosecutor says in a soft voice, can you please tell us what this picture represents?

I focus on a mangled body of a woman. She wore a white-T-shirt, several sizes too big, faded jeans and pale strawberry socks. The clothes are stained with blood. She lay on her back, her bronze hair fanned out with dried bloodstains on her ears, nose, and mouth. Her right leg is bent at a right angle. The left side of her face was crushed, a partial boot print embedded in her skin. The left eye had been knocked from the socket, the tendons keeping it from falling to the floor. Her right hand gripped a piece of green cloth.

My gaze shifted to the jury. I could tell by their twisted faces this is the first time most of them had seen a dead body. I turned my head and stared at Lucius. Although the courtroom is dim, the screen emitted enough light for me to recognize the same crappy grin on his face moments earlier. I’m not sure anyone else can see it, but I know this man relishes his handiwork on display.

I look down and notice my knee stopped shaking. For the first time since being sworn in, I feel like everything will be okay.

I turn my focus to the screen. This is a photo taken at the crime scene.

So we’re clear, Detective Watson, who is the woman in the picture?

Ms. Teri Goodson. She was Leonard Lee Lucius’ girlfriend.

Crane stood. Objection, Your Judgeship. Calls for speculation on behalf of the witness.

Your Judgeship? Really? I had to stifle a laugh.

The judge, John Meeks, is a large black man and even in the subdued light, I can make out his pock- marked face. He took a deep breath and exhaled. I’ve been in Meeks’s courtroom many times and know he only does this when he’s losing his patience. His only rule is to speed things along. Don’t muck up his trial. Apparently, Crane didn’t get the memo or didn’t care.

The judge said, Sustained, then looked at the jury. You will disregard the witness’s statement.

The defense lawyer sat and scribbled something on a yellow legal pad. I was certain the notes had nothing to do with his objection, but some of the jurors might think he scored a point. Then again, I could be wrong.

Veronica nodded at the magistrate and then turned to me. How do you know Ms. Goodson was the defendant’s girlfriend?

I cleared my throat. We were told by several neighbors as well as some of her coworkers. Thank you, Detective. Please continue.

We discovered a green T-shirt, with a piece torn off at the bottom, in a trashcan several houses down the street. Strawberry dots spattered the front of the shirt. DNA analysis identified these dots as blood belonging to two people. The victim and the defendant, Leonard Lee Lucius.

Were you able to find the missing part of the T- shirt?

I pulled out a small pen light from a pocket and pressed a button. A red dot illuminated on the screen.

Yes. The cloth clutched in Ms. Goodson’s right hand is a match to the shirt we recovered in the garbage.

How do you think it got there?

Crane raised a hand. Objection. Calls for speculation.

Veronica pointed to me. Detective Watson is an expert witness in murder investigations. I believe her testimony to be based on facts, not speculation as the defense stated.

It seemed odd to me Veronica even asked the question. The techs in the crime lab were the real experts on the shirt, but I’m sure she had her reasons, even if she failed to clue me in before court began. Don’t make me your pawn.

Meeks pressed his lips together, thinking. Overruled. He stared down at me from his seat. You may answer the question.

I took a moment to formulate my thoughts. She struggled with her assailant as she fought for her life. Somehow she managed to grab the shirt and tore a piece.

Was the crime lab able to verify the torn piece of cloth and the shirt were a match?

Yes.

She picked up two plastic bags. I’d like to enter A1 and A2 into evidence.

The judge looked at the defense who didn’t object.

I spent the next two hours going over numerous crime scene photos, evidence, and the interrogation of Lucius. The prosecution and defense argued points through objections, the judge ruling about 50-50 across the board. If either the prosecutor or defense were upset by some of the rulings, they didn’t show any signs.

What type of weapon did the killer use to kill the deceased?

Crane lumbered to his feet. Objection!

Meeks instructed the bailiff to escort the jury out of the courtroom. Once they were gone, he wagged a finger at the prosecutor. Are you trying for a mistrial, Ms. Theriot? The weapon has been ruled inadmissible by the Florida Supreme Court.

No, sir. I’m simply asking if the medical examiner identified the murder weapon.

You do realize this opens the defense to ask questions that could no doubt hurt your case.

We understand, Your Honor, but we believe even without the murder weapon we have a strong enough case to convict.

Meeks raised a brow. Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. The bailiff returned, and the judge instructed him to bring the jury back.

****

Once everyone was seated, Meeks said, Overruled.

I wished Veronica hadn’t asked me the question because I knew the prosecution would have a field day with me. It certainly seemed like I was a pawn all right, but for how much longer?

Yes, I said, rubbing my palms on my black slacks. It was an involuntary reaction. Maybe the jurors didn’t notice my nervousness. The medical examiner indicated in the autopsy report a knife slashed Teri Goodson’s throat.

Did the ME provide any evidence that could be useful in verifying the knife used to murder Teri Goodson?

Crane raised his hands, palms out. Objection, Your Judgeship!

Meeks closed his eyes. I’m not a lawyer, but I’ve been in enough trials to know it’s not a good sign when the judge does this. Apparently, Veronica threw a curveball and the defense might hit it out of the park. But one thing I know about her is she never asks a question she didn’t already know the answer to.

Meeks opened his eyes; a vein bulged in his forehead as he glared at the prosecutor. He instructed the bailiff to again escort the jury out of the courtroom.

Crane wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. The Florida Supreme Court ruled the knife inadmissible. Now the prosecution is trying to backdoor the jury by feeding them evidence that’s fruit of the poisonous tree.

The judge raised a brow. I don’t need you telling me something I already know, Counselor. Meeks turned his attention to the prosecutor. I hope you’re not aiming for a mistrial on the first day of court, Ms. Theriot. Because we discussed this not even a minute ago.

Actually it felt more like three, but I didn’t think this was the time to discuss semantics with the judge. I’m certain correcting Meeks right now might earn me contempt.

No, Your Honor.

He pointed the gavel at her. Then enlighten us. "The Florida Supreme Court did rule the knife

inadmissible. I’m not arguing the fact nor am I aiming for a mistrial. However, during the autopsy the medical examiner removed a sliver of metal from the victim. The lab identified this as the tip of the murder weapon. Although we can’t use the knife, the court does not prohibit us from using this evidence."

A smile almost curled up the judge’s lips. Very good, Counselor. Overruled.

Crane shot from his seat, huffing. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or out of breath from so much exercise behind his table. Stand, sit. Stand, sit. Resembled an aerobics class. You can’t be serious, Your Judgeship. If the knife is inadmissible then this evidence the medical examiner collected must be also.

Meeks pressed his lips together and pointed the gavel at the defense table. Counselor! You will check your attitude at the door. My courtroom is a temple of decorum and I do not tolerate insolence.

Crane’s eyes darted to the floor. Too bad the jury wasn’t here to see this. I started to feel like I’d been promoted from pawn to queen. My anxiety which had been lingering like a knot in my throat seemed to fade with each passing second. Could it be I was finally overcoming the stress of feeling like a failure, a fraud in the courtroom? I hoped so, but only time would tell. Yes, Your Judgeship.

He set the gavel on the bench. Your objection is overruled because the evidence the medical examiner collected was not tainted. Now if there’s nothing else to discuss, I’d like to continue.

Both lawyers remained silent.

Lucius turned and spoke to a woman behind him in the gallery. She brushed back her wavy brown hair and smiled. Her face looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. She was older, but not his mother. I recalled she died of cancer six months after his conviction.

Good. Meeks turned to the bailiff. Bring the jury in.

Once the jurors were back, the judge had the court stenographer read the last question. I knew he did this to start right where we’d left off. When she finished, the judge said, Overruled.

Okay, Theriot began. Where did the medical examiner find the sliver of metal in the victim?

In Teri Goodson’s spine.

And was this evidence sent to the crime lab? Yes.

Did the lab provide an analysis on the origin of the evidence?

Yes.

And what did it state?

I opened the murder book, flipped to a page tabbed ‘Crime Lab’ written in black ink and removed a page. That the sliver of metal was the tip of a blade.

Does it provide specific details as to a brand or type of knife?

"Yes. The piece we recovered is part of a set of kitchen knives.ˮ I named the brand.

Veronica scrunched her nose. That’s a strange name brand. Is there anything unique about them?

Yes. They only make precision cutlery used by chefs.

Wow. Sounds expensive. How much do they cost?

This particular set is the classic twenty-two-piece mega knife set. They run about sixteen-hundred dollars.

She turned to the jury box and whistled softly. Sixteen-hundred dollars. Did I hear that clearly, Detective Watson?

Yes.

Wait, didn’t you mention these were used by chefs?

Yes.

And what was the defendant Leonard Lee Lucius’ employment at the time of his arrest?

He was the chef at Turtles.

Were there any knives discovered in the kitchen of the defendant’s home?

Yes. My gaze moved toward the defense table. I expected Crane to object, but the lawyer jotted notes on a legal pad. Lucius sat rigid with his arms crossed. The smug look he wore like a badge of honor when I had entered the courtroom earlier was replaced with an upside-down grin, his face scrunched like a fist. Throw some makeup on him and you’d have one terrifying- looking clown. His eyes met mine and I felt a sudden, soul-shattering chill. The man didn’t look human. Could it be I was staring into the eyes of pure evil? Something seemed off, but my mind couldn’t grasp any connection. Maybe the defense wanted to scare me. If so, it worked. I blinked several times as if to sever our connection. I averted my attention to Veronica as she asked the next question.

Were all the knives accounted for?

No, I said with some hesitation. The brief encounter with Lucius left me...well, left me stunned. Get it together, Rebecca. One was missing.

Theriot tapped her index finger on her lower lip. Hmm. Didn’t that seem a bit odd?

Yes, I said matter-of-factly, feeling my confidence returning.

Thank you, Detective. Theriot turned to the judge. That’s all we have for this witness.

Meeks slid the robe back