A Savvy Way to Kill by Kent Swarts

Author:Kent Swarts [Swarts, Kent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: private detective mystery, murder mystery, crime thriller, fiction in texas
Publisher: Evolved Publishing LLC
Published: 2020-10-15T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Shortly before nine o’clock Monday morning, I entered the courtroom of the 48th District Court in Ft. Worth. I sat in the back. No one else was there except for two people who came in to set items on desks. The large room was, in my opinion, rather dreary and nondescript. The soft green walls were grimy, the chairs were banged up, the wood railing between the gallery and the court floor was in need of refinishing, and even the judge’s bench was scratched and gouged. The tables in front of the prosecution and defense were marred with coffee rings and were badly in need of sanding and staining. The jury box was to my right, the court reporter was to my left, and evidence sat on a long table positioned to the left of the recorder.

The items on the table piqued my interest. I walked to the railing to get a closer look. Six items – the two broken pieces of the rib, the tee frame used to join a rib to a spar, the spar, and two other brackets from the wing – were positioned as if ready to be joined together to make the root structure of the wing. I looked at them, wondering if they were the same as when I saw them at AeroStar. The answer was emphatically no. The rib and tee frame were devoid of corrosion. Even from where I stood, I could see sanding marks. Someone hadn’t even tried to mask their stupidity. I certainly would bring this to Ben and Silas’s attention.

People began filing in, including Dave Grossman, Ben Cantrell, and Silas Parker, a consultant. Dave looked back and blew a kiss at his wife who came in behind them. Finally, the prosecuting attorneys and their consultants came in and sat at the table to the left of the judge.

The two lawyers for the prosecution were middle-aged men in similar blue suits. One, who I believed to be Fred Samson, was tall and thin, and the other whose name I hadn’t learned, was shorter and stockier. What caught my eye was the young, blonde woman in the green chiffon suit sitting with them. I had no idea who the woman was.

Her features, while feminine, were robust or pronounced in the way a linebacker stood out from the rest of the players. In westerns, she would be called a handsome woman, while in the old noir flicks, she’d be referred to as ‘that doll.’ Her face was serious, and she seemed to squint as she talked quietly with her lawyers. As I studied her features, she grew a bit embarrassed when she glanced at me. She quickly turned her focus back to the bench. Our eyes made contact only briefly, but in that moment, she knew exactly who I was and why I was here.

The jury came in, taking their seats, and within a minute, the judge with his entourage entered, calling the court to order. Judge Kendrick was imposing. Reasonably tall, he had dark brown, crew-cut hair, and the square jaw of a comic book Army officer.

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