Cross Justice by James Patterson Page A

and left.
    Leaning toward us, Stefan said quietly, “I’d sweep the room for bugs.”
    I wondered if he was serious or just being melodramatic. But Naomi thought enough of the idea to pull out her iPhone and call up a white-noise app that she turned on high.
    “That works,” Stefan said. “And thank you again, Alex, for coming. You don’t know what it means to have you believe that I did not do these things.”
    “I don’t believe one way or the other,” I replied evenly, studying him for signs that he was capable of doing the things he’d been accused of.
    “I’m being framed,” he said.
    “Listen carefully,” I said. “I am your cousin, but I do not represent you. Ultimately I’m here representing Rashawn Turnbull. I find out anything that says you killed that boy, I will help the prosecution put you in the chair, or whatever they use here.”
    “Lethal injection,” Stefan said. “I will not lie to you. I did not kill Rashawn.”
    “Why’d you assault the guards?” Naomi asked.
    “Other way around, Counselor. They assaulted me.”
    “We’ll get back to that,” I said. “You’ve read the indictment?”
    “More times than you can count. Look, I’m telling you. This case? These circumstances? They’re manufactured, Alex.”
    “You didn’t do any of it?”
    “Some of it,” he admitted. “But nothing illegal. They’ve twisted things, taken them totally out of context.”
    “Convince me like you’ve convinced Naomi,” I said, crossing my arms. “Start at the beginning.”
    “‘A very good place to start,’” Stefan sang, and he tried to smile.
    According to the particulars of the indictment, two months earlier, Rashawn Turnbull had been found dead in an abandoned limestone quarry, a piece of land undergoing annexation by the city of Starksville. The teenager had been drugged and forcibly sodomized, and his neck had been slashed with a saw. Semen and other evidence found at the scene pegged Stefan Tate, Rashawn’s eighth-grade gym teacher, as the killer. DNA also linked Stefan to the drugging and rape of seventeen-year-old Sharon Lawrence, a student at Starksville High School, and she had agreed to testify against him.
    So I didn’t smile when my cousin sang that line from “Do-Re-Mi.”
    Instead, for the next hour and a half, I listened closely to his side of the terrible crimes described in the indictment, interrupting only to clarify verifiable facts, names, and times. Otherwise, I followed the adage that if you really want to learn about someone, you should just shut up and listen.

CHAPTER 15
     
    “ THE DAY AFTER Rashawn was found, they put the handcuffs on me, Alex,” my cousin said at the end of his version of events. “Ever since, I’ve been in here. No bail. Limited visitation, even with Patty and Naomi. I’m telling you, Alex, I’m being railroaded.”
    I said nothing, still trying to absorb his story in light of the information given in the indictment.
    He leaned forward. “You believe me, don’t you?”
    “A lot of it has to check out.”
    “I promise you on my mother’s Bible, it will.”
    “So let’s say your version of events is true. Who’s behind it?”
    Stefan hesitated, and then said, “I don’t know. I’m hoping you’ll figure it out.”
    “But you’ve got suspicions?”
    “I do, but I’d rather not put them out there.”
    “Stefan, your life is on the line here,” Naomi said. “We need it all.”
    “What you don’t need is conjecture,” Stefan said. “That’s the word, right?”
    “It is, but—”
    He gestured at me with his manacled hands. “I’d rather have Alex go into this with no preconceived notions. Let the facts I’ve given him take him where they take him. That way, when he says he believes me, I’ll know he’s telling the truth.”
    “Fair enough,” I said, and I checked my watch. It was past six.
    Naomi went to the door, knocked twice. The guards came to get Stefan.
    He said, “Tell Patty, my mom, and my dad