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The second character witness, Tom Tarant, had been a coach at Neapolis High for well over nineteen years. He was a well-known figure in the town. He had the heavyset build of a former athlete who’d beefed up in middle age with a head so bald that itreflected the lights above the witness stand. “I wish all the kids I coached were like Scott. He was a pleasure to teach,” he told the court. “Believe me, I’d have a lot more hair on my head if they’d all been like him,” he said, prompting titters from the jury.
“Mr. Tarant,” Alkins said when it was his turn to cross-examine the coach. “From your testimony it sounds as if the defendant was an exemplary student. If I may say, he sounds almost too good to be true. Surely the defendant wasn’t perfectly behaved all the time? He must have done something wrong at least once in the time you knew him?”
“Can’t think of anything,” said Coach Tarant.
“What about hazing?”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” said the coach hesitantly.
“Was the defendant ever suspended from school for hazing another swimmer?”
“There was a prank that went a little out of control,” the coach admitted. “Don’t think it can be called hazing.”
“Can you tell the jury about this prank?” Alkins asked, sitting on the edge of his table with his arms crossed.
“It was some t-t-time ago,” the coach stammered. “I’m not sure if I recall it clearly.”
“Let me refresh your memory,” said Alkins. “Isn’t it true that the defendant brought a pair of scissors into the pool and, while two other swimmers held the arms of a freshman swimmer behind his back, the defendant cut the boy’s Speedo off his body? He and his friends then lifted the boy, stark naked, out of the pool, and they called over girls to see the boy’s genitals.”
“Kids do dumb things,” said the coach. “Look, everyone apologized and there were no hurt feelings.”
“Do you recall what happened to the swimmer in question?” Alkins persisted.
“He left the school,” said the coach stiffly.
“Indeed,” said Alkins. “He did leave the school. After he tied a weight around his feet and tried to drown himself in the school pool. I believe you were the one who pulled him to the surface and gave him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. You saved his life, Coach. I’m surprised you don’t remember.” Gasps rippled across the courtroom as heads swiveled toward Scott Blair.
During the midday recess, Rachel bought a sandwich and a coffee at a food truck across the street from the courthouse. She ate it while on a bench in the shade of a giant oak on the southern lawn as she read over the email from Hannah Stills that Pete had forwarded her that morning.
When she was done, Rachel walked back across the plaza immersed in thought about how she could get a few minutes alone with Alkins to ask him again about Jenny Stills. It took her a moment to register that her name was being called. She spun around to see Detective Cooper standing in the middle of the plaza with his hands in his pockets and an amused expression on his face as he watched her walk, oblivious to his presence. “You were calling my name, weren’t you?” Rachel said, embarrassed.
“You literally walked right past me,” he joked.
“I’m so sorry. I was thinking about the trial. It’s not looking great for Mitch Alkins right now.”
“Is it that bad? I haven’t been following it that closely. I’m going to listen to your podcast tonight. I heard that Nath Shaw is riled up about it. Figure it has to be good if it got him all steamed up.”
“Nath?” Rachel said. “I didn’t know you were on nickname terms with the judge.”
“I’ve known Nath since I was a kid. We lived next door to each other,” said Detective Cooper.
“I thought you were from Rhode Island.”
“I lived there for a long time, but I grew up here,” he said.
“If that’s the case then you must have known Mitch Alkins when you were growing up,” Rachel said, spotting an opportunity to get information. Ever since the morning she’d seen Alkins lay flowers at Jenny’s grave, she’d wanted to push her way into his orbit and demand that he tell her about his connection to Jenny.
“Mitch is a few years younger than me, but, sure, Mitch and I go way back,” Detective Cooper said, his tone cryptic. “Why the interest?”
Rachel hesitated over how far she should push it but figured she had nothing to lose. “I heard that when Mitch Alkins was young, he was close to a girl who was murdered.”
Detective Cooper looked at her oddly. “Where did you hear that from?”
“The murdered girl’s sister sent me a letter,” said Rachel.
“And she named Mitch in the letter?” Cooper asked, a catch in his voice.
“No, she didn’t,” Rachel admitted. “But I heard from an old-timer here that Alkins knew the girl.”
