Dead Edge: the gripping political thriller for fans of Lee Child. Jack Ford
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2.45 pm
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The bomb went off at the same time.
Time difference two hours.
It struck with indifference. The youngest victim, a 6-month-old boy.
JEFFERSON COUNTY
COLORADO, USA
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Jefferson County, Colorado. Taking the name of the great third President. A place where vast plains collide with the Rocky Mountains. A place of harsh, white-painted winters where summers are reminiscent of Steinbeck novels. A place where thunderstorms catch travelers off guard along the miles of trail ridge roads, curving and snaking along the skyward spans of landscapes with pine trees sweet smelling like candy stores. Jefferson County. A place where the detention center is conveniently situated by the combined court. The court where Thomas J Cooper found himself sitting in with a judge who was swathed with hell and grit-like determination to have his name chalked on a jail cell by the end of the day.
‘You don’t just get to ignore a court order, Mr Cooper, no matter what the reasons. It’s clear you have no respect for any kind of authority, which frankly surprises me having read all about your distinguished career in the military… Mr Cooper, are you even listening to me?’
Cooper nodded. Said nothing. Thought it was best. Ninety milligrams of OxyContin and a hundred of Sertraline mixed with Valium had a way of making him not sound his best.
Cooper’s lawyer stood up and cleared his throat. ‘Your honor, I object to the insinuation that my client has no respect for authority. As the court knows he suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder as well as survivor guilt, in relation to the accident.’
Looking like he’d just sucked a slice of lime without the gin, the judge shook his head. ‘I take it, counsel, you’re referring to the accident which happened seven, eight years ago?’
‘Yes, your honor, but… ’
‘Eight years ago, Mr Edwards. We’re talking almost eight years.’
‘What the hell has eight years got to do with it?’ Cooper said.
The judge frowned. Tilted his head as if his hearing was playing tricks on him. ‘Excuse me? Did you say something, Mr Cooper?’
‘You’re too damn right I did.’
So Cooper’s old friend and attorney, Earl Edwards, the only person he knew in the county who was still willing to represent him, barked his orders. ‘Coop…! Shut the hell up. I’ll handle this.’
And Cooper did what he always did: whatever the hell he wanted. He stood up and then, like a game of Simon says, so did the court’s bailiff, twitching and hovering his fingers over the gun in his holster, that he never got to use but practiced fast-drawing in the mirror every night. But it wasn’t him Cooper was looking at. It was Earl. His deep-lined face, reminding Cooper of the sand ridges along the North Carolina shores, stared into his.
Cooper watched the perspiration on Earl’s forehead as he felt his own trickle of drug cold sweat trail down his neck.
‘Please, Coop. I got this.’
‘Is there a problem, counsel?’ the judge asked.
Earl got there before Cooper did. Diving in like a peregrine falcon.
‘No problem, your honor. No problem at all. I just need a minute to speak to my client.’
Earl dropped his voice. Real low. The kind of low saved for the movie theater.
‘Coop, please. You’re making this worse, if it can get any worse. Trust me, man, I’m in your corner, but you got to calm down and let me do my job.’
‘I’m not stopping you doing your job, Earl.’
‘Then sit the hell down! You know as well as I do you’ve messed up too many times. They’re not interested anymore. Not about the accident, not about what happened to Ellie.’
Earl’s words came right at Cooper. Shooting him down like a small-caliber pistol. And it was only after he felt the soft expensive silk between his fingers that he realized he was grabbing hold of Earl’s suit.
‘Don’t you say her name! You hear me, Earl? Don’t you say it!’
‘Mr Edwards…! Mr Cooper! Can I remind you we’re in court of law and not in some high school locker room! Any more behavior like that and you’ll both find yourself in the cells tonight.’
Earl shot Cooper a stare.
Pushed him off.
Made sure he sat back down in the chair.
‘Sorry, your honor. It’s just important the court understands…’
‘Mr Edwards, I hope you’re not going to start lecturing the court.’
‘No…No, it’s just my client has been in Africa for the past few weeks and…
The judge brought the gavel down hard, prompting Cooper to think of the end of a record breaking bid at Christie’s auction house. ‘Sit down, counsellor, you can save the speech till after lunch.’
‘But…’
With his waxy pallor further bleached by the rows of fluorescent lights which’d just been flicked on, and his Southern state voice sounding like each word was being played by an over tightened instrument from Manny’s music store, Judge Saunders said, ‘Mr Edwards, I advise you to listen to me, not least because my highly acidic stomach will not sit quietly through a long speech telling me how remorseful your client is for not turning up for his court-ordered psychological sessions, nor how contrite he is about the fact he’s only done three hours of the fifty-two hours’ community service he was sentenced to on June 9th. Whilst I’m sure your reasons will certainly try to appease the state of Colorado, at this moment in time, counsel, they certainly won’t appease me. I therefore think it’s wise to take a recess. However, let me warn you and Mr Cooper here: even when the irregularities of the body are once again in a state of contented realignment, I have to say that after hearing from the treating doctor on Mr Cooper’s psychological and drug rehabilitation progress report earlier, I already feel inclined to revoke his formal probation.’
‘Your honor, I…’
‘Mr Edwards, cut it right there and save the surprised look for the junior judges; we’ve all been to law school… You and your client were warned this might happen when the court changed Mr Cooper’s probation from summary to formal. And I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that to get your client to attend court today, the sheriff’s office had to pick him up from whatever hole he was hiding in. So it seems clear to me with no progression being made, even with the gift horse of prohibition, that a jail term, with sentencing in a couple of weeks, might be the only way to proceed. So if I were you, Mr Edwards, I’d think very carefully about what you’re going to say to the court this afternoon when we return at two thirty.’
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The call came as no surprise, nor what was said, nor how it was said. Rounded. Meticulous pronunciation intentionally concealing the foreign accent. ‘We had a deal.’
‘Not that deal. You know that was never on the table. It’s impossible. I told you that before. I would never and could never agree to it. You know that.’
‘What I know is you have to make this happen. However you do that is entirely