Accused

FORTY-EIGHT

Pete Puckett was pissed.

At nine on the fourth day of trial, he took the oath, sat in the witness chair, and glared at Scott. He didn't care about the cameras or the jury or the judge. He cared only about Scott. Pete looked as if he wanted to kill him-as if he could kill him.

"Mr. Puckett, let's go back to Thursday, June fourth. That morning you played the first round of the Atlantic Open golf tournament in Orlando, Florida, correct?"

"Yes."

His answer came through clenched teeth.

"You were accompanied by your caddie, Goose?"

"Yes."

"Was your daughter, Billie Jean, there with you?"

"No."

"Where was she?"

"In Austin."

"You teed off at eight A.M. that Thursday?"

"Yes."

"And finished about noon?"

"Yes."

"But you signed an incorrect scorecard and were disqualified?"

"Yes."

"Then you flew home to Austin?"

"You know I didn't."

"You flew to Houston?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To kill Trey Rawlins."

The courtroom erupted with excitement. The judge gaveled the audience into silence. Spectators, lawyers, jurors, the judge, and the bailiff leaned forward as one: Pete Puckett was about to confess to killing Trey Rawlins.

"You killed Trey Rawlins?"

"No."

"But you just said-"

"I said I went there to kill him. I didn't say I did."

The courtroom deflated.

"Okay, let's back up. You flew to Houston, then took a cab to Trey's house in Galveston?"

"Yes."

"With the intent to kill Trey Rawlins?"

"Yes."

"Why that day?"

"My girl was there with him, at his house."

"How'd you know?"

"I put a GPS tracker on her car."

"You tracked your own daughter?"

"Wait'll your girls take up with a bad guy, you'll do it, too."

"And you knew Billie Jean had taken up with Trey?"

"Yes."

"In fact, you had confronted Trey a week earlier in the locker room at the Challenge tournament and threatened to kill him if he didn't stay away from her."

"You know I did. Brett McBride's sitting outside, he was there."

"But Trey didn't stay away from Billie Jean, did he?"

"No."

"So you decided to kill him?"

"Yes."

"You went to his house that day and found him with Billie Jean?"

Pete's stern exterior began to crack.

"Yes."

"How did you enter the house?"

"Up the back stairs to the deck. The doors to the bedroom were open."

"You caught him having sex with your daughter?"

Pete fought the tears.

"They were in the closet."

"What'd you do?"

"I went into the kitchen."

"To find a knife?"

"Yes."

"Did you lean onto the island counter?"

"I don't know."

"Your handprints were found there."

"Then I did."

"Did you get a knife?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Couldn't do it."

"So what did you do?"

"Went back into the bedroom, they were coming out of the closet. I grabbed Trey and threw him against the wall."

"What did Trey say?"

"Not much-I hit him in the mouth."

"You would've killed him if Billie Jean hadn't intervened and stopped you?"

"Maybe."

"But you wanted to kill Trey Rawlins?"

The tears broke loose now.

"Yes, goddamnit!"

"Just because he had sex with your seventeen-year-old daughter?"

"No!"

"Then why?"

"Because he gave her cocaine!"

Scott hadn't expected that. It threw him for a moment. And the jury. The judge. The D.A. Everyone in the courtroom.

"Uh… Mr. Puckett… Trey gave Billie Jean cocaine?"

Pete wiped his face on his sleeve. Several jurors were now crying. Pete Puckett was no longer a hard-ass; he was a broken-hearted father.

"What kind of man does that? What kind of man gives cocaine to a seventeen-year-old kid? Every time they were together, now she wants it all the time. What would you do if a grown man gave your girls cocaine?"

Kill him.

"My Billie Jean, she's a good kid, I'm trying to raise her right, but since her mama died, I don't know how to help her understand things… a girl needs a mama when she gets that age, a woman to talk to her about boys and what they'll say to get what they want… all I know is golfing and hunting… I've been lost since her mama died… We both have."

He put his face in his hands and sobbed. The judge called a fifteen-minute recess.

Scott-and Louis-went to the restroom. Scott opened the door and came face to face with Pete Puckett. He had obviously just washed his face.

"I'm sorry, Pete."

"Fuck you. You're a goddamn lawyer, don't give a shit about no one or nothing except getting your wife off."

He stormed down the corridor. Scott looked after him and sighed.

"Ex-wife."

When the trial resumed, Pete Puckett had gathered himself.

"Mr. Puckett, you went to Trey's house that day to kill him?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't?"

"No."

"You dragged Billie Jean out of the house, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"We know Trey was not killed until after midnight. We know you went to the Galvez with your daughter and checked into a suite. We know you were enraged and in town. We know you left the hotel after midnight. Did you return to Trey's house?"

"Yes."

"To kill him?"

"Yes."

"You put on gloves, didn't you?"

"No."

"You went up the back stairs again, didn't you?"

"No."

"You entered the bedroom and found Trey and Rebecca sleeping, passed out."

"No."

"You went back into the kitchen and you got a knife this time, a butcher knife."

"No."

"You went back into the bedroom and over to the bed."

"No."

"You stood over Trey."

"No."

"You raised the knife over Trey."

"No."

"And you stabbed the knife into Trey Rawlins' chest."

"No!"

Pete cried again.

"I wanted to. God knows I wanted to kill him for what he did to my Billie Jean."

"Did you?"

"No."

"What did you do?"

"Sat outside in the car, trying to work up the courage. But I couldn't do it."

"Why not?"

"Because I heard Dottie Lynn's voice. She told me, 'Pete, don't do it. You'll go to prison. And Billie Jean will be all alone.' "