Authors: Perfect
Benedict's lawyers obtained his release as a
result of a formal statement provided by Emily
McDaniels, who costarred with Benedict, Evans,
and Tony Austin in
Destiny."
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Without realizing it, Julie reached for Katherine's hand, squeezing it in a death grip as Brokaw continued,
"NBC has learned that Miss McDaniels's
statement apparently contained sworn
testimony that two days ago, her father, George
McDaniels, confessed to her that
he
had
murdered Rachel Evans and actor Tony Austin, who
was found dead in his Los Angeles home last
month."
A moan of pleasure, of torment, and of crushing guilt, tore from Julie's chest. She grabbed at the back of
a chair with both hands to hold her upright as the screen switched to the gates of Amarillo State Penitentiary and she saw Zack walking out, clad in a dark suit and tie, escorted through the rain to a waiting limousine, while Brokaw said,
"Benedict left
prison a free man, accompanied by his
California attorneys. Waiting for him in the
limousine was his long-time friend, industrialist
Matthew Farrell, whose unswerving faith in
Benedict's innocence has been no secret from the
media or the authorities. Also standing on the
sidelines was a young woman with a familiar face,
though her famous dimples weren't in evidence at
this moment. From the looks of this videotape,
it's clear that she didn't expect to be seen but had
come to assure herself of Benedict's safe
release."
Julie watched as Matt walked swiftly toward the limo then stopped, looking off to his left, where Emily McDaniels was standing beneath an umbrella with her husband, her face a mask of sorrow.
For a moment Zack stood there, looking at her, then he slowly walked over to her.
Tears raced down Julie's cheeks as she watched Zack pull Emily McDaniels into his arms. He let her go, handing her over to her husband, then he vanished into the limousine, which sped away while Brokaw added,
"Amarillo reporters who'd discovered
Benedict's release raced to Amarillo's airport
terminal in hopes of getting a statement. However,
he left with Farrell aboard the latter's private
jet. NBC has learned that the flight plan filed by
Farrell's pilot lists their destination as Los
Angeles, where Farrell owns a home, although it is
currently leased to movie star Paul Resterman
and his wife."
Choking on her tears, Julie looked at Katherine and said hoarsely, "Matt Farrell never stopped believing in him. At least Zack had one loyal friend."
"Don't start torturing yourself," Katherine warned, but her own voice was strained with emotion and Julie
wasn't listening anyway. She was staring at the screen and listening as Brokaw said
, "Amarillo
Prosecuting Attorney William Wesley is about to
make a statement from the courthouse there—"
The picture switched to the steps of the courthouse, where a dark-haired man in his thirties was walking out the doors and addressing a mob of reporters waving microphones and shouting questions at him.
"Hold your questions,
" he warned them, putting on a pair of glasses,
"until I've made my statement,
and then I'll answer what I can."
When the furor died down, he raised the paper he'd been holding in his hand and began to read:
"Yesterday, Zachary
Benedict's California attorneys requested a special
meeting with my office here in Amarillo. During that
meeting we were provided with a sworn
statement from Miss Emily McDaniels testifying to
the fact that her father, George Anderson
McDaniels, had admitted to the murders of Rachel
Evans and Anthony Austin. Miss McDaniels,
who dictated her statement before Police Captain
John Jorgen in Orange County, California, also
provided a .45-calibre automatic weapon belonging
to her father. Preliminary ballistic tests
performed this morning, indicate that the bullets that
killed Mr. Austin were fired from that
weapon. Immediately following our meeting with Mr.
Benedict's attorneys, they filed a writ of
habeas corpus here in Amarillo, demanding the
release of their client from Amarillo State Prison.
The writ was signed, with no objection from my
office, by Judge Wolcott and then forwarded to
the state capitol in Austin for signature by an
Appeals Court judge. That signature was granted
this morning, and Zachary Benedict has been duly
released. There are still some legal formalities
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to be dealt with regarding his escape from Amarillo
State Penitentiary two months ago, which
technically violates Texas law. However, it is the
opinion of this office that Mr. Benedict has
already paid a high price for his brief illegal
freedom at the hands of the Mexican police, as well
as five years imprisonment for a crime he appears
not to have committed. Any questions?"
he asked, looking up at the reporters. There were dozens of them, but the one that came across the loudest
was the one he answered:
"What about Zack
Benedict's kidnapping of Julie Mathison? Will he
have
to stand trial for that?"
"That will depend upon whether or not Miss Mathison wishes to press charges against him in criminal or
civil court. Our office has nothing to do with that, however."
In the doorway, Willie dragged his gaze from his teacher's agonized face and returned to his companions
at the dining room table, who hadn't been able to hear or see the television program. "It's that jerk Benedict again," he whispered furiously. "He's out of jail, and she's cryin' over him." Picking up his books, he began shoving them into his gym bag.
"We might as well pack up and get out of here. Miss Mathison ain't gonna want us to see her cryin' over him, and from the way she's bawlin', she ain't gonna be able to stop for a long time."
The other boys hastily obeyed their leader's command, but Johnny Everett lifted his worried, freckled
face to Willie's. "Why does seein' Benedict on television make her cry, Willie?"
Grabbing his gym bag, Willie automatically gave Tim a hand with his wheelchair. "My mom says he broke her heart, that's why. My mom says the whole town knows it, too."
"He's a jerk," Tim said.
"A
big
jerk," Johnny agreed, backing his wheelchair away from the table and heading it toward the kitchen where a specially constructed ramp led from the back door to the driveway.
On the sidewalk in front of the house, the three boys paused, looking through the open curtains at their teacher, who was blowing her nose while Miss Cahill patted her shoulder. She glanced up and saw them
standing there and she smiled reassuringly, waved, and nodded that they were right to leave.
In helpless consternation, they started down the street. "I hate Zachary Benedict," Johnny announced.
"Me, too," Tim said.
"Yeah, me, too," Willie said, pushing his bike. With a combination of protectiveness and practicality, he added, "Johnny, you and me will get to school early in the morning. We'll warn the kids in our class to take it easy on Miss Mathison for a while. No spit balls. No cutting up. No stuff like that. Tim, you don't
gotta worry about your class, 'cause Miss Mathison doesn't teach it. Your job is to spread the word to the kids on the teams she coaches. Tell everybody to go real easy on her."
"They're gonna ask me why," Tim said, expertly maneuvering his chair around a dead branch lying partially across the sidewalk.
"Tell 'em Benedict broke her heart again and made her cry. It ain't no secret if all the grown-ups in town already know it."
"
W
elcome back, Mr. Benedict!" The manager of the Beverly Hills Hotel rushed forward when he saw Zack registering at the lobby desk the afternoon of his release from prison. "I've put you in our best cottage, and the entire staff is at your disposal. Mr.
Farrell," he said politely as Matt signed in at the desk
beside Zack, "your secretary told me you'll only be with us for tonight. Please let me know if I or my staff
may be of service to you."
Behind them, a lobby full of people were turning to stare, and Zack heard his name being whispered like wind rustling through the trees. "Send a magnum of champagne to my cottage," he instructed the obsequious desk clerk, shoving the registration form forward. "Then send dinner for two at eight o'clock.
If any calls come in through the switchboard for me, tell the callers I'm not registered here."
"Yes, Mr. Benedict."
With a curt nod, Zack turned around and almost collided with a beautiful blonde and a stunning brunette
who were holding out cocktail napkins and pens to him. "Mr. Benedict." the blonde said with a dazzling smile, "may we have your autograph?"
With a brief smile that didn't reach his eyes, Zack obliged, but when the brunette handed him her napkin
to sign, he saw a room number written on the corner of it, and he felt the unmistakable impression of a key being pressed into his palm beneath it. He scribbled his name on the napkin and handed it back to
her.
From the corner of his eyes, Matt watched the familiar tableau occur just as it had hundreds of times in
their past. "I take it," he said dryly as they followed the manager out of the lobby toward the cottages that
surrounded the hotel, "that I'm on my own for dinner tonight?"
In answer, Zack glanced at the key in his palm, flipped it into the shrubbery, and looked at his watch.
"It's four o'clock. Give me two hours to make some phone calls, then we'll continue celebrating my release."
Two hours later when Matt walked into Zack's cottage, Zack was changing into a new shirt and pair of
slacks that his old tailor had hastily delivered to him only moments before. The tailor had departed with tears in his faded eyes and Zack's order in his pocket for two dozen new suits, shirts, slacks, and sport coats. The local Rolls Royce dealer had been similarly overjoyed at Zack's return and had promised to
deliver three automobiles for his inspection to the hotel in the morning. "I don't suppose," Matt said at seven o'clock, when Zack finally hung up from a long phone call during which he convinced his tenants to
accept a large payment in return for vacating his Pacific Palisades home, "I have a prayer in hell of convincing you to check into a hospital for a few days for a complete physical? My wife is adamant that
you should do that."
"You're right," Zack said drily as he headed over to the bar to fix them both a drink, "you don't have a prayer of convincing me to do that." Glancing toward the array of bottles on the bar, he grinned and added, "Champagne or something stronger?"
"Something stronger."
Nodding agreement, Zack dropped ice into two crystal glasses and added Scotch with a splash of water, then he handed one of the glasses to Matt. For the first time since he'd been released from prison,
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Zack let himself begin to relax. He studied his friend in silence, luxuriating in the reality of his freedom and
the inexpressible gratitude he felt toward Matt. "Tell me something," he said solemnly.
"What do you want to know?"
Hiding his poignant sentimentality behind a joke, Zack said, "Since there's no way I can possibly repay you for your loyalty and friendship, what can I give you for a belated wedding present?"
The two men looked at each other, both of them aware of how profoundly meaningful the moment was,
but they were men and too much sentimentality was unthinkable. Matt took a swallow of his drink and quirked a thoughtful brow, as if giving the matter his full attention. "Considering the extent of the trouble you put me through, I think a nice island in the Aegean would be a suitable token of your gratitude."
"You already own an island in the Aegean," Zack reminded him.
"You're right. In that case, let me talk it over with Meredith when I get back home."
Zack watched his eyes soften when he mentioned his wife's name and the subtle trace of pleasure that threaded his voice when he said
home.
As if Matt knew what he was thinking, he looked into his glass and took another swallow of his drink. "She's anxious to meet you."
"I'm anxious as hell to meet her, too." Humor threaded his voice as he continued, "When I was in prison
I kept up with all the … er … dramatic publicity surrounding your renewed courtship of your own wife."
Sobering a little, Zack added, "I was surprised that you'd never even told me that you'd been married to her fifteen years ago."
"I'll tell you the real story behind that—the part the newspapers weren't able to dredge up—some other time. When you're settled in, I'll bring Meredith and Marissa out here, and we'll spend some time together."
"How about in six weeks? That will give me plenty of time to get everything rolling and back to normal.
I'll give a party, in fact." He thought for a minute.
"On May twenty-second, if that works with your schedule."
"Six weeks? What can you possibly accomplish in six short weeks?"
Zack tipped his head toward the table beside the telephone and said dryly, "Those are all 'urgent'
messages that the switchboard operators felt I should know about even though they told the callers I wasn't registered here. Take a look at them."
Picking up the messages, Matt leafed through them.
Among the messages in the stack were ones from the heads of the four major studios, several independent producers, and two from Zack's former agent.
Tossing them aside, Matt said with an amused grin,