by Leanna Floyd
“We need to talk,” Carver said, leaning in confidentially. “I may or may not need you to testify again, okay?”
“Sure, of course,” she said. “Has something happened?”
Before he could answer, the bailiff boomed, “All rise! The Honorable Judge Ranier is now holding court.” Carver turned to watch the judge’s entrance along with everyone else. Brooke thought they were supposed to begin closing arguments today, but it sounded like Carver had something else in mind. As the jury was brought in and seated, she tried to read their expressions but most looked as stoic and stone-faced as ever.
“Court is now in session,” said Judge Ranier. “According to my trial notes, I believe we’re ready for your final witness and closing arguments, correct, Mr. Carver? Or does the State rest its case?”
“Actually, Your Honor,” he said, “I would like to call two witnesses back to the stand if I may.”
“And which two witnesses, Mr. Carver?” said the judge, her voice thick with disappointment.
“I would like to recall Dr. Ann Choung to the stand followed by Mr. Brent Barton,” said Carver.
“Ms. DeMato, any objections?”
“No, Your Honor, not as long as I retain the right to cross-examine each after Mr. Carver has completed his… new interrogation.”
Laughter and chatter erupted in the courtroom at DeMato’s sarcastic tone, and Brooke had to admit, the defense attorney was impressive.
“Silence!” barked Ranier. “Order in this court!” She waited for the noise to fade before saying, “Proceed, Mr. Carver. Dr. Choung, may I remind you that you are still under oath? Do you understand?”
The attractive Asian-American woman seated herself on the witness stand and said, “Yes, Your Honor.” She was dressed in a Diane von Furstenberg red skirt suit that set off her sleek black hair. Brooke admired the way the medical examiner managed to look fashionable, even sexy, while appearing totally professional as well.
Carver stood halfway between the galley rail and the witness stand, a star performer taking center stage. “Dr. Choung, you performed the autopsy on Abigail Winters, correct? Which you described for this court a few weeks ago on November 12, if my notes are accurate.”
“That is correct,” Choung said.
“And when you examined Abby Winters, did you find her to be with child?”
“Yes, I did,” said Choung. “At the time of her death, Ms. Winters was approximately 3-4 months pregnant.”
“Did you run a paternity test on this unborn child?” asked Carver.
“Objection! Relevancy? Where is the prosecution going with this?” snapped DeMato, quick on her feet.
“No, I did not initially,” said the medical examiner. “However, last week I received a request from Detective Lawson who is in charge of this case. He made a formal application for DNA testing to be conducted on Ms. Winters’ unborn child.”
Brooke’s mind ran in several directions as she tried to imagine where Carver would take this line of questioning. She had to assume it had something to do with Zach Barton being the father of Abby Winters’ child. So, why did Carver tell her he might need her to testify again? Craning to see Zach Barton, she noticed the way his right leg bounced rapidly beneath the table. He appeared anxious and fidgety, like a little boy sitting in church, with no sign of his usual smirk.
“Let me back up a moment, Dr. Choung,” said Carver. “Is it even possible to test for paternity on an unborn child?”
“Yes,” the doctor said confidently. “Paternity can be determined as early as the seventh or eighth week, although the most accurate results occur after the first trimester, which as you know, is twelve weeks. Ms. Winters was to this point, so I consider the paternity test we conducted to be highly accurate.”
“Very good,” said Carver, “thank you, Doctor. Now, were there any unique gene markers or abnormalities in your findings?”
“Yes—this unborn child stood a 98.7% chance of Tay-Sachs disease, a rare disorder that progressively destroys nerve cells in the brain and spinal cord.”
“I see,” said the D.A. “And is Tay-Sachs disease fatal in most cases?”
“In infants, yes,” she said. “The child experiences delayed motor skill and brain development and other impairments. Most cases of infantile Tay-Sachs die by the age of four years.”
“Tragic, very tragic. So, adults cannot develop Tay-Sachs disease?”
“No, they can,” said Choung, sounding every bit like the professor lecturing her students. “Late onset Tay-Sachs usually occurs in adolescence or early adulthood. It manifests differently but still often causes brain damage, mood disorders, and psychological trauma.”
Carver paused dramatically and looked toward the jury even as he continued to question Dr. Choung. “Did you run your DNA findings through the state or national database of criminal offenders? If so, was there a match?”
“Yes, I did as per normal procedure with this kind of request. No, there was not an exact match.”
“Just to verify, Dr. Choung, there were no exact matches to any of the millions of criminal DNA samples logged in law enforcement databases?”
“That is correct,” she said, remaining expressionless. “No exact matches.”
“So that means the plaintiff, Mr. Zachary Barton, could not be the father of Abby Winters’ baby, correct? Because this court has already established in Detective Lawson’s testimony several weeks ago that Zach Barton is in the state databank thanks to a toxicology screen obtained at his last arrest.”
“You are correct. Assuming Mr. Barton’s in the database, he did not match the DNA of Abby Winters’ child. He was not the father.”
“Thank you, Dr. Choung. Nothing further, Your Honor. Unless the defense wishes to cross-examine, I would like to recall Mr. Brent Barton to the stand.”
Judge Ranier looked to Lisa DeMato, who shrugged and made a shooing motion with her hand as if to say “get on with it”.
Brooke remained as confused as ever, and then she got it. When preparing for her testimony, she had run across a psychiatric assessment that Carver had authorized on Brent Barton. Labeled as slow most of his life, Brent had been diagnosed with a learning disorder and below average I.Q. Which Brooke had assumed would explain why big brother Zach was so protective of Brent as well as why Brent idolized Zach and followed him around like his shadow. Returning her gaze to the witness stand, she noticed Zach whispering in DeMato’s ear, who immediately sprang up.
“Objection, Your Honor,” said DeMato. “Mr. Brent Barton has already testified to this court regarding his relationship with Ms. Winters. Mr. Carver is simply wasting all our valuable time regarding a matter—the loss of Ms. Winters’ child—that is irrelevant to this trial.”
Ranier looked at her thoughtfully and tilted her head, which only reinforced Brooke’s opinion that the judge needed bangs to help camouflage her especially broad forehead. “Overruled,” the judge finally declared. “You may proceed, Mr. Carver, but move it along. Mr. Barton, please remember you are still under oath to tell the truth.” He nodded, but Brooke could see fear in his eyes—and big brother Zach was literally about to jump out of his seat. Lisa DeMato was busy whispering into her client’s ear while her young colleague on the other side kept a hand on Barton’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Carver. “Brent, you had a sexual relationship with Abigail Winters, as Ms. DeMato just reminded us, correct?”
“Yeah, me and everyone else she knew,” he snorted. His attempt to mimic big brother’s usual bravado wasn’t working.
Carver paused and stood directly in front of the young man. Brooke noticed how disheveled Brent Barton looked and how his yellow tie really didn’t match his checked suit. Tension ran like an electric current through the air as she, and everyone in the room, waited for the D.A.’s next question.
“Mr. Barton, do you suffer from Tay-Sachs disease? Has anyone ever told you that? Perhaps your doctor—maybe your father or brother?”
Brent Barton began to cry and instantly looked like a little boy playing grown up. For several seconds, Brooke could see the war raging inside his head until finally the dam of self-control broke. “Yes, yes, and I hate it! I don’t like being different! I hate being treated like a ree-tard—freakin’ hate it! And that bitch laughed at me—laughed at me—said she didn’t want our kid growing up to be gimp like me! Zach, he tried to protect me, but I’d have him kill her again if I—”
“Shut up! Just shut up, Brent, okay?” Zach Barton leaped to his feet, and the bailiff rushed across the room to keep Barton from approaching his brother on the stand. The courtroom exploded in a frenzy of voices and shocked expressions finally punctuated by Judge Ranier’s gavel.
Afterward, Brooke couldn’t remember what had been said or who said it, but she, like everyone else in the courtroom, knew this trial was over.
For the first time, I’m starting to worry about getting caught.
It’s not that anyone suspects me, at least not as far as I know, but it’s that sense of possibility, the realization that all it takes is one wrong turn or one witness who remembers seeing me—or worse, happened to snap a pic in the bar where one of my victims was last seen.
I’ll just keep being careful, like I did on my little Miami excursion, and make sure nothing’s left to chance. What’s that old saying, “The devil is in the details.”?
I decided to drive instead of fly, partly because it was cheaper, but also because it gave me more control. If I flew, then I’d need to rent a car, which poses a whole new set of problems. Nope, I like driving my car, and most women seem impressed by it, so I called in sick and that gave me a few extra days to play over the holiday weekend.
Looking back, I was actually a little disappointed that it wasn’t more challenging. If anything, it’s like this poor woman was waiting on me. There was no way I was going anywhere near South Beach with all its celebrities and reality-star wannabes.
I had scoped out Evergreen Beach late Friday afternoon after encountering far too many dog walkers, joggers, and bicyclists all around West Palm. While I was tempted to find me a nice rich bitch in Boca Raton, I also knew those types usually think they’re smarter and come with security measures of some kind, even if it’s just a five-dollar bottle of pepper spray from the 7-11 on the corner.
Just a couple miles inland from Evergreen Beach, I found my kind of place, a joint called Sunsets. It had once been a biker bar but with every inch of real estate turning to gold in South Florida, some conglomerate had bought it but retained its rough-and-tumble appearance to attract hipsters and other young professionals looking for a novel place.
Wearing shorts and a polo shirt, sunglasses and a ball cap, I went in right before happy hour, found a spot on the deck overlooking an estuary, and drank a couple of beers while I watched the after-work crowd come in. The humid air hung thick and smelled faintly of tar and saltwater. I didn’t want to stay long, just long enough to see who might catch my eye.
I was just about to leave when I heard, “This seat taken?”
Older than my usual type, but she had sun-blonde hair, electric-blue eyes, gorgeous golden skin and this killer smile. Well, I guess technically, I had the killer smile, but you know what I mean.
“Please,” I said, scooting to make room. “Go ahead.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m new at this… and don’t want to drink alone and hate sitting at the bar, you know? I’m Leslie.”
She extended her hand and we shook. Her palm felt warm and smooth, radiant with life and a strong pulse in her pretty wrist. I gave her the first name that popped into my head and made a note to remember it. As I signaled for our waitress, I noticed the damage too much sun had done to Leslie’s face and wondered how much older she was than I.
Turns out she was 42, newly divorced from a serial cheater, her second marriage that had failed, and had a grown daughter in school at Emory in Atlanta. She had grown up in Georgia just above the Florida state line but had been in the Miami area since 2002, when she had married her second husband. Leslie dabbled in real estate, but from the tennis bracelet she was sporting and the dainty, gold Patek Philippe on her other wrist, I suspected most of her income came from her divorce settlements.
“I know I don’t really fit in here,” she said, sipping a cosmo and looking around at the younger faces and tighter bodies all around us. “But I don’t fit in at the damn country clubs either, not to mention those pathetic, pretentious piano bars where all the sad divorcees go. I just like it here. Ooh, look at the sunset!” She turned, and we both watched the sinking sun ignite the horizon in layers of red, purple, and gold.
I liked Leslie but thought she was too high profile for my purposes. Besides, the place was packed now, and we could barely hear each other above the Beach Boys blaring behind the din of voices and drunken laughter. But just as I was about to make my excuses and leave, Leslie said, “Want to get out of here? I know a private beach only a few miles from here. We could get a bottle of wine…. and just relax.”
“That would be nice,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”
Chapter 42
Jacob awoke the next day with a sledgehammer pounding at his temples. His phone was ringing, and white light seeped through the slit in the velvet drapes. The clock on the nightstand displayed 12:47, and he had to think for a moment before he realized where he was. Finding his phone under a pillow next to him, he answered before looking even as he knew it was a mistake.
“Hey, gorgeous! I was starting to get worried about you.” Alicia sounded as bubbly as ever. “You feeling better? I figured the trial must have kept you tied up, right before the holiday and all.”
“It’s over,” Jacob said in a flat voice.
“Over? What’s over—the trial? That’s great, babe!”
“No, us,” Jacob said. “We’re done, Alicia. I know everything.”
She hesitated and he could hear the fear in her voice when she finally said, “What…what are you talking about? What happened yesterday, babe?”
“I know everything.” He tried to sit up but fell back against the padded headboard.
His heart pounded in rhythm with the splitting ache in his head. He was about to throw up.
“Jacob, y-you’re scaring me… what’s going on?” Alicia stammered, “What are you talking about?”
“Just stop it! Stop pretending!” Raising his voice only made his head hurt worse, and he couldn’t stop the tears from coming. “Why? Why would you want to hurt me like this? Why would you want to hurt anyone like this? What kind of sick freak are you?”
Alicia starting to sob softly, “Jacob… I’m so sorry. What… how did you find out?”
“Sorry? Sorry for what? For lying to me? For taking my heart and ripping it out of my chest and sticking a knife through it? Sorry for making me look like a fool? Sorry for allowing me to love you and love Charlie and think we were going to be a family? Sorry for posting Jasmine’s pictures all over the internet pretending they’re yours? Sorry for lying to me about your son having cancer? Sorry for what? What exactly are you sorry for, Alicia?”
“I… I never meant for things to get as serious as they did. Yes, in the beginning, it was just a game, but my feelings for you grew, and I wanted things to be real between us. Things are real between us.”
He laughed. “Real? Everything you said was a lie… There is nothing real about you… ha, ha, the joke’s on me, right?”
“No, I love you! I just thought that you would never accept me for who I am. I’ve been honest with you about my heart… I just struggle with my weight and have always had a poor self-image… I’m so sorry. You just seemed so different than any other guy I’d ever met.” Her words melted as she began to cry softly.
“Don’t you dare play the victim with me! I gave you a chance to tell me the truth,” Jacob said, “and you still lied. How long were you planning on stringing me along? Did you really think that we would ever be together? Did you really think that
I would not find out? That I was that stupid?”
“Jacob, please let me explain. We can get through this. I never wanted to hurt you.”
The sound of her voice only made the throbbing in his head more painful. He managed to get out of bed, found a glass beside the ice bucket, and ran water from the tap. “No, it’s over. You are not the woman I fell in love with. That woman does not exist. You’re dead to me. So just leave me alone. You’ve destroyed my life so just have the decency to leave me the hell alone. I’m done, empty. There’s nothing left inside me. Nothing.”
“Please,” Alicia cried, “Jacob, do not do this to me. What about Charlie? You’re not going to walk away from him, are you? He needs you, Jacob. He needs you just as much as I do. He is sick, Jacob—you can’t do this to us right now.”
“Charlie? No, that’s on you. You did this to your own son. I am not walking away. You did this, not me!”
“Jacob, I will die without you! Please… what can I do? I will do anything!” Alicia sobbed, “Anything!”
“I wish I’d never heard your name. You are dead to me. We’re through!”
After he hung up, he stood there staring at his phone before turning it off and tossing it back on his bed. He sipped from the glass of water, and began digging in his messenger bag for some ibuprofen. The cap wouldn’t come off and when it finally did, the bottle jumped from his hand, and capsules spilled all over the tan-carpeted floor. He fell to his knees and began to pick them up as tears washed across his face. Unable to hold them back, he cried so hard he couldn’t breathe, which only made his head spin and his stomach protest, and he barely made it to the bathroom in time before he threw up.
He splashed cold water on his face and brushed his teeth before dragging himself into the shower. Warm, pulsating jets of water massaged his head and body, and he allowed the rest of his tears to fall. Gradually, his nausea subsided into a tide of exhaustion. He couldn’t think anymore. He couldn’t feel anything. He had to rest.
Toweling off, he slipped on shorts and retrieved his phone. In the past ten minutes, Alicia had tried to call him a dozen times but only left one message, which he deleted without playing. He also noticed Brooke had called twice that morning and texted: “Doing okay? Miss you. Call me when you can. xxoo, B.” How he wished he could have listened to Brooke when she had tried to warn him about the red flags she saw with Alicia. He wanted to call her and tell her everything that had happened since he’d arrived in Miami, but he simply had no energy. He was just so tired but feared he wouldn’t sleep for long without help.