by Girard, Dara
Next the DA called Seaborn’s neighbor Mrs. Natalie Brighton. A woman with big eyes, wearing an outfit suited more for a fine restaurant than a courtroom.
“Did you know Mr. Seaborn well?” the DA asked.
She nodded vigorously. “Yes, we’ve been neighbors for a while now. A very kind and generous man.”
“What were you doing when you saw the defendant leave the house?”
“I was letting my dog in the house.”
“How did he look?”
“He looked like he was in a hurry.”
“How so? As though he was escaping something?”
“Objection,” Byron said. “Leading the witness.”
“Sustained,” the judge replied.
The DA changed his tactic. “When did you know something was wrong?”
“The next morning, when Mr. Seaborn didn’t get his newspaper. Mr. Seaborn always picked up his newspaper at 7:30 am.” She glanced at the jury. “Always.”
“Thank you. No further questions.” He returned to his chair.
“Are you sure you saw my client at the residence?” Byron asked.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“He fit the description.”
Byron grinned. “There are many men who could fit his description.”
Mrs. Brighton bristled at the implication. “I saw that man sitting over there. I could even describe his truck. My husband knows a lot about trucks and so do I. I saw him under the street lamp and his truck has a unique indentation on the side.”
“So the man you saw, you say was in a hurry? There are many reasons to be in a rush. Don’t you agree?”
“He looked guilty.”
“How do you know?”
“By the way he moved,” she said certain.
“Perhaps he had to be somewhere. Home to his wife or maybe he forgot to pick up something before the store closed. It was a late night. You couldn’t read his expression could you?”
“No, but—”
“So he was walking fast but you don’t know why?”
“Yes, but—”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
The DA called another neighbor, Ralph Parkov. A thin middle-aged man with cropped blonde hair and a shirt so pressed it looked fake.
“You also noticed Seaborn did not pick up his paper?”
“Yes. I was cleaning out my car that morning and was surprised to see his newspaper still in the box. I would have gone over to see what was wrong, but my eyes were watering so I had to go inside.”
“Did you see the defendant the night of the murder?”
“Yes. Actually, I’d seen him before. He’d come by a couple of days before that night. He went into the house, but didn’t stay long.”
“Did you notice anything unusual in their behavior?”
“Objection,” Byron said. “Relevance.”
“I withdraw the question. Thank you. Nothing further.”
Byron stood. “Would you say Mr. Seaborn was a popular man?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was it regular for him to have guests over?”
“Yes.”
“So there’s a possibility people could come and go and you wouldn’t notice.”
“Yes, but I noticed that night. I saw that man.” He pointed to Stephen. “I didn’t see anyone else.”
“No further questions.”
“You may step down,” the judge said. “The court will reconvene next Thursday.”
Hunter walked up to Byron and held out his hand. “I’d like to introduce myself.”
Byron turned and shook his hand. “There’s no need for introductions. Hello Brenna.”
“Hello.”
He clapped his hands together. “Anyone in the mood for coffee?”
A few moments later the three of them sat in a booth at a local restaurant.
“How do you think it’s going?” Brenna asked.
Byron stirred his drink. “It’s early.”
“The police sound certain as does the forensic expert.”
“Yes, they are supposed to. Besides the question isn’t how he was killed, but by whom.”
“And you’re going to prove it wasn’t Stephen?”
“I’m going to try.” “You’re not worried?”
His eyes twinkled over the rim of the cup. “If I’m worried I never tell and never show it.”
Hunter watched him, grim. He didn’t like him. He didn’t like how he looked at Brenna. Even more he didn’t like how Brenna looked at him. “You take everything in stride?” he said.
“Pretty much. So, what exactly do you do?”
Brenna piped up. “He’s an inventor.”
“Does that mean you’re unemployed?”
Hunter merely stared at him, a look full of warning.
Byron cleared his throat and finished his coffee.
***
On the drive home, Hunter said to Brenna, “I noticed he isn’t married.”
“Yes.”
“Are you glad?”
She turned to him startled. “What kind of question is that?”
“I see the way he looks at you.”
She glanced out the window. “I can’t help the way he looks at me.”
“How about the way you look at him?”
“And how is that?” she challenged. “With admiration? With respect? He’s defending my brother for half his fee. How do you want me to look at him? With contempt because he didn’t love me when I wanted him to? If I had contempt for every man that didn’t love me we’d—” She stopped and tugged on her seatbelt.
“We’d what?”
“Forget it.” She shifted in her seat irritated. “I know you didn’t like him.”
“He didn’t like me.”
“You didn’t give him a chance to.”
“No, I have the feeling he made up his mind before he met me.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“You’re being defensive.”
They fell into a tense silence. After a moment, Hunter reached over and squeezed her hand in a tender gesture of support. “I think he’s an asshole, but I hope he gets your brother off.”
“I think you’re obnoxious.” She squeezed his hand, gaining strength from his support and smiled. “But thank you.”
***
Miles managed not to smile when he saw Curtis standing outside his office door. “Now why is this not a surprise?” he said.
“Perhaps you know the sound of opportunity knocking.”
He opened the door to his office and gestured to a seat. “How can I help you?”
Curtis glanced around. “I believe you and Hunter used to share this space.”
“Yes.”
“Kind of small.”
“Kept the cost down. R&D isn’t a big priority.”
“But it’s a valuable part of the company. A lot of good ideas have come out of this department.”
Miles nodded noncommittal.
“You must have enjoyed the extra space when Hunter was promoted.”
“Yes.”
“Shame he thought it was best to resign.”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“No.”
“I’m surprised. I thought he counted you as a close friend. Didn’t you look after his wife while he was away?”
“Yes.”
It was clear Curtis was getting annoyed with Miles’ monosyllabic answers, but he maintained a calm expression. “Did she express any concern about Hunter? Did she think he might be unhappy with us? I hate to admit that Hunter and I aren’t close as father and son should be so I have to find another way to convince him to return.”
“I can’t help you.”
“I believe you have a sister you’re supporting in college.”
“Yes, I also have a lawyer on retainer so I suggest you don’t make threats.”
He held his hands out innocently. “Why would I threaten you? You
’ve been a loyal employee for years. I consider you one of the family. I just wanted to assess your economic responsibilities before offering you a more elevated position.”
“Thanks but no. I’m happy where I am.”
Curtis studied him. “Ambition is not a dirty word.”
“No, but I know the price of ambition with the Randolphs and it’s just too high for me.”
He stood. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”
***
It was the worst shift. Hunter lifted the last box on the truck then signaled for a break. He headed towards the candy machine then stopped when he saw Miles.
Hunter looked at Miles, startled. “How did you—”
“Daniel.” He yawned. “This is too early to be out of bed. Couldn’t you get a better shift?”
Hunter shoved his gloves in his back pocket. “Two guys called in sick and I need this shipment to go out.”
“Things aren’t picking up as fast as you thought?”
“They will.”
“Do you think Orson—“
“He doesn’t frighten me.”
“Your father tried to frighten me. Don’t worry,” he said quickly when Hunter’s expression changed. “I took care of it. I felt flattered he thought I was worthy of a bribe. He wanted to know if you had told me anything. Is there anything you need to tell me?”
“No, unless you also want to find yourself lifting boxes.”
“Thanks, but that would not be the best career move for me.”
“How long do you plan on keeping this a secret from Brenna?”
“Until things work.”
“You need to tell her.”
“I will when the time is right. She’s under a lot of stress right now. She doesn’t need more.” Hunter hesitated then said. “But you could do something for me.”
“What?”
“Find out more about these.” He handed Miles an object.
Miles stared at them confused. “Pantyhose?”
“Diabetic hose. I plan to broaden the selection. I know that diabetics have special needs regarding foot care and the material used for hose or socks is critical. I’m curious as to why manufactures stick to these three colors—black, white and tan. Also look into ways to reduce varicose veins and other ailments.”
“You think there might be something to this?”
“Yes.”
Miles shook his head unsure. “What could two guys know about hose?”
“That women like to buy many pairs.”
His interest peaked. “Hmm, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks.”
“In the meanwhile, be careful.”
Hunter pulled his gloves on. “I will.”
Miles held out an envelope. “Here.”
Hunter stared down at it. “No.”
Miles shoved it in his hand. “Don’t be a damn martyr. I know you’ll pay me back, with interest. Think of it as a business investment.” He picked up a box. “I plan to be head of R&D.”
“What are you doing?” Hunter asked watching Miles load the truck.
“You’ve got a new employee.”
“I can’t pay you what you’re worth yet, but online sales are growing and—”
“We’ll come up with something.”
“It’s a risk.”
“I don’t see you shaking.”
Hunter nodded and handed him another box. “Then welcome aboard.”
***
Brenna thought it was an odd choice for the DA to put the guard from the apartment complex on the stand. She couldn’t rationalize what relevance the guard would be to the case. The guard was a large black woman with four earrings in each ear.
“Is it true that you consider yourself a friend of the defendant’s wife?” the DA asked her.
“Yes.”
“Did Mrs. Garrett share with you how her husband acted when he returned home that night?”
“Yes.”
“How did she describe him?”
“Agitated.”
“Did she say why?”
“No, she says he gets in his restless moods from time to time and doesn’t say much.”
“What was it that bothered you and convinced you to call the police? Was there something you noticed?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And what was that?”
“He was wearing a different shirt.”
“Thank you.” The DA returned to his seat. “No further questions.”
Byron stood and shrugged with nonchalance determined to make light of her observations. “So he changed his shirt? Is that unusual?”
“Objection,” the DA said.
Byron rephrased his question. “Are you sure you saw him in a different shirt?”
“Positive. Yes, he was wearing a crew neck T-shirt when he left and he came back in a blue button-up one when he returned.”
“Do you usually notice what people wear?”
“No, not always.”
“So what made you remember the defendant?”
She looked embarrassed. “Well, he’s the kind of guy you notice, you know.”
Byron stroked his chin as though weighing her words. “Is it true that his job is of a physical nature?’
“Yes, Fiona told me it can be physical. She says she hates when he comes home sweaty.”
“So it would make sense that he’s in the habit of changing shirts, correct?”
“I guess.”
“Therefore it would make sense that after working at Seaborn’s all day he’d change his shirt?”
“Yes.”
He tapped the stand. “Thank you. No further questions.”
“Any cross?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor,” the DA replied.
The judge looked at the guard. “You may step down.”
***
Later that day, Byron sat alone in his office as the rays of the sunset filled the room. Things didn’t look good for Stephen. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve. He’d noticed some jurors had already made up their minds about him. He knew it was difficult to plant a seed of doubt in a slab of concrete, but he did believe in miracles. And he planned to get Stephen off. Bryon rubbed his eyes and sighed. He just wished he didn’t feel so alone. He missed his uncle and hated the prospect of dealing with another failure. He let his hands fall to his desk. No, he wouldn’t fail this time.
“The prosecution made quite a case,” Brenna said, standing in the doorway.
Byron sat up surprised. He’d always hoped she would come by to see him, but never believed that she would. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
She sat, resting her cane on the ground. “Do you still think you can get him off?”
He nodded again.
“I probably should have come before to help you with the case.”
“No other reason?”
Brenna ignored the undertone of his question. “There are some things you should know.”
Byron glanced at her hands as they fiddled with the strap of her handbag, she wasn’t as calm as she seemed. “I already know about your uncle.”
“Do you think the DA knows?”
“Yes.”
“But it doesn’t need to come out in the trial.”
“It will if it has to.”
She yanked on the strap. “You can make sure it doesn’t.”
He flashed a smile of sympathy. “I can’t make sure of anything. I can only try to use it to my advantage.”
Both her gaze and her voice fell. “Oh.”
Byron leaned forward eager to lift her spirits. “Do you remember—?”
“No,” she said quickly, meeting his gaze. “Or rather I don’t want to remember.”
“I don’t have a choice.” He clasped his hands together and studied her for a moment. “Do you plan on having kids?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “What do you think?”
“So the Randolphs wouldn’t mind i
f—“
“Hunter wouldn’t mind,” she said in a tight voice. “And that’s what matters.”
He rested back. “You don’t know everything about your husband.”
“Neither do you.”
Byron shrugged then came from around the desk, closing some of the distance between them. “Why did you come here? You could have just called.”
“I know. I wanted to offer support.” She grabbed her cane and stood. “But if you don’t need me for anything—“
He blocked her path. He stood close, but didn’t touch her. He could hear her breathing quicken. His body came alert at the rush of red that came to her cheeks and how she moistened her lips. “I don’t need you,” he said. “But I want you real bad.”
Her knuckles grew pale as she grasped the strap of her handbag. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No, you’re not. Brenna, don’t do this to me.”
She moved around him. “I’m not trying to do anything.”
“Okay, forget about us,” he called before she reached the door. “I could use your help.”
She paused then turned. “I’m listening.”
“Are you willing to work with me?”
She looked at him with interest. “I’m willing to do what’s necessary to help my brother.”
What’s necessary. How very practical and like Brenna. There was no way he could convince her to sleep with him—at least not yet, but at least he was no longer alone.
Byron gestured to the seat and smiled. “I’m glad to hear that.”
***
Later that night Byron stared up at the ceiling. It wasn’t like him to be unable to sleep, but no matter what he tried, sleep wouldn’t come. He thought about the prosecutions’ witnesses: the guard who’d seen Stephen change his shirt and Seaborn’s son. But aside from that he thought about Brenna. He shouldn’t be alone tonight. She should be beside him, beneath him and he wouldn’t stop until she was. They belonged together. He’d been weak, but he’d always been weak and that weakness had cost him. But not again, never again. He wouldn’t let her down. With his good looks and background he was used to things coming easily to him. Brenna’s resolve amazed him. He had to admit that when she’d asked him to marry her he’d been scared. Scared that he couldn’t be the husband she needed. He’d taken the coward’s way out, but not this time. He’d fight. She didn’t know the man she’d married or the family she’d married into.
PART THREE
The true measure of life is not length, but honesty.