by Roy Glenn
“Then the prosecutor says, Yeah, but she died that night anyway.’”
“You see what I’m saying?” Marcus said in obvious frustration.
“What about her alibi?”
“He’s shaky. And that’s another thing that worries me.”
“What’s that?” Tiffanie asked.
“He’s on the prosecutions witness list too.”
“That is not good. If they plan on calling him as a prosecution witness; that means he’s got something to say that will hurt her. What’s Mrs. Daniels saying about him, and what he might say?”
“Mrs. Daniels doesn’t like talking about her case.”
“Oh really. Well what does Mrs. Daniels like talking about?”
“Anything other than her case, but she does like to talk,” Marcus told Tiffanie. He could not and absolutely would not tell Tiffanie what Mrs. Daniels liked to talk about. Nor did he intend on mentioning what Mrs. Daniels liked to do anytime he brought up her case.
On his way home, Marcus dialed Panthea’s cell phone number. It wasn’t just the conversation with Tiffanie, but thoughts of Panthea had been weighing heavily on his mind. She answered in a sweet and sexy voice that instantly made him hard.
“I was just thinking about you,” she cooed in his ear.
A smiled made its way to Marcus’s face. “I hope you were thinking about the conversation we need to have about your case, and how there were many things you wanted me to know,” he tried to encourage as he brought his vehicle to a careful stop at an intersection.
“Not exactly,” Panthea said. “I was thinking how great it would be if you called to tell me we could meet somewhere. I miss you. I miss your touch. I miss my new best friend,” she said.
Marcus knew he should try and take the conversation back to the case. It needed to be discussed. They needed to talk about it—this much he knew for certain. But his mind instantly conjured up thoughts of them doing what they both enjoyed doing most.
“So you wanted to meet somewhere tonight?” Marcus tried to clarify.
“I’m starting to go mad. I mean, we’re so good together; I really just need to feel you inside of me. I just want to hold and caress you with my warmth. Don’t you want me, too, Marcus?” she cooed sweetly.
“Yes, you know I do. I can hardly think straight because I’m always thinking about you. I want you just as badly Panthea, but we must discuss this case. We need to talk about your alibi. We need to talk about the evidence—”
“I need your dick inside my mouth. We need to discuss what you’re thinking when you’re buried so deep inside of me that we literally become one. That’s all I want to talk about,” she cut him off.
Marcus felt himself getting warm and hot at the images she had described. He wanted the same thing too—desperately. He was bewildered as he thought of the possibilities. But he shook it off or at least he tried to.
Twenty minutes into his trek home, Marcus found himself pulling up to the Fairfield Inn on the edge of town. He had told himself he’d strike up the discussion they needed to have since they were going to be face to face. But when his cell phone rang, he grabbed it, hit the button and pulled it to his ear.
“I’m in room 489,” her voice said before he could say hello.
Marcus couldn’t deny the jolt of excitement he felt at that moment. He wanted to run up to that room as he stood waiting for the elevator. But again, he used this time to tell himself before he touched her and before he allowed himself to pleasure her in any way possible, he’d insist that they discuss the case. That’s what he’d do. As he rode up from the lobby to the fourth floor, he decided this visit may be just that, a good opportunity to discuss her case.
But Marcus had no way of knowing Panthea was using all of her arsenal to make sure their conversation would have nothing to do with words. When she thought he had had enough time to park the car and make his way up the elevator, she stood poised and ready for him.
Marcus used the key she’d left for him at the front desk and opened the door in a grand way. He had an agenda, and he was ready and prepared to move this thing forward. But when his eyes fixated on Panthea, his legs immediately began to wobble and his heart started beating faster. A layer of perspiration he hadn’t notice before suddenly appeared. His saucer wide eyes began at her black four and a half inch stacked peek toe shoes then traveled up her black fishnet clad legs and the vibrant hot pink fishnet dress that hugged her body in ways that should’ve been illegal. His eyes lingered at her neat triangle-shaped patch then moved up to her massive chocolate nipples. Everything seemed trapped behind the stretchy material.
Marcus licked his lips and instantly wished he were the threads that held those fishnets together. He knew at that moment, she had rendered him powerless, and his plans of discussing her case before he touched her, immediately took a backseat.
“That’s a—that’s a real nice outfit you have on there,” he managed to say as he clumsily closed the door behind him.
For all of her effort, Panthea knew her attire had upped the ante. She noticed the change in his demeanor and smiled inwardly. Panthea wasn’t the slightest bit interested in taking part in any damn legal discussion, even though she knew it was in her best interest. There was only one kind of conversation she was interested in having with Marcus Douglas, and she had grown tired of waiting to have it. Panthea wanted her clit licked and her pussy sucked, and she was determined to get exactly what she wanted.
As if reading the thoughts right from his very own mind, she moved into a slow and tantalizing twirl, so he could get the best view possible. After the spin was complete, she stood before him then sashayed over to the desk in their room and found a spot.
Panthea laid her upper torso across the tabletop and eased her legs apart. “I’ve missed you,” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder. She did a move that made her lips actually contract, all but inviting Marcus inside.
He smirked, narrowed his eyes at her wetness then unzipped his slacks. He massaged himself in strong, long even strokes and moved closer to his target.
“I’ve missed you, too. I can’t focus without you,” he declared.
Marcus was so stiff he feared he might never cum again. He didn’t hesitate to thrust himself into her and swore he had fallen into utopia.
“Oh God,” Panthea cried, huffing as she accepted his blows. “Yes . . . yes!”
He couldn’t understand how Scott could have foolishly left this pussy for anything else. Marcus couldn’t imagine anything better at that very moment. He felt Panthea hold and squeeze him tightly, just the way he enjoyed it. He loved women like Panthea who understood sex was definitely a contact sport that required great physical exertion, and she wasn’t afraid to put in the work.
“Damn,” Marcus said, moving his hips.
He grabbed her shoulders and again thrust himself deeper and deeper. Nearly an hour and a half after their tryst, Marcus was back behind the wheel of his car.
“She just used me,” he mumbled under his breath. “She used me!” He slammed his palm on his steering wheel. “Shit, I’ve gotta get her to talk about this case,” he snickered as he made the drive home.
22
Panthea’s trial began with absolutely no fanfare. There were only a handful of spectators and no member of the media. To the press, a jealous wife killing her husband’s mistress wasn’t even news worthy. That was just fine with Marcus. It would make things progress that much faster, especially since the assistant district attorney he would face was Kelly Paxson. Kelly had an eye for the media, and planned to be mayor of Atlanta someday, but nobody but him thought he had a chance. Atlanta hadn’t elected a white mayor since the seventies.
Marcus sat next to Panthea at the defense table and listened as ADA Paxson made his opening statement. Hoping to curry favor with the nine women and three men on the jury, he had asked Panthea to dress down for the trial and try not to show so much cleavage. “Maybe we can get those women to feel sorry for you,”
Marcus told her on the phone the night before.
While he listened, Marcus allowed his arm to drop to his side. Panthea quickly took the opportunity to touch his hand and then quickly moved it away. When she touched him, he looked at her. The look on her face said, “Don’t worry, Marcus. Everything is going to be fine.” Panthea’s eyes told him the words that she had said so many times.
He wanted to hold her hand, squeeze it tightly and never let it go. Marcus should’ve been the one assuring Panthea that everything would be fine, but he couldn’t do that. The prosecution’s case would be simple and straight to the point—a jealous wife kills her husband’s mistress hours after receiving the news from her attorney.
And the only defense Marcus had to offer was, “She didn’t do it,” he said and stood up from the defense table, prepared to make his opening statement. Since he didn’t have much of a defense to offer, he planned on keeping his remarks brief and was glad that Paxson was uncharacteristically short with his.
“She didn’t do it, ladies and gentleman. Panthea Daniels did not kill Abril Arrington.” Marcus walked slowly toward the jury box and elegantly presented his opening statement. “And once the judge gives you your instructions and asks you to decide this matter, I am confident that after hearing the evidence or the lack of it, you will believe that Panthea Daniels did not murder Abril Arrington.” Marcus turned to Panthea. “She couldn’t,” he said and returned his focus to the jury. Marcus leaned on the rail in front of the jury box and made eye contact with the jurors who he thought would be sympathetic to his defense of Panthea.
“Mr. Paxson promised, standing in this very spot, to present you with the evidence in this case, evidence that would prove the fact beyond any reasonable doubt. Not theory, not conjecture, actual evidence that Mrs. Daniels murdered Abril Arrington. But that’s what you’ll get—that’s exactly what you will get is theory and conjecture. Mr. Paxson has asked you to reach into the darkest part of yourselves and agree with him.” Marcus turned quickly and faced Paxson and began walking toward him. “What else could she do?” Marcus asked mocking Parson’s southern drawl. “When faced with adversity, everybody doesn’t revert to their base instincts and commit murder to resolve their issues.”
Marcus returned to the defense table and stood behind Panthea. “Panthea Daniels didn’t kill Abril Arrington, ladies and gentlemen. And you’ll hear nothing that proves beyond any reasonable doubt that she did.” Marcus turned to Paxson. “We anxiously await the presentation of your case, sir.”
Paxson smiled at Marcus, and then proceeded with his case. They had faced off in court before, and Paxson knew Marcus was famous for his courtroom theatrics and colorful cross-examinations. With that thought in mind, Paxson was anticipating a much grander opening argument and planned to negate it by slowing things down and taking Marcus out of the trial. The absence of theatrics gave Paxson confidence that Marcus didn’t have much of a defense to offer.
His first witness was Detective Silver, who testified as expected that he entered a crime scene with obvious signs of a struggle. While Paxson showed them pictures, Silver told the jury how he found Abril Arrington's body in a pile of broken glass and a pool of her own blood.
When the detective was asked to speculate as to how the crime was committed, Marcus objected. “Calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness. The detective was not a witness to the crime.”
“Overruled,” the judge said. “I think the detective’s professional opinion on how the crime was committed is important to the case, Mr. Douglas.”
Marcus knew his objection would be overruled, but he wanted to establish for the jury that this was just the detective’s theory, and he also wanted to establish some precedent, since he planned to ask the detective to give his professional opinion when the time came.
“As I said there were signs of a struggle,” Silver said. “In my opinion the killer pushed the victim, and she crashed through the table.”
“Thank you, Detective Silver. Your witness, Mr. Douglas,” Paxson said and smiled at Marcus.
Paxson had turned over the detective without ever mentioning the eyewitness or connecting Panthea to the crime. This move caught Marcus off guard. Since he could only ask him questions about items covered in direct examination, his cross would be limited to asking questions about the crime scene. About facts that were supported by the picture Paxson had shown the jury. “No questions at this time, your honor.”
“Next witness.”
“The state calls Clint Ford.”
As medical examiner, Clint Ford spent the next forty minutes explaining the intricacies of blunt force trauma to the head. Then he took the next half an hour to explain in more nauseating detail than everyone needed on how a cut to the jugular vein can cause a person to bleed to death. By the time Paxson asked the medical examiner to reach a conclusion it was almost noon. “Thank you, Dr. Ford. Your witness, Mr. Douglas,” Paxson said and smiled at Marcus.
“No questions at this time, your honor.”
At this point, the judge adjourned court for lunch, and Marcus had barely said a word since his opening. Certainly nothing that would help his client. Paxson had taken Marcus completely out of the trial. He had spent the morning intentionally putting the jury to sleep with boring testimony on the facts. Facts Marcus couldn’t dispute. Paxson had the jury thinking solely about the murder.
23
“Call your next witness,” the judge said, reconvening the afternoon session.
When Paxson called Simon Temple, Abril’s neighbor, to the stand, Marcus began to get an idea of what he was doing.
“Mr. Temple,” Paxson began. “You live in the North Avenue Condominiums in the building adjacent to the victim?”
“That’s correct.”
“Did you know Ms. Arrington?”
“No, sir. I’d seen her in the complex, going in and out of her building, but I didn’t know her.”
“Can you tell me where you were, and what you saw on the night of the murder?”
“I had just come from the store and was taking my stuff in the house. I was heading back to the car to get the rest of the stuff and close the trunk, when I saw somebody running out of the building.”
Paxson stood in front of the defense table and looked at Panthea. “Could you tell if it was a man or a woman?”
“No, sir,” Temple answered. He too was looking at Panthea. “I didn’t really look enough to noticed. I was just trying to get my stuff in.”
“What did the person you saw do then?”
“I saw them get in a black Mercedes Benz and drive away.”
“Would you say they were driving fast?”
“Definitely. They were trying to get away from there.”
“Are you sure it was a Mercedes Benz you saw?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sure it was a Mercedes Benz.”
“You weren’t looking close enough to see if it was a man or a woman.” Paxson walked back to the witness box and stood in front of Temple. “How can you be so sure about the car the person leaving the scene was driving?”
“It’s the same model I drive.”
“And what model is that, sir?” Paxson asked and looked at the jury.
“Two thousand and six Mercedes Benz CLK500 Coupe,” Temple said confident and proudly.
“Nice car,” Paxson said and Temple smiled broadly to acknowledge the compliment. “How much one of those run you?”
“A little less than sixty thousand.”
“I know it was dark, Mr. Temple, but could you tell what color the car you saw was?”
“It was black.”
“Not midnight blue?”
“No sir, black. Definitely black.”
Paxson started to walk back to his chair, but turned quickly and faced Temple. “One more question, Mr. Temple. What color is your Mercedes Benz CLK500 Coupe?”
“Black.”
“I think that will be all, Mr. Temple. Thank you very much for your time. Your witness, Mr. Doug
las.”
Marcus didn’t move or say anything at first. He just sat and looked at the very smug look on Paxson’s face. He still hadn’t connected Panthea to any of the events of the murder. And once again left Marcus with nothing to refute but the facts.
What Paxson had done was establish how the murder was committed, how the victim died and how the killer left the scene.
Marcus wondered what he was going to ask Temple. He never said he saw Panthea leaving the scene, only that he had seen somebody get in a Benz and drive away. Marcus stood up and walked toward the witness box.
“Mr. Temple, you testified that you saw somebody leaving the building and drive away in a Mercedes. Can you tell us what time that was?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I know for sure it was after nine.”
“How can you be so sure of the time?”
“Because when I came in the house with the first load of groceries, Law & Order Criminal Intent was already on. It comes on at nine o'clock,” Temple said and some of the jurors laughed a little, so did the judge. “That’s why I was in such a hurry to get my stuff in, because I was missing it.”
Marcus just shook his head and sat down. Marcus knew he would recall Mr. Temple to the stand when he needed him, so he wasn’t really all that worried about asking any more questions at this time.
When Paxson called Scott Daniels to the stand, Marcus knew that he was going to use this testimony to connect Panthea to the crime.
“Mr. Daniels were you surprised when the police came to your house and told you that Abril Arrington was dead?”
“I was shocked.”
“How well did you know her?”
“I was in love with her,” he said bitterly and stared at Panthea. Marcus looked at the expression on some of the juror’s faces. They seemed a little shocked that a married man would sit proudly on the stand and profess his love for another woman. Marcus had to admit he was a little surprised too, but he felt confident that he could use it to his advantage.