Of Demons & Stones: A Tri-Stone Trilogy

by Anne L. Parks

  By the time the prosecution is finished cross-examining the expert, the judge calls for an early lunch and excuses the jury. Before letting the rest of us go, Judge Riley asks if there are any issues to be addressed before recess.

  I rise. “Your Honor. Some new evidence has been brought to my attention, which necessitates calling two witnesses that are not on my witness list but have already testified for the prosecution. I'm currently in the process of authenticating the evidence, but I obviously wanted to inform the court of the potential, so as to not delay the proceedings. I plan on calling the two witnesses after the lunch recess. It's still my hope that we can rest the defense's case this afternoon."

  Judge Riley has a pinched expression and he turns to the prosecution. "Anything from the State?"

  Matt scowls, which is a lawyer trick. We all do it, thinking it bolsters our argument as whatever we are claiming is bullshit by the other side. "Your Honor, we haven't had an opportunity to examine any new evidence, and we question its existence and relevance. We would object to the defense using this as a stall tactic, in the hopes of ferreting out something. We also object to witnesses being called to accomplish this, in the hopes of finding evidence that will most likely be irrelevant to the case. Thank you, Your Honor." Matt glances at me and sits back down.

  The judge sits back in his chair and stares at me for a moment. "Miss Tate, bring your arguments as to why the court should consider this when we reconvene. I would caution you, however, against wasting the court's time. Court is in recess."

  He bangs his gavel, and we all rise as he exits the courtroom. I look over at Lisa as she moves next to me.

  "Subpoenas served. Scott Martin will be here."

  "Get Jake on the phone for me." I turn to my intern. "Gil, go back to the office and formalize your notes. I need a brief for the court, copy for the prosecution, and notes for me."

  Gil gathers his briefcase and heads out, and Lisa hands me her cell phone.

  "Jake, it's Kylie. I have to talk fast. Do you know what Ralph Bernstein looks like?"

  "I'm already tracking him, Kylie. Mr. Stone asked me to do so after he talked to you earlier. I'll make sure Bernstein is there by one o'clock."

  Thank you, Alex!

  "Excellent. Thanks, Jake. Keep Lisa updated." I hand the phone back to Lisa. "Let's get back to the office. I want Scott Martin there, so we can prep."

  I turn to Jack, who is smiling at me. His approval means the world to me, personally and professionally. It's as if I'm making my father proud. I breathe in deeply and walk over to where he's standing.

  "Okay," he says, "I'll get started with Tony, just in case you need him. Matt is nearly apoplectic, so you need to speak with him. Give him a bite, but not the whole apple. Tell him you will have to fax what you have when you get back to the office, and then leave it at that."

  Jack turns to Tony and leads him out of the courtroom and through the media frenzy in order to drum up more business for the firm. I have no doubt Jack will make some type of nondescript comment and include the firm's name.

  I shake my head. That is one area I am not comfortable in—drumming up business. Thank goodness the firm has a PR department. I'd probably starve if I had my own practice. No clients, no billable hours. No money. Guess I'll be staying with the firm—as long as I win this case.

  I provide Matt minimal information, dial Thomas's cell, and instruct him to pick me up in the usual spot.

  Once in the SUV, I call Alex's office, but Amy tells me he's still in his meeting.

  "Should I interrupt him?" Amy asks.

  "No. Just tell him we are recessed for lunch, and I'll be at the office. He can call my cell if he needs to get in touch with me."

  I sit back in the seat, close my eyes, and gear up for the remainder of the afternoon.

  This shit just got interesting.

  Chapter Forty

  "Mr. Bernstein, I'll ask you to review the document I've handed you, marked defense exhibit fifty-nine. Please explain to the jury what this document is." I walk back to the podium and wait while the witness looks at the paper.

  "It is a change of beneficiary form from Cindy's life insurance policy." Squirming in his seat, he is sweating profusely, and the paper shakes slightly in his hand. He seems overly irritated at my question—which is just fine with me.

  "And can you tell me whose name appears as the new primary beneficiary?" I ask calmly, almost sweetly.

  "Mine, but I did not change this. Cindy did."

  "So it's your testimony that you did not write your name on this form?" I say.

  "That's correct."

  "Have you ever seen this form, prior to me handing it to you?"

  A smug smile crosses his face, and I know he thinks I'm losing this battle. "No, I had no idea that Cindy did this."

  I smile back at him and then face the judge. "At this time, Your Honor, I would like to publish defense exhibit fifty-nine alongside the State's previously admitted exhibit seventeen."

  Matt exhales loudly. "No objection, Your Honor."

  "Mr. Bernstein, you previously testified that State's exhibit seventeen is a note from you to the victim, Cindy Onstad. Do you recall that testimony?"

  "Yes." He grabs tissues from the box next to him and mops his forehead.

  I could not have asked for a better performance for the jury, and I gather he has no idea how much he's conveying through his body language alone. He's hostile and nervous. Considering his name is on that beneficiary form, he's starting to also look as if he's hiding something.

  I lean over to Lisa and instruct her to display both exhibits on the large screen. The jury looks at the split screen images of the card and the change form.

  "I direct your attention to your signature on the card and then to the name written on the line next to Primary Beneficiary on the form." I use my red laser pointer and circle each area, leaving bright red ghost circles that draw the jury's attention. "You wrote your name on both of these, correct?"

  "No!" He takes a deep breath. "I mean, I wrote on the card but not the insurance form." His voice elevates and shakes. He's edgy and exasperated, and that just adds fuel to my bonfire examination.

  "It's your testimony that this is not your handwriting?" My voice has an edge of incredulity to it. I use the pointer to make several red circles around Ralph Bernstein's name on the change form.

  "It's not my handwriting." His hand comes down on the arm of his chair with a loud thud.

  A couple of the jury members startle.

  Perfect!

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Bernstein, but this signature here"—I circle his name on the card—"is not the same handwriting as the name written here?" The light leaves a glowing wake of red as I circle widely on the screen.

  "Objection, Your Honor." Matt stands, addressing the court, as I knew he would. "Asked and answered."

  But we both know I've already made my point, and the jury's eyes are still on the two names in identical handwriting.

  "Sustained," Judge Riley states. "Move on, Miss Tate."

  "Yes, Your Honor. The defense has no further questions for this witness."

  Matt storms past me to the podium, clearly irritated, as I take my seat.

  "Remove those exhibits," he bellows, and points to the split-screen projection that remains in the jury's view.

  Internally, I chuckle. He is playing right into my hands.

  He takes a deep breath, and begins his attempt at rehabilitation. "Mr. Bernstein, did you have any knowledge that Cindy Onstad changed her policy and listed you as the primary beneficiary?"

  "No, I did not." Bernstein's face is a dark red, and he appears almost angrier than Matt.

  "Have you collected or attempted to collect on this policy?" Matt continues, calming down slightly, probably in an attempt to calm the witness, as well.

  "No, I have not," is the emphatic response.

  "Nothing further, Your Honor." Matt takes his seat.

  The jury follows him closely with th
eir gazes.

  "Any rebuttal, Miss Tate?" Judge Riley directs toward me.

  "No, Your Honor."

  "The witness is excused. Call your next witness, Miss Tate."

  I sit for a moment, considering whether to call Tony to the stand. This could be a brilliant move that leads to acquittal, or the reason he's convicted.

  I rise slowly. The courtroom is eerily silent. "The defense rests, Your Honor."

  Loud gasps break the silence. I glance at the jury to gauge their reaction to Tony not testifying. Not one of them is looking at us. All twelve sets of eyes are on the judge.

  Judge Riley swivels in his chair and addresses the jury, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the close of the evidentiary portion of this case. Both the State and the defense have provided all the evidence they intend to submit for your consideration. Both sides will now have an opportunity to present a summation of their cases before we turn the case over to you for deliberation and a verdict. Since closing arguments can potentially be lengthy and it's already past mid afternoon, I will recess for today, and we will reconvene in the morning."

  After further admonitions to the members of the jury to refrain from discussing the case among themselves until after closing arguments have concluded, we stand and they leave the courtroom.

  "Counsel, we'll meet in chambers in fifteen minutes to begin going over jury instructions," Judge Riley states.

  He bangs his gavel, and I turn to find Jack in the gallery. Searching his face, I look for confirmation that I made the right decision by ending our case without putting Tony on the stand. He winks and makes his way toward me. A faucet turns on in my body, and some of the tension begins to flow out of me.

  He finally comes through the gate and stands next to me at the defense table.

  "Okay?" I ask quietly.

  "Just what I would've done, Kylie. Are you comfortable with arguing the jury instructions? They're very important, you know." He places his hand on my upper arm and offers support, but his expression is stern.

  I feel like a child getting advice from my father. That's exactly what Jack means to me. He stepped into that parental role and provides me with so much more than just a job. He supports me, mentors me, lectures me, but most of all, he loves me.

  "You're the daughter he dreamed of having," his wife, Annabelle, told me the annual Christmas party.

  It made my heart swell and a lump form in my throat. My parents didn't guide me through life. In fact, I was responsible for my father and his wellbeing for most of my teenage years, up until his death. Jack is the only actual father figure I've ever had, and I thank my lucky stars for him every day.

  "I'm good on jury instructions," I say.

  "And closing?" he asks, cocking up an eyebrow.

  "I have a basic closing outline, but I will need to rework it tonight. It'll be ready tomorrow. I'm not concerned about it. I know what I want to say."

  "Opening and closing statements have never been an issue with you. It's second nature, which is great. Allows you to focus on other things." He looks around. "Okay, the firm has been getting lots of calls for you at the office—people wanting interviews. I've been able to put them off, but you are a hot commodity right now. I'm giving you space since this is your first time, and I will continue to do so, but you'll need to talk to some of these folks after the verdict. Understand?"

  I nod and try to muster a modicum of excitement, but I hate the circus the press creates, and I loathe being a part of the machine that makes my job more difficult than it needs to be. The press exists, it seems, to glamorize and exploit victims and defendants, without a care for the implications involved in releasing information to the public or creating unwarranted presumptions of guilt that are difficult to overcome.

  Jack looks over his shoulders to the back of the courtroom. The media is camped outside the doors in the hallway.

  "I'll go calm the vultures. You concentrate on wrapping this up and bringing home a win."

  "I will. Thanks, Jack." I want to give him a hug, but I know it's wholly inappropriate in the current setting. After this is over, I'll make the trek to Jack and Annabelle's for dinner—this time, with Alex.

  Thinking of Alex reminds me to turn on my cell phone and check messages. I'm expecting a missed call or text from him. He's probably wondering what's going on and what my plans are for the night. Nothing.

  I walk into the hallway behind the courtroom and place a call to Alex. I'm a little apprehensive I've somehow hurt his feelings by not keeping him updated.

  "Hey, baby." Alex's voice puts me at ease immediately and brings a huge smile to my face.

  I love the way he sounds when we're happy, and I marvel at how two simple words coming from him seem to bring order to my chaotic existence at present.

  "Hey, we're recessed, but I have to meet with Matt and the judge to go over jury instructions. It shouldn't be more than an hour, if that. Then, I'll be done here."

  "I was able to catch some of the trial on TV this afternoon. I'm guessing you pulled a stunner, judging by the chatter on the news. The pundits are going nuts."

  My heart beats a little faster, and my smile turns into an all-out grin. He sounds so excited. It's such a kick and a boost to my ego that he's so interested in my career.

  "Are you headed to the office after your meeting with the judge?" His voice is still so positive. He's doing his best to be supportive, which makes my heart swell even more.

  "I think I'll come home, work on my closing there, if you can be my sounding board?"

  Dead silence fills the line, and my brain instantly goes to a dark place. Maybe he made other plans with someone else.

  "Of course, I'd love to help you." There is a bit of wonderment to his voice.

  An incredible sense of guilt and shame pervades me, and I feel horrible for jumping to such a grim assumption. He didn't help matters when he made up that stupid story about being with someone else, but other than that one instance—when he was upset and drunk—he has always made me feel as if I am the center of his universe. Why do I expect the worst, when he only gives me the best?

  So much to learn about each other.

  "Okay, I'll call you when we've wrapped up here." I pause for a second. "Thanks, Alex."

  "For what?"

  A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow hard over it. "For putting up with this mess. It's almost over."

  "I'm working on it." His voice is low and husky.

  "I know," I whisper, trying to keep my emotions under control, "and I really appreciate it. I have to go. I'll call soon."

  "Bye, baby."

  I press End and place the phone to my heart. Wow. Alex Stone really is mine.

  Chapter Forty-One

  I recite my closing argument for what feels like the thousandth time, stopping only to scribble notes on my legal pad.

  Alex sits next to me on the couch in his study and runs his fingers through my hair. There's just a hint of a smile on his face.

  "What?" I ask.

  "It's fascinating, watching you prepare. It's obvious you love what you do. You're passionate about it. Your eyes light up, and every once in a while, you get a devious smirk and write furiously. I wish I could be in your head."

  I snigger. "Oh, no, I've driven you mad with boredom. You're now deriving pleasure from me writing on a notepad. What have I done to you?"

  "So about that, no computer? You handwrite everything?"

  I shrug, giving him a wistful smile. "Yeah, I'm old school on some things. Writing is one of them. I handwrite everything. Eventually, I'll transfer notes and things to the computer, but things like this"—I lift the legal pad containing my summation in longhand—"I write out. It helps me to memorize it. Besides, looking at a computer screen all day fucks with my eyes. I swear, you're going to go blind one of these days with the amount of time you spend looking at the computer."

  I straddle his lap and place my hands on the sides of his face, look into his eyes, and playfully examine each of them
. The brilliant shade of blue is calming, as if I'm adrift on the ocean without a care in the world.

  Alex's hands move to my hips and rest there.

  I tsk and shake my head. "I see the preliminary signs of blindness."

  "Really? How can you tell?" His fingers skirt the edge of my waistband.

  My skin pebbles under his touch. "Because I only see me in your eyes."

  "That's all you'll ever see there. Just you, Kylie."

  My heart beats like crazy, and the rush of blood through my veins heats me. But I know that is only part of it. Alex and his words, his feelings—they do a number on my heart and warm my soul.

  "Is that a problem?" he whispers, his eyes never leaving mine.

  "Not for me. It doesn't do much for your reputation as the man every woman wants and every man wants to be. One woman for weeks now? Pretty sure they're going to take away your Dude Card."

  I try to cut through the heightened emotions of the moment. If we continue down this road, I'll tell Alex that I'm falling in love with him. I'm not sure he's there or even ready to hear it, yet. Too much is going on right now. After this trial is over we can delve into that murky swamp.

  "That's Man Card, baby, and I'm pretty sure I still have it." He raises an eyebrow, a quirky smile on his face.

  "Yes, yes, I know about the Man Card, and I do agree that you have retained possession of your balls and have not turned them over to me. Got it. I'm talking about the Dude Card—the lesser known but no less important card to players, such as yourself, who test-drive a variety of women and never decide on one model."

  "You totally just made that up."

  "Says you." I poke playfully at his chest.

  "Yeah, says me and every other male out there. There is no such thing as a Dude Card." He runs his fingers run along my sides, and before I know it, he is relentlessly tickling me.

  I squirm and try to get away from him, but I'm laughing uncontrollably.

  "Admit it," he says. "Admit you just made that up."

  "Never," I squeal between fits of laughter.