“You won’t be dealing with just Sebby. Are you sure you’re ready for that kind of personal scrutiny?”
“I can’t imagine anything could be worse than it already is,” she answered glumly, settling back into her position against Charlotte’s chest. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”
The question came as a shock. “About us? Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Nothing, just . . . I feel bad that I haven’t held up my end.”
“Your end of what? You ate more than half the pizza.”
Glynn chuckled. “My end is that I’m in love with you too.”
A ripple of euphoria caused Charlotte to hug Glynn closer. “Excuse me. Did you just say you were in love with me?”
“Sorry . . . I think I might have been asleep. Was I talking? The doctors said I tend to do that.”
Charlotte poked her in the back. “Say it again.”
“I’m in love with you.”
She sighed dreamily and put her lips next to Glynn’s ear. “Now say it about a million more times.” They lay together quietly for several minutes, Charlotte soaking up Glynn’s affirmation.
“This is the only place I ever feel safe anymore.”
“That’ll change, Glynn. You’ll get your life back soon.”
“I don’t want that old life back. It was full of pretense.”
“What do you want your new life to be like?”
“I want my son back. I want all of this to have been some kind of horrible mistake we can both put behind us. I want him to come to terms with losing his father, and to go forward without being scared of losing me.”
“What else?”
“I want us to have a chance. I want to be able to love you and not care who knows it. And I want you and Sebby to be friends so we can all have a normal life.”
“I want those things too,” she said, kissing Glynn behind the ear. “And what about your seat in the House?”
“I’m starting to think that’s the biggest pretense of all. Those people belonged to Bas, not to me. I’ve been representing them all this time like a paid lobbyist, there to do their bidding.”
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”
“Yes, but maybe they should give that job to one of their own, not to a lesbian from California who happened to marry their favorite son.”
“Are you thinking of giving it up?”
“I’m starting to think I might not run for re-election, no matter how the trial turns out. I got an e-mail from Saul. He told me not to worry about a job because he had a senior position waiting for me at the institute any time I wanted it. I have to admit, that would be a nice life.”
“You deserve a nice life. And I’m glad to hear you want me in it.”
Glynn suddenly turned and delivered a deep kiss. “How would you feel about going upstairs now so I can hold up my end?”
“I think my heart just stopped. You might have to carry me.”
She took Glynn’s outstretched hand and allowed herself to be led up the stairs to the master bedroom, where they had slept entwined for the past three nights. Neither spoke as Glynn helped her out of her T-shirt and pajama pants before stripping off her own. She loved the feel of Glynn on top of her as they fell onto the downturned bed.
Charlotte’s lips sought contact with whatever she could reach . . . Glynn’s shoulder, her neck and finally, her mouth. This submissive role wasn’t one she experienced often, but she loved the sensation of being claimed, and she opened her legs to allow Glynn to settle her hips between them. They soon found a rhythm, one that nearly drove Charlotte crazy as Glynn’s pubic mound ground against hers.
“You feel so good,” she murmured.
As Glynn slid lower to lavish attention on her breasts, Charlotte raised her head from the pillow, watching as her body came alive. One of her nipples was being fiercely pinched, the other raked between Glynn’s teeth. Her focus drifted from one to the other and back as she grappled with which was the most exquisite sensation. Complicating her choice was the tiny jolt her clit received each time she thrust her hips upward into Glynn’s belly.
As her excitement soared, she fell back against the pillow in surrender. Glynn abandoned her breasts and moved lower, wedging herself between Charlotte’s legs. Charlotte tingled with anticipation until the moment Glynn’s tongue parted her labia and plunged inside. It was all she could do not to scream her need—which was something touching her clit now.
Instead, she rode the wave that climbed steadily as Glynn caressed every fold with her lips and tongue, teasing her clit only sparingly until Charlotte found herself high off the bed, one leg wrapped tightly around Glynn’s neck. When she was sure she could stand it no more, Glynn honed in on her clit and slid two fingers inside as Charlotte thundered her release.
“God,” she moaned, her arms flopping to her sides as she slowly brought her hips back to the bed. “Republicans are my new thing.”
Chapter 20
“The District calls Detective Roger Luckett to the stand.” Glynn peered over her shoulder to watch Luckett’s entry through the back door of the courtroom. Though he had lost most of his hair and gained about twenty pounds, she recognized him immediately as the detective who had investigated Bas’s death eleven years ago.
“Make sure you don’t react to anything,” Michael whispered. Ferrin approached the witness stand and smiled warmly. “Detective Luckett, you’ve had quite a long career with the Metropolitan Police Department. Is that correct?”
“Yes, twenty-two years with the force, eight as a patrolman, fourteen as detective.”
“And you participated in the investigation into the death of Congressman Wright, did you not?”
“Yes, I did. I was the lead investigator at the scene.”
“Can you describe what you found when you arrived at the Wright home?”
His belly strained against the buttons of his sports coat as he turned to direct his comments to the jury. “I arrived approximately thirty minutes after the call came in to dispatch. Patrol officers had secured the scene. Mrs. Wright and her son, Sebastian, Jr., were sitting in the boy’s bedroom. I remember that the boy was crying, but Mrs. Wright seemed calm and composed.”
All Glynn remembered was the flurry of people who had swarmed her house that afternoon, taking pictures and talking to both her and Sebby. She had a vague image of Bas’s body being removed, zipped inside a dark bag and strapped to a gurney.
“And the scene in the bathroom?”
“We found the congressman in the tub. A small portable television had apparently fallen into the water from a nearby shelf. The medical examiner determined that it caused his death by electrocution.”
Ferrin returned to his table for a set of photos, entering them into evidence.
Michael stood and intercepted the copies before Ferrin could place them on their table. He slid them facedown underneath his tablet, knowing Glynn had no need to view the official photos of her husband’s body.
Luckett described each one, a copy of which was passed around to the jurors.
“Detective, when you investigated this scene, did you consider the possibility this was a homicide?”
“We did. In fact, we discussed it at length, because it didn’t make sense to anyone how the TV could have fallen diagonally into the tub.”
“What do you mean diagonally?” He handed Luckett an enlarged photo of the shelf.
“From the dust prints we found on the shelf, we concluded the TV was sitting approximately here.” He indicated a position on the shelf about one foot away from the edge of the tub. “If the TV had simply fallen off the shelf, it would have landed on the floor. Instead, it traveled diagonally to land in the tub. That suggested someone else pushed it.”
“Did you wonder if perhaps the congressman had accidentally pulled it into the tub?”
“Based on the stories we got from Mrs. Wright and her son, that’s what we eventually concluded in our official report, that he w
as adjusting the volume or channel and accidentally slipped, catching the cord and pulling it in.”
Ferrin handed him another photo. “Can you identify this picture?”
“That’s the master bedroom. You can see the doorway to the bathroom where Congressman Wright was found, as well as the doorway out into the family room.”
“And what about this picture?”
“Those were cookies. We found two cookies on the floor at the foot of the bed. The cookies were homemade. There were others like these in a jar in the kitchen.”
Ferrin leaned against the jury box. “Let’s talk about Mrs. Wright’s story. Where was she during this accident?”
“She told us she was asleep in her son’s room.”
Ferrin’s assistant produced a poster-sized diagram of the home, showing the master suite on one end of the house, with the kitchen and Sebby’s bedroom on the other, separated by an expansive family room. “In other words, she claimed she was nowhere near the master bathroom when the accident occurred.”
“That’s correct. And that she heard nothing until her son woke her up.”
“Where was her son when this happened?”
“She said they were sleeping together, but that he must have woken up and gone out, because he came back and told her something had happened to his father.”
“Detective, did you have any reason to doubt Mrs. Wright’s story?”
“It seemed overly convenient, but we had no direct evidence to disprove it.”
“Overly convenient,” Ferrin repeated, putting his hands in his pockets as he turned to face the cameras at the back of the gallery. “And what did Sebastian have to say?”
“When I first tried to ask him questions, he wouldn’t talk to me. He kept looking at his mother. So I asked to take him in the other room.”
“Did Mrs. Wright object?”
“As I recall, she didn’t seem to want him to leave at first, but she allowed him to.”
“I see. She didn’t want him to leave.”
“He was scared half to death,” she whispered to Michael, who patted her arm without looking her way.
“And what did Sebastian have to say when you finally got him away from his mother?”
“His story was basically the same, that he went to sleep with his mother, got up and found his father, and came back to wake her up. But I remember that it didn’t sound right. It was almost like he had practiced what to say.”
“Why do you say that?”
“His story seemed very simple, very rote . . . no details at all, like he was hiding something.”
“I have to ask this, Detective. If you had doubts about the truthfulness of Mrs. Wright and her son, why was this death ruled an accident?”
“Because we had no way of proving otherwise. It was very frustrating for all of the investigating officers, but we knew the DA wouldn’t even listen if we didn’t bring him more evidence.”
“No further questions.”
Michael stood immediately and walked toward the witness stand, his attention focused on a folder in his hand. “Detective, I have a copy of the police report from that night. I’d like to go over a few things with you, if I may. First, you testified only a few moments ago that Mrs. Wright seemed calm and composed when you arrived on the scene. Can you read this highlighted sentence from the report you filed only six hours after arriving at Mrs. Wright’s home on the day her husband died?”
Luckett took out his glasses and peered at the document. “Mrs. Wright appeared to be in a state of shock.”
“Are those things the same to you, Detective? Does a person in shock exhibit behavior that is calm and composed?”
“A person in shock does not usually exhibit behavior that is loud and frantic. So yes, they tend to be calm and composed.”
“So by describing Mrs. Wright as calm and composed as you did today, that’s just another way of saying she appeared to be in shock?”
“Yes,” he conceded, obviously annoyed.
“I have a few additional photos I’d like to enter into evidence, Your Honor.” Michael distributed sets to the judge and Ferrin. “This photo . . . do you recognize this room?”
Luckett studied the picture for a moment. “That was the son’s room, where Mrs. Wright reported she was sleeping during her husband’s death.”
“Have a look at the drapes, please, Detective. Are they closed or open?”
“Closed.”
“Approximately what time of day did this accident occur?”
“It was late morning, about eleven thirty.”
“Does that seem to be consistent with Mrs. Wright sleeping at that hour, that she would close the drapes to make the room darker?”
“It could mean that. Or it could mean she didn’t want people looking in.”
“Were any of the other drapes closed? Were they closed in the living room? In the master suite?” He handed over two other photos.
“No, it doesn’t appear they were closed when we arrived at the scene.”
“Are you suggesting, Detective Luckett, that Mrs. Wright might have closed the drapes in her son’s room and perhaps opened others after placing the emergency call that her husband had been killed in the bathtub?”
“I suppose it’s possible.”
“Does it seem likely to you she would do this while in an apparent state of shock?”
Luckett shrugged and cast a skeptical glance toward the jury. “After twenty-two years, I’m not usually surprised by what people can do to cover their crimes.”
“That wasn’t my question, Detective. Does it seem likely to you Mrs. Wright could have staged this scene while in the state of shock you reportedly observed?”
“If it actually was a state of shock, it seems unlikely,” he admitted.
“Thank you.” Michael placed another photo in front of the policeman. “Do you recall this scene from the kitchen?”
“Yes, we found a stool by the counter where the cookie jar was kept. That indicated to us that the child had retrieved cookies on his own, and took them into the master bedroom.”
“In other words, no adult was present when Sebastian wanted cookies, so he used the stool to get his own.”
“We assumed it meant no adults were present in the kitchen.”
“But you noted in your report that Sebastian told you he got his own cookies because his mother was asleep, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“But now, eleven years later, you have doubts about her being asleep, despite recording it in your report as to what occurred.”
“I’ve always had doubts,” he said, glaring directly at Glynn.
“Detective, I notice also that you ruled out the possibility that Sebastian had pushed the television into the tub. What led you to that conclusion?”
“First of all, we couldn’t imagine a five-year-old would know that such an action would be fatal.”
“Would that preclude an accident?”
“No, but the shelf was higher than the boy could reach. That was the main reason we ruled it out.”
“I see. But you observed the child had used a stool in the kitchen to retrieve cookies that were also out of reach. Is it possible Sebastian could have used that same stool or something else in the bathroom?”
He shrugged. “I suppose, but we had no—”
“As a detective, do you often file preliminary reports within six hours of an incident when you have doubts as to whether or not a crime has been committed?”
“Preliminary reports are just that—preliminary. It doesn’t mean the investigation is over.”
“I see. And other than the toxicology reports, which showed no presence of drugs or alcohol, were there any amendments to the preliminary report you filed six hours after the incident?”
“No.”
“So you had doubts, but you never expressed them until Mr. Ferrin interviewed you as a witness in this case seven weeks ago. Correct?”
He scowled. “I expressed them. Just no
t officially.”
“Did you ever report them to your superintendent?”
“No.”
Michael glanced at his notes again. “You said earlier that Sebastian appeared to have been crying when you arrived. Would you characterize him as upset?”
“Yes, I would.”
“In your vast experience as a patrolman and detective, did you ever come across children who were reluctant to talk to strangers when they were upset?”
Ferrin shot to his feet. “Objection. Speculation. If counsel wishes to conduct a case review, there’s a proper way to do it.”
“Withdrawn,” Michael answered before turning back to Luckett. “Did you take fingerprint samples at the scene?”
“Yes, we did. We found several sets of fingerprints throughout the house, aside from those belonging to Mrs. Wright and her husband.”
“Did you find other fingerprints in the master bath?”
“We found one other set. We asked Mrs. Wright who else may have had access to the room, and she told us there was probably a cleaning lady who came before she arrived back in the States.”
“Did you find this cleaning person and match her prints?”
“We did not. The house was relatively clean, and Mrs. Wright said she hadn’t touched a thing since arriving home, so we assumed she was correct that a cleaning lady had been in the house.”
“But you found dust prints around the television, indicating the bathroom might not have been cleaned.”
“She might not have been particularly thorough. Some aren’t.”
“Detective, is it normal police procedure not to follow up on identifying those who might have been present at a crime scene?”
“It was never designated a crime scene.”
“But eleven years later, it is?”
“So it would appear.”
“And you want this jury to believe you see things more clearly eleven years down the road than you did six hours after you visited the scene?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Mr. Gattison should save his conclusions for closing arguments.”
“Sustained.”
“No more questions.”
In the deserted hallway outside the courtroom, Charlotte absently flipped the pages of her journal. She should have known it would be impossible to concentrate. For one thing, the wooden bench had numbed her bottom over an hour ago. And each time she heard a noise from within the courtroom, she expected the door to open.
Secrets So Deep eBook Page 23