"I think I can."
"You think?"
"I would have noticed if she got up. She would have stirred me."
"How are you so sure?"
"I'm a light sleeper." Not that night. He'd slept like a baby.
"Mr. Hilliard, tell me something." Sanders held one hand to his chin and rubbed it. "In the morning, did Ms. Dodson look any different to you? You know, did she exhibit any signs of having struggled with someone during the night?"
Jack stared hard at Sanders and remained silent.
"You're under oath," Sanders reminded him.
He remembered her coldness, her muscles tensing when he brushed the hair from her back and saw the marks he'd made. He continued to stare at Sanders. He couldn't look at the jury; he couldn't even make himself look at Jeff to plead for help. A simple yes implicated Jenny. A yes with explanation implicated Jack. A no constituted perjury. But only if it could be proved. Did Sanders somehow already know the answer to the question? Had they examined Jenny for telltale marks when she was first arrested?
"Mr. Hilliard?"
"Yes, but it was—"
"Thank you, Mr. Hilliard. You've answered my question."
"It was my fault." Was it, though? "The struggle was with me."
Sanders smirked, but didn't ask for further clarification. Jack had just tainted himself and they both knew it.
"Mr. Hilliard," Sanders continued, before Jack could try to rehabilitate himself, "was that the only time you ever spent the night at Ms. Dodson's home?"
"Yes."
"Really?" Sanders raised his eyebrows; apparently he had expected a negative response.
"Yes," Jack insisted.
"Had you ever spent the night with her anywhere else?"
"No."
"Had you ever had any type of intimate relations with her before, at all?"
Jeff stood, accidentally knocking a file to the floor. It hit the ground with a thud. "Your Honor, I object. First of all, I don't believe Mr. Hilliard ever testified that he was intimate with Ms. Dodson-in fact, this is the same type of testimony Mr. Sanders was trying to get earlier, and you disallowed it. Second of all, what's the relevance of this question?"
Judge Lehman sighed and waved them up. "Sanders?" He'd dispensed with the "Mister."
"Judge, I should be able to show the extent of their relationship, to show motivation for being her alibi, and—"
Jeff interrupted. "She's not on trial, remember? We dropped those charges."
Sanders threw him a mean glance. "No, but my client is, and she was never acquitted. I'm not convinced she didn't do it. Mr. Turner should be entitled to use all available evidence that supports his innocence. And if Jack's relationship with Ms. Dodson might affect his testimony, I should be able to point that out."
"Judge, you disallowed this earlier as too inflammatory," Jeff said, his voice rising.
"Well, Mr. McCarthy, I'm entitled to change my mind," the judge said. "I think I now agree with Mr. Sanders." His tight-lipped grimace suggested that he didn't want to, though. Jeff rolled his eyes at Jack and shook his head in apology. Jack shrugged. He had nothing left to lose.
The judge continued, this time directing his comments to Sanders. "But Mr. McCarthy is right about your question, in terms of putting words in the witness's mouth. I think you first need to establish intimate relations, if there were any, which you haven't done." He paused. "Just keep it limited, Sanders. Don't try to get this courtroom all worked up, or I'll cut you off."
Sanders nodded and looked almost gleeful. "I'll withdraw the previous question, for the time being," he said when he returned to his spot near Jack. "Were you intimate with Ms. Dodson on the night you described, the night you spent at her home?"
"Yes."
"Were you ever intimate with her before that night?"
Jack stared at Sanders; he refused to look away, to betray his thoughts. It seemed almost worse to have to testify about the first time in the garage, in April. It was bad enough to admit to Claire what had happened in November, but he'd told her it had been only one night, and it had been, really. But he knew the knowledge that something had happened more than seven months earlier, even if it had been only a kiss, would add insult to injury. "You'll have to define intimate."
"You didn't need a definition for my previous question."
"I was certain that whatever the definition, what happened on that particular night would qualify."
Sanders smirked. "Well, I'll ask you the question. How did you define it, in order to answer the previous question?"
"I assumed you meant sexual intercourse."
"Are you testifying that you and Ms. Dodson engaged in sexual intercourse on the night you described at her home?"
"Yes."
"Had you ever had sexual intercourse with her at any other time?"
"No."
"But you were intimate with her on other occasions?"
"As I said, you'll have to define intimate."
Sanders walked over to the defense table, turned around, and leaned against it nonchalantly with his arms crossed.
"Well, I suppose the best way to ask it is this: Did you ever, before that night, engage in any activity with Ms. Dodson that you didn't want your wife—Claire, was it?—to know about?"
Jack's heart pounded, pumping the blood hard through his veins and causing him to grow warm. He knew the color in his face betrayed his anger. How low could this asshole go?
"Mr. Hilliard?" Sanders persisted.
"Yes. Once only. We exchanged a kiss."
"And when was that?"
"Last spring, April."
"Was that the only other time you had any kind of intimate relations with Ms. Dodson?"
"Yes."
"A kiss in April, and then nothing until sexual intercourse in November, seven months later?"
"That's right."
Sanders smirked again, and Jack braced himself for another rude comment, but Sanders must have thought better of it. "Mr. Hilliard, let me ask you this. Don't you think it's a little odd that Maxine Shepard would be murdered on the same night you claim to have spent the entire evening engaging in sexual intercourse with Ms. Dodson? Especially given that you testified you'd never done that before?" He paused. "Isn't that just a little too convenient?"
A spark ran up Jack's spine; he sat up straighter. This was it, this was his chance. He hoped his instinct was right, that Alex hadn't told Sanders about stopping by Jenny's that night.
"Well, Mr. Sanders, you're right. At first I thought it was really odd. And, in fact, after Jenny was first charged with the crime, I couldn't believe it." Maybe he should just own up, too, while he was at it. "But my disbelief at that time stemmed more from my fear of being found out, since I knew I was her ticket to freedom, than from the coincidental nature of the two events." He paused, finally, to add his own effect. He spoke more slowly. "But then later, when the other evidence pointing to Alex was presented to me, I thought about how he'd stopped by that night" —Jack watched as Sanders turned to Alex in surprise— "how he sneaked into her bedroom, where she kept her gun, like some cat burglar." He couldn't believe Sanders hadn't objected yet. He was probably still processing the fact that Alex had been at Jenny's. "And how he spoke to her that night, asking her if Maxine Shepard was still bothering her, and accusing her of having someone at her house. She told me afterward that he was 'insanely' jealous of me. She used that word, insanely. And then it all started to make sense."
Jack vaguely heard Judge Lehman say something like, "That's enough, Mr. Hilliard," but it sounded far off and he ignored it. He noticed Sanders approaching the judge and then Jeff jumping up to join him. Out of habit, Jack glanced at the jury to gauge whether they understood the relevancy of what he'd said. That's when she smiled at him. The woman in the rear, far left seat, a middle-aged redhead with freckles on every inch of the exposed part of her skin. It was a warm smile, a sympathetic smile, the kind he remembered getting whenever he was the interrogator, so lo
ng ago, it seemed. It came more from her eyes than her mouth. It enveloped him, gently washed over him like a cleansing bath. He found himself smiling back.
Jack turned back to Sanders and realized that Sanders, even as he listened to Judge Lehman's whispers, had seen the contact Jack and the red-haired woman had made. The wild look in his eyes told Jack that Sanders knew he was losing control over his examination, that Jack was on the offensive. The realization spurred Jack on.
"So to answer your question, no, it's not odd. I know you want the jury to think I'm here testifying because of some vendetta I have against your client but—"
"I said enough, Mr. Hilliard," Judge Lehman ordered.
"I'm testifying against Mr. Turner to make sure a murderer goes to jail. You really think I'd get up here and put myself through this for any other reason?"
"Mr. Hilliard!" The judge was yelling now. But Jack didn't care. He wasn't going to shut up, now that he'd finally let loose.
"Do you really think I'd get up here and testify in front of the world that I betrayed my wife's trust, that I would actually make that up to somehow get back at your client for the simple reason you think I don't like him? My wife, Sanders!" Sanders backed away from the bench. "You know, the one whose name you have trouble remembering. You think I'd intentionally destroy her, the woman who matters the most to me, merely because I don't like your client?" Out of the corner of his eye he saw the guard approaching the witness box. Sanders turned his back to Jack and waved one hand in the air to indicate his belief that Jack spewed gibberish. "Or even to somehow protect the reputation of a woman who's already been to hell and back? When she was a child she watched her family be executed. Has anyone told the jury that yet?"
Jack's voice broke with the last sentence and he collapsed back against his chair. Judge Lehman had given up on him and was now telling the bailiff to remove the jury from the courtroom. He called a recess and ordered everyone out into the hall. Jack knew he'd caused a quiet chaos to erupt, but it was all outside the little boxing ring he'd created in his head for himself and Sanders. The guard came around to the witness box and grabbed Jack's arm just above his elbow.
"I'm done." Jack jerked his arm away.
"Let it go, they're almost gone," he heard the judge say, and the guard stepped back.
The jury had been taken out quickly. For the first time, Jack let his eyes fall on the audience as they made their stunned way into the halls. They departed in relative silence, their voices low and respectful. Only a few were brave enough to turn around and steal a glance at him, to consider one last time if what they'd just witnessed was real.
And then he saw her. Standing in the corner next to the last window in the row, bringing up the rear of the spectators filing out from that side of the room. Her body was turned to the side, facing the crowd, but her head faced to the front; she'd been watching him. Mark was next to her, his arm around her, trying to lead her out. She'd dressed for work; she'd probably been at the university earlier, he guessed. She wore straight black trousers and a brown turtleneck. She'd obviously taken care not to stand out, so unusual for her.
In the instant they made eye contact, he lost his breath. He hadn't expected her to be there; indeed, he'd been certain she would stay away, wouldn't subject herself to listening to him rehash a night spent with another woman.
But there she was. Her hair had grown slightly since he'd last seen her; it was now just below chin length, one side tucked behind her ear, and her big, sad eyes pierced him, but the anger they'd radiated since she'd learned of his betrayal was gone. He searched to see if the anger had been replaced by forgiveness, but couldn't tell. He saw something new and struggled to identify it.
"Ma'am, you'll have to leave the courtroom during the recess." She started at the voice of the bailiff next to her, shooing them along. The shuffling crowd in front of her just moments before was now fifteen feet ahead, passing through the doorway. Neither she nor Jack had noticed. She nodded politely to the bailiff and made her way to the door with one last look in his direction.
Then, in an instant, he realized. He slumped into his chair.
It was pity. That's what he'd seen in her eyes. Pity.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CLAIRE AND MARK were the last ones out of the courtroom. As soon as the bailiff closed the doors behind them, Sanders began screaming.
"I demand a mistrial, Your Honor!" he yelled as he paced just in front of the judge's bench. "What the hell just happened in here?"
Judge Lehman had had it with outbursts; he seemed to have even less patience with this one, since he probably suspected it was all for show. "Why don't you relax and go back to your seat, Mr. Sanders, and we'll see if we can figure it out."
Jeff headed back to the prosecution table before being told to, but Sanders kept on.
"First he starts spewing information that we haven't been told about, and then he has the audacity to make eyes at one of the jurors before he goes into a little monologue about his love for his wife! Not to mention this comes after his testimony about his tryst with the other one. This is simply unbelievable! It's like he's some fucking Lothario!"
"Mr. Sanders! You can watch your language in my courtroom. We might be at recess, but I can still hold you in contempt. Sit down!"
"Me? What about him?" Sanders pointed to Jack. "He's the one who needs to be held in contempt."
"For the last time—sit down."
He finally did, leaning over to Alex and quietly discussing his outrage with him.
The judge pushed his chair away from the bench and wheeled around to face Jack.
"Would you like to explain to us what that was all about?"
"He asked me a question. I answered it." Jack looked out into the empty gallery.
"I'll give you another chance, since I like you. Would you like to explain what that was about?"
Jack wondered if Claire was still in the courthouse.
"Jack?"
"I'm sorry, Your Honor," he said, looking up at the judge. "I don't have an explanation. I'm not trying to be smart, but I guess I think it was pretty self-explanatory."
"It might have been self-explanatory," the judge said, "but it was wholly improper, and you of all people know that. I expect better from you."
"I apologize, Your Honor."
He wondered if she would return when they let everyone back in. Maybe she'd seen enough.
"Did you have an improper communication with a juror?"
"No."
"What is Mr. Sanders referring to, then?"
"I looked at the jurors and one of them smiled at me. That's all."
The judge turned to Sanders. "Mr. Sanders, is that accurate?"
"He smiled back at her."
The judge grunted in exasperation and shook his head. "Is that it?"
Sanders stared at Jack; Jack sensed his frustration. "Yes, that's it."
"Well, here's what I'm going to do. Mr. Sanders, if you think you have cause for a mistrial because of whatever he said or because he smiled at a juror" —the judge rolled his eyes— "then you can submit any motions you'd like after the trial is over, if it's necessary. But frankly, I don't think anything he said tainted the jury beyond repair, so I'm not going to stop the trial at this point and make the State start all over with a new jury. I—"
"He called my client a murderer, Your Honor," Sanders interrupted.
"Well, that's what the case is about, so I don't think the word is too shocking for them."
"Judge," Sanders' voice rose, "what about all that stuff about Mr. Turner stopping by Ms. Dodson's house on the night of the murder?"
"What about it? He's your client. You had full access to that information." The judge paused for a moment. "You'll have the opportunity to question him about it." He turned to Jack. "Jack, would you like to take a few minutes before we get started again?"
"Yes. Thank you."
Judge Lehman nodded his permission. Jack stepped down from the witness box and strode purpo
sely to the rear doors. He avoided looking at Alex; he'd already exerted the little bit of power he'd had left.
"Mr. Hilliard," the judge called to him from the bench, just as Jack was about to leave the courtroom, "you're still under oath."
"Yes, Judge," he acknowledged, and braced himself for the crowd outside as he pushed through the doors.
The noise of gossip dimmed as Jack stepped into the wide, open hall. Bodies stepped aside and eyes fell to the floor when he cut a path toward the bathrooms, as if everyone thought he carried some highly contagious disease. He scanned the small groups of people milling about to see if Claire was among them. He saw Mark and Earl standing together at the end of the hall; she wasn't there. They began to approach, but he shook his head to send them away. When he didn't see Claire anywhere, he walked down the hall near the elevators, face forward and pretending not to hear the murmurs. He passed through a door into the long corridor he knew led to the judges' chambers and to bathrooms more private than the ones in the front hall.
And that's where he saw the redheaded juror, the one who had smiled at him and caused Sanders to lose it. Her face lit up when he approached and she opened her mouth to speak. He raised his hand to stop her.
"I can't talk to you, ma'am. It could be cause for mistrial." He surprised himself by laughing a bit, thinking of Sanders' ridiculous outburst. Even as he attempted protest, he knew he was taking it too lightly. Very uncharacteristic of him. "On top of all the other sins I've testified to in there, I don't need to add tampering with the jury."
She laughed, too. He reached down to open the door to the men's room, but it was locked.
"My fellow jurors," she said, nodding at the door to the ladies' room. "I'm waiting, too."
He looked down at his feet. He knew he should retreat to the bathroom outside in the main hall and deal with the stares. If the bailiff caught him standing with her, there'd be hell to pay. He turned to leave.
"Your remorse is evident, even if you don't realize it, and she saw it, too. If you meant what you said in there, give her the time she needs to forgive you."
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