Incensed, the lawyer approaches the witness stand. “Did you factor Mrs. Reker’s affair into your evaluation, Dr. Noble? How such a painful betrayal from a wife of over twenty years could push an already unhinged man over the edge?”
I stare into his eyes. “I did.”
His head jerks back, arms thrown wide. “Then care to share, doctor?”
“Are you afraid of your wife, Mr. Hatcher?”
My question knocks the smirk off his face. “Excuse me?”
“Your wife—” I nod to his left hand, where he wears a gold wedding band. “Do you fear for your life when she discovers your ongoing affair with your paralegal?” I glance at the blonde seated at the prosecution’s table. “Because, according to your provoking argument of Mr. Reker, you should be downright terrified.”
A collective murmur rolls through the courtroom.
Hatcher’s lips curl in irritation, but he does a fantastic job at schooling the rest of his features. “Other than this being a blatant attempt to shift the focus of this trial, your assessment couldn’t be more off-base, Dr. Noble. Which should prove your brand of psychology is hardly credible for this murder case.”
“When you first entered the courtroom,” I say, lifting my chin, “you guided your paralegal to the table by the small of her back.” He starts to interrupt, and I hold up a finger. “Which can be excused as simple old-school chivalry. Disturbing, but not damning. However, you don’t have to be a psychologist to detect your affair, as anyone in this courtroom can spot the obvious signs. Your paralegal has a tan line where her wedding ringusually is. You’ve been spinning yours during the trial. Each time you spin the band, you then check your phone. Which could be an anxious habit, but our subconscious has a tendency to tell on us, especially when we want to keep something hidden.”
Hatcher looks to the judge. “Your Honor, you can’t allow this?—”
“You opened the door, Mr. Hatcher.” Judge Gellar lifts her shoulders in an unapologetic shrug.
“Also,” I continue, “the whole time you’ve been questioning me, your paralegal has been occasionally checking your phone herself.” He turns around to look. “I suspect that you’re both waiting for a reply from your wife. A possible confirmation that you’ll be able to spend a prolonged period of time together.”
The blonde flinches when Hatcher’s phone vibrates on the table.
Judge Gellar sighs. “Want to check that message, Mr. Hatcher?”
He pivots to face the judge, his narrowed eyes sweeping over me. “No, Your Honor. I don’t care to play into courtroom theatrics.” Then to me, he says, “I fail to see how trying to disgrace me proves your evaluation of Charles Reker holds any truth, Dr. Noble.”
I shift in my seat, attempting to alleviate the aching pressure at the base of my spine. I’m officially tired of sitting here. “A crime of passion implies an act of immediacy,” I say. “However, after careful examination and recovered evidence, Mr. Reker proved he was aware of his wife’s infidelity for over a year.” I arch an eyebrow. “Just like you, Mr. Hatcher, Mrs. Reker wasn’t exactly subtle about her affair. So all I’m saying is, if you truly believe an affair is motive enough for murder, then I’d be very wary of going through with your weekend plans.”
At his intense silence, I add, “My evidentiary findings of this are documented in the reports I sent to your paralegal.” I nod to the mountain of files on the prosecution’s desk. “If you’d havebeen as invested in case prep as you were with your extracurricular activities, you’d have read my reports, and not presented such a weak case for the prosecution.”
A flash of anger stains his face before he takes measured steps toward his table. “No more questions, Your Honor. I’m through.”
Judge Gellar shakes her head. “I agree there, Mr. Hatcher.”
An hour after my testimony, the trial adjourns, and the jury is sequestered for deliberation. It’s difficult to keep high-profile cases out of the media and free of scrutiny, but Judge Gellar is doing what she can to give Charles a fair trial.
I’m confident I was able to help the jury see past the shocking grisliness of Charles’s crime to the unwell individual beneath. Also, I’m sure Mr. Hatcher won’t be calling me to the stand in the future, which I consider a double win.
The crisp scent of spring greets me as I exit the courthouse. Maine feels so fresh this time of year, as though everyone is given a clean slate. I inhale the jasmine in the air, letting it cleanse the trial from my system as I head down the stone steps, careful not to trigger another flare-up.
“Hey, Dr. Noble.”
I spin around just I’m doused with cold liquid—the shock of it stealing my breath. I drop my briefcase and frantically wipe at my face, knocking my glasses to the ground as I try to clear the thick substance away.
When I look at my hands, they’re covered in red.
“You got a murderer off—” a woman shouts, her weathered features creased in anger. She throws a metal bucket at me, striking my arm. “That devil killed my sister. He burned heraliveand hacked her up. Her blood is on your hands, you disgusting animal.”
My mouth pops open, and is immediately filled with the metallic taste of blood. I gag and spit the vile taste from my mouth.
I’m only given a moment to process what’s happening before the woman flees down the steps at the sound of sirens.
2
BLOOD
