Page 134 of Never Bet Against A Hockey Player

“Yes, Your Honor. She was completely unhinged.”

“I have nothing further,” her lawyer said as he smugly took his seat. I couldn’t wait for both of them to face reality.

Now it was our lawyer’s turn. He stood, straightened his tie, and walked forward as if he had all the time in the world.

He laid a set of pictures out in front of her. The same ones they’d also presented to the judge.

“Could you tell me where each of these injuries occurred?”

“My arms and my face,” she said. Some of the meek act had already fallen away. She hated being challenged and that was the entire role of our lawyer. Even if she was losing her composure, she was ready for battle.

“I’d like to submit her mugshot from that night.”

“Actually, I’d like to see that, too,” Judge Lancaster said as he held out his hand. I could see the suspicion on his face already and had to force myself to not let hope sneak in. His jaw clenched as he studied the pictures. The rest of us couldn’t see them, but I knew what he’d find.

More lies.

“Can you explain why your mugshot didn’t show any of these scratches or bruising?”

“That is a low-quality image,” she argued. “It’s meant for data entry. That does not mean it showed every scratch and bruise that I had on my skin.”

“Well, in that case,” our lawyer said, completely unbothered. “I’d like to submit the video footage from her holding cell that night.”

“You can’t record in holding cells,” our mother cried out.

“Oh, we absolutely can.” It was the sheriff who answered before ducking his head.

The judge looked amused but nodded in agreement.

“In fact, they are allowed.”

Our lawyer held up a tablet and hit play. My mother’s erratic breathing echoed out, and so did her words.

“That stupid bitch isn’t turning this on me. She’s always so fucking dramatic,” she growled. “Fucking pathetic. Always the victim. Should have killed her when I had the chance.”

Little murmurs broke out through the courtroom before the judge called for order.

“Silence.” Only one word, and everything fell quiet.

My mother blinked around the room. For the first time, worry flickered across her face. But this was just the beginning.

“Could you also explain where you took Gavin?” our lawyer questioned, giving her the exact date.

“To visit a friend. We were in Vegas, but it was just a hotel. I would never take my child onto a casino floor.”

She said the last part with enough confidence that the judge practically rolled his eyes.

“Then can you explain these photos?” Chris asked, his voice completely devoid of emotion. My mother flinched as he passed a stack to the judge, then laid them in front of her.

I knew what I’d see. The images from that weekend. The ones they’d likely had to request surveillance footage to capture.

“That looks like a casino floor to me, even if you are having a private game.”

“I didn’t let him participate,” she argued.

Our lawyer said nothing as he gathered up the photos. She continued to ramble how it was a misunderstanding but he didn’t bother to entertain it. This case was practically handling itself. My mother was far too narcissistic to let anyone paint her in a bad light without her intervening. She was getting sloppy, practically admitting guilt with each new piece of evidence.

“Child Services and the police were called to your home on twenty-six occasions from the time your daughter was ten years old until the final night when she was taken away.”