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She swallows hard. “I was—desperate—for him to stop. I reached for anything and I grabbed the fireplace—the metal thing by the fireplace. The fire poker.” She presses two fingers to her temple and then powers through the words. “I hit him. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“How often did he beat you?” Reese asks.
“Daily,” she replies.
“Did he rape you?” Reese asks, getting right to the point.
“Daily,” she repeats.
“Why didn’t you leave?” Reese asks next.
“He threatened anyone and everyone I knew.” She makes a choked sound. “He even threatened the grocery store bakery manager I chat with every day who has three kids. And he had the money to make people dead and not get caught.”
Reese arches a brow. “Did he tell you that?”
“Every day for sixteen of our seventeen years together.”
My chest and eyes pinch just looking into her tormented stare. “Who inherits if you don’t?” I ask, leading her to my strategy for her defense.
“My daughter,” she replies.
“Who inherits if your daughter doesn’t inherit?” I ask.
“His brother.”
And we’re almost to the sweet spot I’m reaching for. “What’s your relationship with his brother?”
“He knew everything,” she explains. “He told me I had two choices. Fight back or shut up.”
“Fight back how?” Reese asks, traveling exactly where I want him to travel.
“He offered to buy me a gun.”
Reese’s head tilts slightly. “Are you or have you ever slept with him?”
“Never.”
“Are you intimate with him in any way?”
Her lips flatten. “Never.”
“Are you friends?” he asks, continuing to press.
“No,” she says, as she said to me as well.
“Then how,” Reese says, “did you have a conversation about buying a gun with him?”
She inhales and exhales. “He saw my bruises. He caught me off guard one day or he wouldn’t have. I had practice. I knew how to hide them.” She gives a choked laugh. “That’s why everyone wants me to do their makeup. I’m good with makeup.” She swallows hard. “He said—he wanted to talk to Mitch.”
“Did he reject the idea of his brother beating you?” Reese asks.
She scoffs. “No. He didn’t even blink, but he insisted on talking to Mitch. I begged him not to. He said he would not.”
“Did he talk to Mitch?” Reese asks.
“He says he didn’t. I believe he did.”
“Why?” Reese asks.
“Because that night I was lectured on keeping our life private.”
“Lectured or beaten?” Reese asks.
“He broke my arm,” she states matter-of-factly.
“The medical records are in the file,” I interject, tapping the folder still in front of him. “There are five separate incidents that required she see a doctor. All of which she called accidents.”
“Did the brother,” he glances at me and I supply, “Jim,” before he continues with, “Did Jim know about your broken arm?”
“Yes,” she says. “He told me that he didn’t tell his brother. That he knows Mitch is crazy. He told me to be careful and that Mitch’s first wife had an ‘accident’ and died.”
“She fell while they were hiking in Colorado,” I interject. “It was investigated and closed quickly, but the interesting thing is that her friends claim she was about to file for divorce.”
Reese’s lips press together and he glances at his watch and then at Delaney. “I have to go.” He pauses and studies her two long beats before he asks. “Did your husband deserve to die?”
“It wasn’t about him deserving to die. It was about me deserving to live. And that night it came down to me living or dying. I didn’t make the decision to kill him. I made the decision to live.”
He studies her for two more beats. “Do you deserve to go to jail?”
Her lashes lower and then lift. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I feel very confused.”
He inclines his chin and then says, “I’ll chat with Mia and we’ll set-up another meeting. Do you want me to be involved with your defense?”
“I do,” Delaney replies.
“And what do you hope that you’ll get from my involvement?”
“Mia says you will help her, help me protect my daughter.”
He considers that answer and then motions to the waitress and it’s not long before Delaney leaves, and thankfully she has security in the lobby that I didn’t know about until her departure.
She has just exited the restaurant when Reese holds up his phone. “I just got a text. We’re delayed an hour for court.” He motions to the table and we sit back down. “Her story is compelling and so is she. I’m on board if you both want me.”
“We want you.”
“Good. Now talk to me frankly. Because I don’t even know why the hell she’s being charged. What am I missing?”
“Nothing. She’s suffering because the ADA was out to get Grayson and I’m an extension of him. It’s unethical. It’s wrong. I’d like to see him lose his job.” I’m fired up now. “She shouldn’t have been charged at all.”
“Agreed.”
“And for her benefit, rather than raising immediate hell over this, I’m hoping your name attached to her case will make this go away.”
