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“Fine.”
“Did you have a good weekend?”
It was a cat playing with a mouse and awful to watch. Why couldn’t Keith just hit Victor with a trump card and get it over with?
“Yes.”
“Did you visit your daughter?”
“Daughter?”
“Sure,” Keith said smoothly. “Little Dora Murray is your daughter, isn’t she?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Keith stopped in midstride. “Really? Who told you that?”
“Annabelle.”
A man in the courtroom cried out, “Dear God,” and I knew it was Craig. My heart ached for him.
“When did Annabelle tell you that?”
“Two weeks before she died. I told her that I wanted DNA tests for me and Dora plus visitation rights if it all checked out.”
“We’ve had testimony from Joe Long that you went to see Annabelle in her apartment the night before she died. Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Tell us about that visit.”
Victor squirmed in his chair. “Well, she called that night and said that she and Craig were getting a divorce. She was crying and upset. They had had a fight and Craig stormed out, taking Dora and some clothes with him. She said she had something important to tell me and that I had to come over right away. Annabelle had never invited me over to her house before, so I knew things were really bad. I figured Craig had found out about us or something.”
“Did Annabelle tell you what the fight was about?”
“Not on the phone. She waited until I got there.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Well, I told Joe where I was going, and then I took off. When I got there she was in a different mood. She said she was looking forward to being a single woman again and that she would give Craig some time to find a new place.”
Keith interrupted the flow. “So at this point, you are inside Annabelle’s apartment, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Go on.”
“I asked her what the fight was about and she told me that Dora wasn’t Craig’s kid. She had just found out for sure a few days before and felt he had the right to know. When she told him, he stormed out, taking the kid with him.”
“What did you say to this?”
“I didn’t know what to say. At first I didn’t understand what she was trying to tell me. She started laughing and said, ‘You dolt. I’m trying to tell you that you’re a daddy.’ I didn’t like being called a dolt, but that was just Annabelle’s way.”
“What happened next?”
“I was real happy about the news, you know? I’m thirty-six years old and it’s nice to know that I have a daughter. Annabelle pulled out a whole bunch of photo albums and showed me all Dora’s pictures. After that we had some drinks, and then I went back home.”
“What time did you go home?”
