Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
VON
We step out of the courtroom and into a small chamber across the hall.
My father follows me and Noah inside as Grayson shuts the door behind us.
“What the hell was that?” he demands.
“That was a prosecutor trying to bait you,” I say.
Russell cracks his knuckles. “I’ll see to it he never gets elected in this county again.”
I have to bite my tongue not to remind my father that he was the one who didn’t think he needed trial prep. “He may have drawn blood, but I think I staunched it.”
At least, I hope I did. I would feel better if the word “obsession” had never been mentioned at all.
Dad turns to Noah. “I don’t think you are obsessive. And I know you didn’t kill Marion. This whole thing is beyond absurd.” He shakes his head. “What is wrong with these people? I still can’t understand how John Briggs would be so quick to arrest you.”
Noah and I glance at each other. I know Noah is gung-ho on believing the sheriff did this, but I still can’t help but wonder: if the sheriff wanted to frame Noah for this murder, why not do a better job of it? Why not “find” the shell casing and have Noah arrested right away? Unless he knew that Noah had an alibi. But how could he know that?
My head spins and I know I need to stay focused on the task at hand: poking as many holes in the prosecution’s case as possible.
“Just keep coming to court, Dad,” I remind him. “The best thing we can do is show a united front. That the family believes in Noah’s innocence.”
Dad nods and stalks out of the room.
“How bad is it?” Noah asks grimly as I slump into a chair.
“Well, it’s not a great look,” Grayson admits. “But I don’t think it’s a lethal blow.”
“No,” I agree. “Hopefully Isla does better. Let’s just make sure the word obsessive stays out of the general discourse from now on.”
The bailiff comes to get us. We head back to court and Wilbur calls Isla to the stand. She details how she found the shell casing under the bookcase in Mom’s pottery shed. Wilbur also asks her about the argument she overheard between Mom and the man we all now believe was stalking her, on the night of the anniversary party.
“And what did Marion say, exactly?” Wilbur asks.
“Something to the effect of ‘I told you to stop’ and ‘it’s not appropriate’.”
“Did you recognize the voice of the person she was arguing with?”
Isla shakes her head. “No. It was muffled through the door.”
When it’s my turn to question her, I ask, “How long have you been friends with Mr. Patterson? ”
“Since elementary school.”
“So it’s safe to say you know his voice.”
“Yes,” Isla says. I know from our prep that Isla can’t say definitively that it wasn’t Noah talking to Mom, so I just leave it at that and move on.
“In all your years of friendship with Mr. Patterson, did you ever witness him behaving in a manner that was inappropriate toward Marion Everton?”
“No,” Isla says. “She really was like a mom to him.”
“Never saw anything in his behavior that would lead you to believe he was stalking her?”
“Of course not,” Isla says.
“You saw Mr. Patterson on the morning of the murder, correct?”
“Yes,” Isla says. “He called me around seven, looking for Caden. He told us something had happened at the estate, and he was going to come pick Caden up from my apartment.”
“And what time did he arrive?”
“Around seven fifteen.”
“Was he acting suspiciously in any way?”
“No,” Isla says. “He told us the sheriff had called everyone in—even the trainees, like himself. But he didn’t know what was going on. Caden even pressed him and he said all he knew was that an ambulance had been called to the house.”
“Do you consider Mr. Patterson to be a truthful person?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And in all the years you’ve known him, have you ever seen him behave in any way that would violate the law?”
“Absolutely not,” Isla says. “I mean, the law is his life—he’s wanted to be a police officer since he was a kid.”
I square my shoulders. “Ms. Davenport, do you have any reason to believe Noah Patterson killed Marion Everton?”
“No,” Isla says vehemently. “He would never have hurt Marion. Never. ”
“Thank you,” I say, taking my seat. Isla is shivering like a leaf as she leaves the witness stand. I’ll reassure her later that she did a great job.
I assume Wilbur is going to call the sheriff next—so I’m surprised when he stands and says, “The prosecution calls Michael Cochran to the stand.”
I glance at Noah, who looks dumbfounded. Mike the dickhead?
Grayson writes ??? on his legal pad. I give a slight shake of my head. Of all the people in town I interviewed, Mike seemed to have zero information on this case. But he was also the only one who really stonewalled me. I feel a pinch of worry—does Mike know something we missed?
Mike swaggers to the witness stand and takes the oath smugly. There’s a kind of crude arrogance to him, reminiscent of a little boy who feels the world owes him something.
“Mr. Cochran, how long have you known the defendant?” Wilbur asks.
“Since elementary school,” Mike says. So Wilbur is going the same route I went with Isla.
“And have you known him to be an obsessive type of person?”
Thanks, Dad , I think grimly. I leap to my feet. “Objection, your honor. Is the witness a psychologist? What qualifications does he have to diagnose the defendant as obsessive?”
“I’ll rephrase,” Wilbur says. “Mr. Cochran, how would you describe the relationship between Mr. Patterson and the Everton family?”
“He was obsessed with them,” Mike says triumphantly. “He wanted to be one of them. He thought he was. Acted like it made him better than the rest of us in town, you know?”
I see a few jurors’ brows furrow. Some sharp glances at Noah. No one likes someone who looks down on their own community. I have to force myself to keep still in my chair, not to try and burn this asshole down with my glare. Noah was never condescending to the people of Magnolia Bay. Even when I disliked him, I knew that. If anything, he was too nice. Always giving others grace. I hate that he’s being defamed like this.
“I see,” Wilbur says. “And did this obsession with the Evertons have any specific purpose?”
“Objection,” I say again. Wilbur knows as well as I do that witnesses can’t present opinions unless they have been qualified as an expert. “The witness is testifying to his own opinion, not facts.”
“You may make your point on cross,” Judge Warner says gruffly. “Objection overruled.”
What? The judge is clearly giving the prosecution an unreasonable amount of leeway. But it’s his courtroom, he can basically do what he wants.
I’ll be damned sure to bring it up on appeal, though, if it leads to Noah’s conviction.
“Well, he hung out with Caden Everton all the time, of course,” Mike says. “But I always felt he had a special sort of relationship with Marion. She used to pay for his things in school, cause he couldn’t afford them himself.”
I glance at Noah, whose face is burning. How humiliating this must be for him—to act like he was some kind of leech sucking away at our family. Mike keeps going.
“And I always thought he had a thing for older women, you know,” he says.
“Objection!” I cry. “Relevance.” Surely even Judge Warner has to uphold this one—what evidence does Mike even have of this supposed “thing”?
“Overruled,” the judge says.
This is unreal. Unprecedented. I have never been before a judge so obviously biased. I try not to let my outrage show.
“Why would you think that?” Wilbur asks.
“When we were younger, he always had crushes on older actresses, not the popular ones most of us guys were hanging pictures of in our lockers. And he followed Marion around a lot—he would look at her with those sort of puppy dog eyes, you know? I always felt it was more than just because she was his best friend’s mom. It weirded me out.”
“Thank you,” Wilbur says. “No further questions.”
I’m on my feet like a shot. “Mr. Cochran,” I say, “before her death, when was the last time you had a conversation with my mother?”
Mike shifts in his chair. “I mean, I saw her around town that summer.”
“That is not what I asked. Before she was murdered, when was the last time you spoke with Marion Everton?”
“I, uh…”
“The day before her murder?”
“Well, no.”
“Two days before?”
“No.
“A week?”
Mike’s face turns blotchy. “I don’t remember.”
“Could that be because you have never had a conversation with my mother?”
“She came into my dad’s shop to rent a kayak once,” he says defiantly.
“Ah,” I say. “And when was that?”
Mike clears his throat. “I don’t know. A while ago.”
“A while ago,” I say dryly. “It’s been five years since my mother’s death, so I’m going to go out on a limb and say a “while” was quite some time.”
“Objection,” Wilbur says. “Is there a question in there somewhere?”
I move on quickly before the judge can sustain. “And during this one interaction you had with my mother, while she was renting a kayak at your father’s shop a while ago, did she mention Noah Patterson?”
Mike blinks. “Uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“Was Noah Patterson with her at the time?”
“No.”
“Did my mother ever tell you Noah Patterson was stalking her?”
Mike shifts again. “Well…no.”
“Funny you should say that, since you have been speaking as if you were an expert on the subject of their relationship. Have you ever been invited to Everton Estate?”
“Well, I mean, I went to the party?—”
“The Everton Anniversary Gala?”
“Yeah.”
“The party the entire town was invited to?”
“Um, yeah.”
“And did you see her and Noah interact at this party?”
Mike shifts in his chair. “Not that I remember.”
“I see. So your evidence is that my mother, known for being a charitable person, helped Noah pay for some things in high school, and because Noah once had a “thing” as you say for some unnamed older female actress, then it thereby follows that he is a stalker and a murderer?”
Mike blinks at me, bemused. “I think he did it,” he says bullishly. I feel like this is much more about sticking it to Noah, rather than Mike actually believing Noah killed Mom.
“We are very fortunate then, that the United States legal system is not centered around your opinions,” I say tartly. I glance over at Noah. “One moment, please, your honor,” I say. I bend down over the defense table.
“What is this guy’s problem with you?” I whisper.
“I put him in the drunk tank a bunch of times,” Noah whispers back. “The last one was two weeks before I got arrested.”
Aha. “Do you remember the date? ”
Noah pauses. “August fifteenth. I remember because there was a deputy softball game that day and he made me late for it.”
I grin and turn back to the witness.
“Mr. Cochran, when was the last time you interacted my client?”
Mike’s eyes fly up his forehead. “Um…” Mike hems.
“Might I remind you, that you are under oath,” I say.
“Sometime back in August,” he admits.
“And what was the nature of this interaction?”
I glance at Wilbur who looks taken off guard. I guess he didn’t do his homework.
Mike swallows and mutters something.
“I’m sorry?” I say. “I didn’t catch that.”
“He arrested me,” Mike says grudgingly.
“He arrested you,” I repeat, looking at each juror to let the words sink in. “On what charge?”
“Drunk and disorderly,” Mike grumbles.
“I see. And was this the first time Mr. Patterson had arrested you for drunk and disorderly behavior?” There’s a long pause. “Your honor, please instruct the witness to answer the question.”
“Young man,” Judge Warner says warningly.
“No,” Mike says.
“Was it the second time?”
Mike shrugs.
“Third?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Okay. Enough times that you can’t remember. Got it. And might getting revenge at Noah for these arrests have anything to do with your testimony here today?”
“Objection, your honor!” Wilbur cries.
“Withdrawn,” I say. “I have no further questions for this witness.”
“Don’t try to play a player, Foghorn,” Grayson mutters, glancing at Wilbur as I take a seat beside him. We fist bump under the table.
The judge calls it a day and the courtroom begins to empty. Alistair gives a brief statement to the press, reiterating our support for Noah and our insistence that the trial is going well. As I shuttle Noah into the town car, I catch a glimpse of Everly Harris, glaring at me through the crowd.
Later that night, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. I never sleep much during trials. Too much adrenaline. Court went well, despite Dad’s blunder. And Wilbur putting Mike on the stand was a big mistake.
I feel anxious and itchy. I want to see Noah. Just once, just quickly. To see how he’s holding up. I toss and turn, until finally, I decide there’s no harm in one little late-night prowl.
I wrap myself up in a thick sweater and sneak downstairs. The kitchen is shrouded in moonlight as I type in the code to disarm the alarm. I creep down the steps of the terrace and along the path to the guesthouse. The lights are on. I guess I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.
“Hey,” Noah says when he opens the door. He looks happy to see me. “Thought we were in no contact mode.”
“I wanted to see how you’re doing,” I say as he lets me in.
“I’m okay,” he says. “You did great today. I can’t believe they put Mike on the stand.”
I sink onto the sofa as Penny hops up to nuzzle against my side. Noah sits beside me. Being here, in this small space, with her soft warm fur on one side and Noah’s lean, muscular frame on the other, I feel a sense of peace I never imagined for myself. It’s so strange to find it in the middle of a tornado.
“How are you feeling?” Noah asks, as he strokes my hair.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m cautiously optimistic.” The truth is, we still don’t have solid proof without Patrick. I can poke all the holes I want but at the end of the day, will it be enough? I glance up at him and decide to keep those thoughts to myself. “Who was the older actress Mike was talking about?”
Noah rolls his eyes. “I had a thing for Sophia Loren. But, like, when she was younger! Not as an older woman.”
I sit up. “Seriously? Sophia Loren?”
“Yeah,” Noah says. “Why?”
I giggle. “It’s just…so old-fashioned.”
Noah grins. “I’m an old-fashioned kind of guy. Pop used to watch old movies on the weekends. I thought she was the bee’s knees, as he would say.”
I laugh outright at that, then lean into him again. “I better go,” I say. “I just wanted to see you.”
“I’m glad you came,” he says, pressing his lips to my hair.
“I bet the sheriff will take the stand tomorrow,” I say. “This is our chance to nail down some real reasonable doubt, Noah—to throw the jury another option besides you. I can’t come out and say I think the sheriff did it. We don’t have evidence to back that up. But I’m allowed to make implications in other ways. Judge Warner is clearly giving Wilbur every break he possibly can.”
Noah nods. “I believe in you,” he says softly.
I head back to the house, close the French doors to the kitchen and reset the alarm. Suddenly, a voice makes me jump.
“What do you think you are doing?”
My father stands in the kitchen, half concealed in darkness.
“Dad,” I say, pressing my hand against my chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“ What do you think you are doing?” he says again.
“I—I was talking to Noah about the case,” I stammer. Technically that’s true.
Dad’s glower pierces through the gloom. “Do you consider me an idiot?”
“No,” I say quickly.
“I know you have been going out to see him at night. Do you think I don’t check the cameras? Do you think I am unaware of the alarm system being turned on and off? I am not stupid, Siobhan.”
“I know,” I say, then add. “I’m not stupid either.”
It’s not as if I’ve been prancing around kissing Noah in public.
“You think I haven’t noticed the change between you two?” he says. “You couldn’t stand being in the same room with him. And now you’re thick as thieves. You’re sneaking out to spend extra time with him.”
I hesitate. There’s no bullshitting with my father. The only option here is the truth. “I’m falling in love with him, Dad,” I admit. “But it’s…on hold. I swear, nothing is going on right now. I won’t put my career, or Noah’s freedom, at risk.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the inevitable tirade. Irresponsible, risking the family’s reputation, how could I be so foolish, etc.…
Instead, my father does something I don’t expect. He gazes out the back windows toward the guesthouse, his expression thoughtful. “You’re falling in love ?”
“Uh…yeah,” I say, feeling confused. Where’s all the condemnation and cold glares?
“And Noah feels the same?”
“I—yes,” I say. I was gearing up for a fight, but my father seems…almost amused? A faint smile ghosts on his lips, and he shakes his head again.
“Um, Dad?” I say cautiously.
“All this time I’ve been pushing you in the wrong direction,” he says, almost to himself.
“You aren’t…mad?” I ask. “Noah’s not—well—he’s not like the other men I’ve dated.”
“No, he certainly isn’t,” Dad says. “But it has always seemed to me that you’ve never much liked the other men you’ve dated.”
“No,” I agree. “I don’t think I have.”
I shoot him a tentative smile. He returns it .
“If only your mother could have seen this,” he says, his voice soft as the moonlight. “She would have been so happy.”
I think I see the glint of a tear in my father’s eye, but he quickly turns his face away from me. The silence wraps around us. Dad takes a deep breath.
“You should get some sleep,” he says. “Big day tomorrow.”
Then he turns and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me breathless, my head spinning.