45 Witnesses
Witnesses
Before leaving the courtroom, someone from the prosecution—a sharp-suited woman—had dropped a package on our table. A cardboard box tied with string. “Final discovery,” she’d said, winking at Colton before walking away on three-inch heels.
Colton hadn’t reacted to her wink. Did they know each other?
Or had she just been flirting with the handsome litigator?
With so many people around, I hadn’t asked.
Moments later, after cutting through the mob of reporters, he’d driven us home, silent and grim, stoking my fears. Had something changed?
At home, I followed Colton into the dining room.
He opened the box, pulling out a brown envelope labeled Witness List, and two stacks of DVDs marked Mall Security and Hotel Security.
With a frustrated groan, he pushed the box aside.
“This is how you do it,” he said bitterly.
“You give the defense evidence at the last minute.” He stared at the wall. “It’s tens of hours of video.”
“I’ll help,” Billy Ray said, already out of the suit he’d borrowed from Colton and putting on his apron and ballcap. “Just get me something I can watch them on, and tell me what to look for.”
“Good,” Colton said, taking out his phone.
“I’ll take the Miracle Mile videos,” I offered, eager to follow Claire’s moves through that mall and match them against the time codes of the hotel security placing her at Winston’s door.
Colton called someone on the phone and asked them to bring us two laptops with DVD drives, and then he took his jacket off and threw it on the couch.
In the kitchen, Billy Ray rattled through pots and pans, opening and closing the fridge door again and again, probably getting ready to fix us dinner. Then he brought us both cold beers, already uncapped.
I grabbed the sweaty bottle from his hand and brought it to my burning forehead. Billy Ray held his beer in the air between us, raised high.
“If there was ever a time to wish for luck,” he said. We clinked bottles and drank. I forced a few small sips down my throat, knowing it would help me, but it just didn’t work out. My stomach churned.
When I set the bottle on the kitchen counter, Colton was already seated at the dining room table, unsealing the witness-list envelope.
“Let’s discuss witnesses,” he said, looking at me.
I took a seat at the same table and turned sideways to face him. “Before that, why didn’t you tell the jury I was framed? They all think I did it.”
“You still don’t trust me, do you?” He shook his head, resigned. “If I’d said that today, they’d reject it. We need to pry open their minds with evidence first, then hit them with the big ideas.”
“I’m sorry, Colton,” I whispered, embarrassed. “I’m just scared, that’s all.”
“It’s okay, I get it.” He squeezed my hand and searched my eyes. There was love and understanding in those ocean-blue irises.
Pulling a legal pad with handwritten notes from the pile, he flipped through some pages. “Let’s talk about our witnesses first. We’re opening with Billy Ray, to tell them about who you are. Then it’s Dr. Leishman.”
I cringed when I heard her name, still reeling after the two-hour session I’d spent with her yesterday.
She’d been gentle and considerate, but her questions had gone places I wasn’t ready to revisit, ripping my wounds open.
I had no idea what she was going to say about me on the stand.
It was terrifying to think of being exposed like that, my deepest secrets bared in front of a merciless horde.
How many of the jurors would find the story of my ordeal exciting?
Arousing, even? It was sickening to think about it.
“Then your neighbor, Maria Garcia,” Colton added, pointing in the direction of the woman’s house.
“What for?”
“She’ll testify that your car was out in the drive all night, with the top down. We’re building the foundation of the framing argument.”
“Ah, I see.” I managed a shy attempt at a smile. I wasn’t going to interrupt again.
“Next we have the helicopter pilot—the guy who flew you to see the canyons. Then Winston’s assistant, Rose Crosswhite, and his best friend, Andrew Preston.”
“Rose? Isn’t she hostile toward me? She loved Winston, and loved working for him.”
“She seemed fair and open minded, so she’s on the roster. We don’t have that many people on our side. We have the man who leased you the WaveRunners, and a retired detective I’m bringing in as an expert to discuss lack of motive, burden of proof, and the practice of framing others for murder.”
“And Claire?”
He chuckled and shook his head. By now, he was probably sick of how much I’d insisted on her being put on the stand.
“Of course, we’ll bring in Claire. She’s being subpoenaed today.
She’s a hostile witness, Hattie. I hope it doesn’t backfire.
Jurors tend to feel for the grieving widows of murdered victims, especially when there’s a much younger mistress involved.
” He looked at me intently. “We don’t have to call her if you’re not sure. ”
“I am sure!” I shouted, loudly enough to make Billy Ray come into the dining room with a pair of kitchen tongs in hand, dripping some liquid on the floor.
“It’s okay,” I said, and he lingered for a while, doubting me.
“I’ll watch the mall videos today, tonight, however long it takes, and I’ll prove it to you.
She did it, Colton, I know she did. And I’m going to figure out how. ”
“Okay,” he said, a little dismissively, then picked up the typed witness list from the prosecution. “Let’s make sure there are no surprises here.”
I nodded, my chest tightening with fear.
“Their first witnesses are the routine lineup for a murder case. The hotel maid who discovered the body. The receptionist who called the police. The first officer on the scene. Then they have a forensic analyst and the coroner—also routine.” He frowned a little.
“For some reason, they added your Realtor onto their witness list. Any idea why?”
I shrugged, unable to think of any reason why she’d testify. I hadn’t done anything with her other than lease a furnished home.
“There’s an Anthony Vega, a freelance photographer.” Colton glanced at me, and I bit my lip. “Some sort of paparazzo?”
“Yes,” I replied softly.
“What will he say about you?”
My throat went dry. “I—I hired him to make me look famous. Like celebrities chased by paparazzi.” I struggled to breathe. “And to publish an article in the tabloids.”
Dumbfounded, Colton kept staring at me, his mouth slightly open.
Then he let out a whistling breath. “Jeez . . . I’ll need to know more about this paparazzo business, but let’s finish the witness list first.” He looked at the paper in his hand.
“We’re expecting Detective Stanek to testify about every detail of the case: fingerprints, video, murder weapon.
But there’s someone here I know nothing about. ”
The expression on his face had me worried. “Who?” I asked in a faint, choked whisper.
“Do you know an Avery Sinclair?”