Billy Ray
The following day, Colton clasped my hand as we made our way through the media mob in front of the courthouse. Some of what I’d said to him the night before must have taken root.
Tony Vega was among the crazed photographers. “Hey, Princess!” he shouted, putting his camera right in my path. “Aren’t you afraid of dying?”
I kept my head lowered and didn’t reply; I knew anything I said would end up badly quoted and taken out of context, sensationalized and fictionalized, then printed on tabloid pages everywhere.
To Judge Antunez’s point, capital cases were rare.
The public’s lust for blood, for a good scandal, was insatiable, and sold a lot of media.
The first witness of the day was Detective Aaron Stanek. He was the only one who greeted me with a nod. After being sworn in, Mitchell began questioning him. The detective’s testimony was tedious and procedural, detailing each step of the investigation.
My mind drifted to unanswered questions—if the store had no back exit, how had Claire managed to sneak out? I knew it was her in that hotel video, knocking on the penthouse door with her key card. She’d had the motive, means, and opportunity, and yet I couldn’t prove it. I couldn’t prove any of it.
And where was she, anyway? Last night’s news had mentioned her absence from the courtroom, citing grief as the reason.
Last night, I’d spent a while searching the internet, digging for stuff about her past—everything I could find.
My premise was simple; someone who decides on and plans a murder in only three minutes had to have done it before.
Perhaps I couldn’t prove she’d killed Winston, but if I could find something to cast some doubt on her, it would probably help my case.
By the time I’d turned off the night lamp and fallen asleep, I had some interesting findings, and a lot more questions, even if I’d already known she wasn’t Winston’s first wife.
Mitchell finished with the detective after about an hour, and boredom had descended on the faces of the jurors. A couple of them had been yawning, shifting in their seats, losing their focus. I leaned closer to Colton and whispered, “You have to wake them up.”
“I will.” He nodded and stood, asking standard questions to challenge the investigation process and create doubt.
My mind wandered again, this time considering the very few days I had left until the trial would be over.
Not even a week. Then, in the case of a guilty verdict, I would be remanded, dragged out of the courtroom in cuffs, and thrown in prison.
For years, I’d wilt on death row while Colton would file appeals and try to have my sentence commuted.
At least that scenario had an expiration date, an end.
All of my assumptions had been wrong, though, and if the woman in the hotel video wasn’t Claire, I had no idea who else she might be.
Something the detective was saying grabbed my attention.
“After reviewing all the evidence, no substantial motive was established,” Stanek finished.
“So you don’t believe the defendant had any reason to commit the murder?” Colton asked, drawing closer to the witness, but still facing the jurors. The yawning had stopped.
“That’s correct,” the detective replied. “The investigation did not reveal any motive on the defendant’s part. Other people had motive and access—”
Mitchell jumped up. “Objection! Lack of foundation.”
“I’ll overrule that,” the judge said with a headshake. “Of course there’s foundation, Counselor. Try harder next time.”
“Other people, like who?” Colton asked.
“Like the victim’s wife, for example.”
Yes. He’d finally said it, which meant that there was a tiny little seed of doubt that had sprouted in his mind.
“She has an ironclad alibi, so we ruled her out,” the detective added. My enthusiasm vanished, as if doused with ice water. “But the issue remains, and it’s a serious one,” he added. “We could not establish Ms. Taylor’s motive for the crime.”
“Are you looking at other suspects?” Colton asked.
“Not at this time. There’s insufficient evidence to support the theory that there could be someone else involved.”
“Thank you, Detective,” Colton said. “No more questions.”
The judge checked his watch, then looked at Mitchell. “Next witness, Mr. Mitchell?”
“The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”
Justice Antunez turned his attention toward Colton. “Mr. Blake, please call your first witness.”
Colton rose to his feet and fastened one button on his jacket. “The defense calls Billy Ray Walker.”
My brother looked awkward in one of Colton’s suits, his tie crooked and his hair tousled. As he was sworn in, his calloused hands gripped the edges of the stand. His eyes darted nervously to me, and I gave him a reassuring nod.
Colton approached the stand with a calm, measured pace. “Billy, could you please tell the jury the nature of your relationship with the defendant?”
“She’s my sister,” he said, his voice sounding a bit emotional.
“What was she like, growing up?”
Billy Ray swallowed hard. “She was more than a sister. She was like a mother. Our dad wasn’t . . . well, he wasn’t a nice guy. He drank a lot. Got mean. But she made sure I was okay. Even when she couldn’t protect herself, she protected me.”
Colton nodded, his expression encouraging. “Can you give us an example, Billy? Something that shows the kind of person your sister is?”
Billy Ray’s eyes darkened with the memory.
“There was this one night when I was about eight. She was twelve. Dad had been drinking all day, and I knew what was coming. But she got me out of the house before anything bad could happen to me. Had me hiding in the barn. She stayed behind to face him alone . . . just to keep me safe. She was always like that. Even if for her, it was more than just beatings.”
He’d spoken the last few words in a whisper, lowering his head.
A murmur rippled through the courtroom. Shock. Horror. Sympathy. Colton saw the flicker of understanding in the jurors’ eyes, the faint crack in their hardened expressions.
“Billy,” Colton continued, his voice steady, “can you tell us about your sister’s life after she left home? How did she manage to build a life for herself despite everything she went through?”
Billy Ray’s hands gripped the edge of the stand, his knuckles white. “She ran away as a kid, but made something of herself. She wasn’t handed anything. Everything she has, she earned. She wanted more for herself and me. She wasn’t always perfect, but she always tried to do right by me.”
Colton took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Billy Ray’s. “Did Olivia ever talk to you about her relationships? About Winston Donovan?”
Billy Ray nodded slowly. “Yeah, she did. She was . . . she wanted to be loved, Mr. Blake. She didn’t trust people easily, not after what we went through as kids. But she wasn’t out to hurt anyone. She really loved Winston.”
A tightness built in my chest, so sharp it stole my breath. Billy Ray . . . My eyes burned, my throat thick, but I couldn’t look away from him. He was up there—for me.
Colton’s voice softened. “Billy, if you could tell the jury one thing about your sister, what would it be?”
Billy Ray’s voice cracked, emotion overtaking him.
“That she’s a good person. She made mistakes, sure, but she’s not a bad person.
She’s not what they’re saying she is. She just wanted to be happy, to be safe.
She’s always done what she thought was best for me, for us.
I know she’s not capable of . . . of this. ”
The first tear slipped free before I could stop it. My hand closed around the edge of the table, my knuckles aching from how hard I gripped it.
“How do you feel about your sister’s name change?”
His answer came without hesitation. “I didn’t mind one bit. I wish I’d changed mine, too. In my head, I can still hear my name bellowed out by our boozin’ father, and I hate it. I bet she does, too.”
My heart ached, the courtroom blurring through the heat of my tears. He understood.
Silence fell over the courtroom, the weight of Billy Ray’s words sinking deep into the minds of the jurors.
Colton stepped back from the stand, his voice firm. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
I caught my brother’s glance and nodded slightly. He wrung his hands together, looking left and right, eager to be done.
Mitchell approached the stand with a determined gait. “Mr. Walker, how did your father die?”
Breath caught in my throat. That ominous feeling I’d had since I’d heard Colton was putting Billy Ray on the stand returned, stronger and darker, engulfing me.
“He was bit by a rattlesnake on our farm.”
“How old were you when that happened, Mr. Walker?” Mitchell’s voice was cold, harsh.
“I was eighteen,” Billy Ray replied. He seemed unexpectedly calm.
“More precisely, please?” Mitchell insisted.
“Objection, Your Honor,” Colton said. “Relevance?”
Antunez tilted his head a little, thinking. “Let’s find out. I’ll allow it. The witness may answer.”
I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists under the table, my fingernails digging into my flesh. That son of a bitch, Mitchell, coming after my brother like this. What did he hope to prove? Billy Ray hadn’t even been in Nevada when Winston was murdered.
Billy Ray jutted his chin forward, just a little bit. “I turned eighteen the week before my father died.”
“Interesting,” Mitchell said, timing his reaction and checking the jury’s interest level. They were perked up. “Convenient, too. Is it true that country kids like yourself are quite adept at catching and handling venomous snakes?”
I gasped.
Colton sprang to his feet, his arms raised in disbelief. “Objection!”
“I’ll rephrase,” Mitchell said. A glimmer of malice lit his eyes. “Does murder run in your family, Mr. Walker?”
“Objection!” Colton shouted. “Your Honor, this is outrageous—”
“Withdrawn,” Mitchell said, returning to his seat with a hint of a satisfied smile on his lips.
The courtroom reeled, a wave of whispers rising and fading.
“Redirect, Your Honor?” Colton asked.
“Please proceed,” Antunez replied. He was frowning and had been for a while, bothered by something he wasn’t sharing.
“Billy, were you suspected by the police in the death of your father?”
“No, sir. I was out of town when it happened.”
“No more questions, Your Honor.”
Relieved, Billy Ray stood and walked off the stand, then took his seat behind me. I felt his hand squeeze my shoulder. I put my hand over his and kept it like that for a while, just grateful he was there.
Colton remained standing by the defense table, sifting through his notes, and then looked at me briefly before announcing his next witness.
“The defense would like to call Dr. Leishman.”