Chapter 7 #2
Nicole let the silence linger, watching the jurors’ eyes shift down to their notepads. Good. Let them picture it. Let them feel the vulnerability of a woman shielding her unborn child.
“Was a murder weapon recovered at the scene?”
“No, ma’am. The scene was clean. However, under forensic lighting, we located fibers and two strands of hair.”
“Whose hair did you find?”
“One strand matched the victim. The other matched Mr. Reddick.”
A sharp rustle went through the jury box, one juror biting her lip, another jotting down furiously. Nicole kept her expression neutral. Inside, she allowed herself one small flicker of satisfaction.
“Did you examine the victim’s phone?”
“Yes. We recovered several text messages between Mr. Reddick and the victim regarding her pregnancy.”
“The prosecution moves to admit Exhibit One,” Nicole said, lifting the transcript.
The judge nodded, and the texts flashed on the courtroom screen. Nicole’s gaze stayed on the jury, watching their faces as the words scrolled:
Reddick: We used condoms. That baby can’t be mine.
Laurent: Do you think I’m sleeping with anyone else?
Reddick: Well, it’s not my baby.
Laurent: Condoms break. You remember the night one tore. This baby is yours, and I’m upset you’d doubt me.
Reddick: This isn’t a good time to have a baby. Let’s consider an abortion.
Laurent: I’m not getting an abortion. If you don’t want me and the baby, that’s fine.
Nicole stayed still, letting the words hang in the air. Better the jury sees his direct words than hear them from me.
“After reviewing those texts and finding the hair at the scene, what was your next step?”
“We obtained a warrant to search Mr. Reddick’s apartment.”
“What did you find?”
“We recovered a firearm from his closet.”
Later, she had a firearms expert who would give testimony on the gun.
“Were Mr. Reddick’s prints on the gun?”
“No. It had been wiped, but there was no question—it was the weapon.”
Nicole then guided him through the details: forensic report requests, gunshot residue, and DNA evidence consistent with Reddick’s.
A ripple of unease moved through the gallery. Nicole gave a curt nod. “Thank you, Detective. No further questions, Your Honor.”
She glanced across the aisle, catching Tripp’s steady gaze. Your move. “Your witness.”
Tripp rose slowly, buttoning his jacket, every movement deliberate. A few jurors leaned forward, curious, expectant. He approached the podium with calm authority.
“Detective, were there other messages between my client and Miss Laurent?”
“Yes.”
“After that argument, did they reconcile?”
“The last message was from Mr. Reddick. He said he was coming over so they could talk about the baby.”
“And what else did he say?”
“He told her he loved her.”
A murmur rippled through the room. One juror glanced sideways at another, eyebrows raised. Nicole’s stomach clenched. Damn it. She knew about that message. Hoped it would stay buried. Now it was front and center.
“Were there any messages from other men?” Tripp asked. His tone was smooth, deceptively casual.
Nicole shot to her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The officer is not qualified to speculate.”
“Sustained,” the judge said evenly, though Nicole caught the faint narrowing of his eyes. He knew what Tripp was doing, planting the seed without needing the answer.
But Spencer continued. “No. Only from Mr. Reddick’s mother.”
Nicole braced herself.
“What did she say?”
“She accused Miss Laurent of trapping her son, said the baby would never be accepted, and suggested she get an abortion.”
“And Miss Laurent’s reply?”
Spencer chuckled. “She told her to go fuck herself.”
The courtroom erupted in laughter, the sound rolling through the gallery. Even a couple of jurors cracked reluctant smiles. Nicole’s jaw tightened.
This wasn’t a comedy routine. It was a murder trial.
“And how did Mrs. Reddick respond?”
“She called Miss Laurent white trash and accused her of chasing their money.”
“And Miss Laurent’s reply?”
“She didn’t respond. Phone records obtained by a warrant show that she blocked his mother’s number after that.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.” Tripp returned to his seat, expression carefully neutral.
Nicole sat back, forcing her breathing to remain even. Inside, frustration burned. He managed to plant the idea of other lovers in the jurors’ minds without evidence. And worse, he softened them with laughter. Damn him. He is good at this.
Nicole’s eyes flicked toward him again, a warning. He met it with a flicker of regret. How strange that she could still understand his body language.
“We’ll adjourn for the day and resume at nine a.m. I would like to remind the jury that you are not permitted to discuss this case with anyone.”
Nicole exhaled, feeling utterly exhausted by the day’s trial.
“Good job, counselor,” Craig said. “I’m going to make some calls and then I'm going home.”
“See you in the morning,” she said, noticing that her friends had slipped out. She’d told them she couldn’t speak to them in the courtroom. But they were there for moral support, and God, how she appreciated them.
In the hallway, the world seemed to stop.
Nicole leaned against the wood-paneled wall.
Tripp approached slowly. Their breath collided.
“We’re at war,” he murmured.
She didn’t disagree.
“You gave a potent opening,” he said, voice low.
“I didn’t come here to impress you,” she replied, voice flat.
He tilted his head. “You saw yourself in her.”
She shook her head, knowing she was lying.
“You did,” he pressed, and she felt the confession unsheathed in her chest.
“Bianca and Mr. Reddick remind me of us,” she said softly. “A rich family and a middle-class one. Parents who disagreed with his decision. A poor innocent child killed before it had a chance to survive,” she said.
His eyes widened and his body tensed.
“Nicole, if you tell me you were pregnant, I’ll lose my shit right here in this courthouse,” he said, his voice tight with anger.
“No, I wasn’t pregnant. But the similarities are there.”
“No, they’re not,” he defended.
“Oh? Were your mother and father accepting of me? Then why in the hell are we not still married?”
She’d had enough, and she didn’t want to be seen talking to him, so she turned and pushed through the door outside to the existing world.
One that didn’t have a dead, young woman she couldn’t help but compare herself to.
One where she was a single woman who didn’t trust men because of the hurt she’d experienced as a young girl.
A hurt that at least hadn’t gotten her killed.