Chapter Twenty-Nine
Matlock
Rosalind turned back to David. “Mr. Nelson, when did you become aware of your son’s sexual orientation?”
“When he was thirteen,” David said, his voice tight. “And it has nothing to do with—”
“And how did he react when Sadie began dating men? Was he supportive?”
“Simon has always been supportive of his sister,” David said firmly.
“Even when she chose to be with Alan Sanders? A man who represented everything your son isn’t—traditionally masculine, heterosexual, someone who could give Sadie the kind of conventional life that Simon himself rejected.”
“Objection!” I was on my feet again. “This is completely irrelevant and prejudicial.”
“Your Honor, the prosecution’s theory is that the defendant’s motive stems from his emotional response to his sister’s relationship,” Rosalind explained. “His personal struggles with his own identity are directly relevant to understanding that response.”
Judge Markham looked like he wanted to sustain, but he couldn’t. Not without showing bias. “Overruled. The witness may answer.”
David’s hands gripped the armrests of the witness chair. “My son didn’t reject anything. He is who he is, and he’s never been ashamed of it. And his concern for Sadie had nothing to do with Alan being a man and everything to do with Alan being abusive.”
“But you didn’t know about the alleged abuse until recently, correct?
” Rosalind pressed. “So what was Simon’s objection to Alan before that?
Was it really concern, Mr. Nelson? Or was it something else?
Jealousy, perhaps, that his sister was building a life he couldn’t have?
That she was choosing a traditional path while he remained. .. different?”
“That’s ridiculous,” David said, his voice rising slightly.
“Is it? Your son lives alone, Mr. Nelson. He’s never had a serious relationship that you’re aware of, has he?
No partner, no commitment, just a lifestyle that many would consider immoral.
Isn’t it possible that seeing his sister happy with a man triggered something in him?
Some resentment about his own choices, his own isolation? ”
“My son is not isolated,” David said through gritted teeth. “And his sexuality has nothing to do with why he was concerned about his sister’s safety.”
“But he was obsessively concerned, wasn’t he?
Calling her, checking on her, inserting himself into her relationship.
That’s not normal brotherly behavior, Mr. Nelson.
That’s possessiveness. And given your son’s particular circumstances, his alternative lifestyle, his lack of stable relationships, his documented emotional volatility, isn’t it possible that his protectiveness was really just an unhealthy fixation? ”
“No,” David said flatly. “Simon loves his sister. He wanted her to be safe. That’s not obsession, that’s family.”
Rosalind’s smile was cold. “Or perhaps it’s what happens when someone who’s spent his life struggling with shame and rejection sees his sister choosing the very thing he can never have.
A normal life with a normal relationship accepted by society.
And when he couldn’t control that, when he couldn’t stop her from being happy in a way he never could be, he snapped. ”
“Objection!” I roared. “Your Honor, this is outrageous. Counsel is engaging in blatant homophobic speculation with no basis in evidence.”
The courtroom erupted in murmurs. Judge Markham slammed his gavel. “Order! Ms. Winthrop, you are dangerously close to a contempt citation. Rephrase or move on.”
Rosalind held up her hands in mock surrender.
“I’ll withdraw the question, Your Honor.
” She turned back to David. “Mr. Nelson, you testified that Simon is ‘caring and thoughtful.’ But isn’t it true that people struggling with their identity often experience emotional instability?
Mood swings, jealousy, difficulty maintaining healthy boundaries? ”
“My son is not unstable,” David said, his voice shaking with barely controlled anger.
“Mr. Nelson, your son called the sheriff himself, covered in blood, and confessed to murdering Alan Sanders. That’s not the action of a stable, rational person, is it?”
“He was protecting his sister.”
“Was he?” Rosalind stepped closer to the witness stand. “Your son has a documented history of violence. Numerous fights in school throughout the years. And now a murder. That’s a pattern of escalating aggression, isn’t it? A pattern consistent with someone who uses violence to solve his problems.”
“He was defending—”
“He confessed to committing murder,” Rosalind said flatly. “A man who would call the sheriff and take the blame for a crime he committed? That’s not noble, Mr. Nelson. That’s the action of someone who’s guilty and filled with shame. Someone who’s capable of terrible things.”
“Objection! The prosecution—”
“No further questions,” Rosalind said, cutting off my objection before Judge Markham could make a ruling for the record. She sat down, and I could see the damage she’d done. Several jurors were looking at Simon differently now. Not with sympathy, but with suspicion. With judgment.
David looked shaken as he stepped down from the stand.
“The defense calls Michael Jefferson.”
Simon gasped and grabbed my arm. “Why are you calling Goliath?” he hissed.
I didn’t answer him. I couldn’t explain it in the seconds before Gunner stood from the gallery and made his way forward.
He was massive, six-foot-eight, broad-shouldered, and had a presence that commanded attention.
He wore jeans, boots, and a black T-shirt with the Silver Shadows MC logo across the chest. He left his cut draped over the back of his seat in the gallery.
The bailiff swore him in, and Gunner placed one enormous hand on the Bible, his voice a low rumble. “I do.”
He sat in the witness chair, and it looked almost comically small beneath him. He leaned back, but his body was coiled tight with tension.
I approached the witness stand. “Please state your name for the record.”
“Gunner,” he said.
“Your legal name, Mr. Jefferson.” Judge Markham’s voice held a hint of frustration.
Gunner narrowed his eyes at the judge, and I closed my eyes, silently reminding myself I had a plan here. There was a reason I needed Gunner to testify.
“Michael Jefferson.”
“Mr. Jefferson, how would you characterize your relationship with Simon Nelson?”
Gunner’s eyes locked on Simon for a moment, then back to me. “We’re friends.”
“You’re a little closer than friends, aren’t you?
” Gunner narrowed his eyes at me. I’d gone over his testimony with him but hadn’t told him everything.
Gunner didn’t answer, and I continued, “In fact, Simon is the only person in town who doesn’t call you by your road name, is that true?
” Gunner’s hand clenched on his knees, and I knew I was pressing my luck.
I’d be lucky if he didn’t launch over the witness box and knock me out.
“Even your old lady calls you by your road name, isn’t that correct? ”
Gunner crossed his arms over his chest, and I swallowed. “Judge Markham, would you please instruct the witness to answer the question?”
Judge Markham opened his mouth, and Gunner grunted, “Yes. My old lady calls me Gunner.”
“And what does Mr. Nelson call you?”
I kept my eyes locked on Gunner, pleading with him to answer the fucking question.
“Fuck,” he cursed.
Judge Markham cleared his throat. “Mr. Jefferson, please watch your language in my courtroom and answer the question.”
Gunner didn’t even glance at the judge. “Goliath,” he growled.
I bit back a smile.
“Mr. Jefferson, is there any romantic or sexual relationship between you and Simon Nelson?”
“No,” Gunner said, his tone hard and final.
“So his flirtation with you, him using a nickname to describe your physique, and your allowance of said nickname—none of those are indicative of romantic interest?”
Gunner leaned forward slightly, his massive frame making the chair creak. “It means he’s friendly. Unlike me.”
I nodded, silently acknowledging the small threat Gunner gave me. “Mr. Jefferson, were you aware of the abuse Sadie Nelson suffered at the hands of Alan Sanders?”
“Yeah,” Gunner said, his voice dropping lower, colder. “Everyone knew.”
“When you say everyone knew, what do you mean?”
“I mean, we saw the bruises. The way she acted around him. The way she flinched.” Gunner’s hands clenched into fists. “Alan Sanders was a piece of shit. Anyone with eyes could see what he was doing.”
“Mr. Jefferson,” Judge Markham warned.
“Did you or anyone from the Silver Shadows Motorcycle Club offer assistance to Sadie or Simon?”
“Multiple times,” Gunner said curtly. “We told Simon we’d handle it. We told him Sadie could stay with us. We even offered to talk to Alan.”
“And did Simon or Sadie accept your help?”
“No,” Gunner said, frustration evident in his voice. “Sadie refused our help, and Simon told us not to intervene. He said it was Sadie’s decision and until she was ready to leave, we were to back the fuck off.”
“Mr. Jefferson,” Judge Markham warned, his tone sharper now. “I will not tell you again. Watch your language, or I will hold you in contempt.”
Gunner nodded but didn’t apologize.
“Thank you, Mr. Jefferson. No further questions.”
I returned to my seat, and Simon leaned toward me, whispering, “What the hell was that?”
“Character witness,” I murmured. “And establishing that the community knew about the abuse.”
Rosalind stood, her expression tight. She approached Gunner with the kind of careful distance someone might use when approaching a dangerous animal.
“Mr. Jefferson, you are a member of the Silver Shadows Motorcycle Club, correct?”
“Yes,” Gunner said.
“And the Silver Shadows MC is what is known as an outlaw motorcycle club, is it not?”
“We’re a brotherhood,” Gunner said flatly.
Rosalind’s lips thinned. “Mr. Jefferson, isn’t it true that outlaw motorcycle clubs are often involved in illegal activities? Drug trafficking, weapons smuggling, extortion?”
“Objection,” I said, standing. “Relevance. Mr. Jefferson is not on trial here.”
“Your Honor, the witness’s credibility is at issue,” Rosalind argued. “If he’s involved in criminal activity, the jury has a right to know.”
Judge Markham considered for a moment. “I’ll allow it, but tread carefully, Ms. Winthrop.”
Rosalind turned back to Gunner. “Mr. Jefferson, have you ever been arrested?”
“Yes,” Gunner said.
“Have you ever done time in prison?” Rosalind asked.
Gunner looked at me, and I nodded. I’d told him this was a possibility and told him to answer as honestly as he could.
Gunner looked back at Rosalind and smiled. “I did three months in Little Rock for beating the shit out of a man who attacked a woman.”
My eyes cut to Judge Markham, who sighed and shook his head.
“Have you ever been involved in illegal activity as part of the Silver Shadows MC?”
Gunner leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Rosalind’s with the intensity of a predator. “I don’t answer questions about my club.”
“That’s not an answer, Mr. Jefferson.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting,” Gunner said, his voice dropping to something dangerous. “Get a warrant or move on.”
“I suggest you move on, Ms. Winthrop,” Judge Markham warned.
Rosalind’s jaw tightened. “Mr. Jefferson, when you testified that the club offered to help Ms. Nelson, what exactly did you mean by that?”
“A conversation,” Gunner said. “Making it clear his behavior wasn’t acceptable.”
“And if he didn’t listen?”
“Then we’d have another conversation,” Gunner said. “A more persuasive one.”
“Are you threatening—”
“I’m not threatening shit,” Gunner interrupted, his tone ice-cold. “I’m telling you what we would’ve done if Simon or Sadie had asked. We protect our own. That’s what we do.”
Rosalind took a step back, and I could see the unease in her posture. “Mr. Jefferson, isn’t it true that your club has a reputation for violence?”
“We have a reputation for loyalty,” Gunner corrected, his eyes hard as flint.
“Didn’t your club have a mass casualty event at your clubhouse last summer?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant,” I shouted.
“Your Honor, I am trying to establish the type of company Mr. Nelson keeps and the influence that might have on his state of mind.”
“Lady, if Simon or Sadie had allowed any fucking influence from my club, we wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
Gasps went out around the room, and my club brothers in the back stomped their feet. Judge Markham banged the gavel and stood up. “ORDER IN MY COURT!” he shouted.
The courtroom quieted. Several jurors stared at Gunner with wide eyes, and I could see the shift; some looked intimidated, others looked intrigued. Rosalind looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else.
“No further questions,” she said abruptly, turning on her heel and returning to her seat.
Judge Markham looked at me. “Redirect, Mr. Gallagher?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Jefferson, you’re excused.”
Gunner stood, his massive frame unfolding from the witness chair. He walked past the defense table, and as he did, he placed one enormous hand on Simon’s shoulder for just a moment, a gesture of solidarity, of support.
Simon looked up at him, his eyes shining, and mouthed, Thank you.
Gunner nodded once, then returned to his seat in the gallery.
I glanced at the jury. Some of them looked uncomfortable; others looked thoughtful.
Rosalind had tried to paint Gunner as a criminal, but all she’d done was show the jury that Simon had people who cared about him, people who would’ve helped if he’d asked.
People who would have done what Simon did, without putting him and Sadie at risk.
And that was exactly what I needed them to see.