Indiscretions (24 page)

“Overruled. Continue, Ms. Phillips, but don't stray far. The witness is instructed to answer the question.”

“I'm seventy-five years old, and proud of it.”

A chuckle went up in the courtroom. Khendra gave a patronizing smile. “And well you should be, Mr. Harris. But when was the last time you had a physical examination?”

“I saw my doctor two weeks ago.”

She briefly glanced down at the note pad she held in her hand and then looked up at him, giving him an enchanting smile. “And isn't it true, Mr. Harris, that your doctor discovered that you have glaucoma and it has severely affected your vision?”

“Yes, but—”

“Just answer the question, Mr. Harris.”

“Yes.” He sighed reluctantly.

“And isn't it also true that the glasses you have been wearing were not sufficient to compensate for your loss of vision?”

He hung his head. “Yes.”

“Isn't it possible then, that the man you saw leaving the victim's apartment on the night in question was not my client?”

“I suppose so,” he answered in a near whisper.

“Could you repeat your answer loud enough for the jury to hear, Mr. Harris?”

“Yes, I suppose I could have been mistaken,” he said grudgingly.

“Thank you. No more questions for this witness.”

“You may step down, Mr. Harris,” instructed Judge Abramson.

An audible sign swept through the courtroom, and Paul Gamer was livid. He nearly jumped down his assistant's throat for not having that information. Their witness had literally been disqualified as unreliable.

Khendra returned to her seat, and Sean reached and patted her hand, holding her hostage with his look. She tore her eyes away.

One down,
she thought,
but we have a long way to go.

Alex returned to his office from the afternoon recess. He had plans to put in action, and soon. He reached for the phone and dialed, tapping his nails against the desk as the phone rang on the other end. Just as he was about to hang up, a burly voice answered. “Yeah?”

“Mike, this is Alex. Listen, I have a job for you. Meet me in my office in an hour. You may have to take a little trip.”

“No problem,” Mike answered, patting the back of the woman who lay beside him. “I'll be there. You want to tell me what it's about?”

“The usual. I need someone out of the way for a while. Nothing permanent, but just for a while.”

“Sure thing. See you in an hour.”

As Alex leaned back in his seat and smiled, his intercom buzzed.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Counts, I just wanted to remind you about your flight for tomorrow morning. Your tickets have just arrived.”

Damn! He'd all but forgotten about his business trip to New Orleans. There was no way he could get out of it now. But he had to stay on top of this case. After all, the company's reputation was at stake. He chuckled. “Stacy, I want you to do me a favor.”

She hoped it wasn't another one of his shopping requests. These past few months had been horrendous.

“I want you to put off whatever you have planned for the next week and attend the trial for Michaels. I want him to feel assured that we're behind him in this.”

“Of course, Mr. Counts,” Stacy replied, somewhat perplexed by his request. He'd never asked her to attend a trial before. Why now?

“Oh, and Stacy, I want you to take notes.”

“Of course, Mr. Counts,” she responded by rote.

He clicked off.

Day 5

Paul Gamer stood in front of his table and called Douglas Morrison to the stand.

“Dr. Morrison, would you state your occupation for the court?”

“I'm a doctor of pathology.”

“And you were the doctor who examined the victim, is that correct?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“And would you tell the jury your findings?”

“There was a high concentration of cocaine in her blood, and she had been hit in the head by a heavy object, causing a large gash just above the temple.” He pointed to the location on his head.

“Was that blow enough to kill her?”

“No, it was not.”

“Dr. Morrison, what other findings did you make?”

“The victim had a silk scarf knotted around her neck.”

Gamer strode over to his table and produced a silk scarf, then returned to the witness box. “Is this the scarf?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Your honor, I would like to introduce this as Exhibit B.”

Stacy sat in the back of the courtroom and her breath caught in her chest. That looked like—No, it couldn't be. But the feeling of unease wouldn't leave her as she listened intently to the testimony. Something wasn't quite right, and she racked her brain trying to figure out what it was. Something that the salesgirl had said. What was it?

“Dr. Morrison, what was the actual cause of death?”

“The victim died of strangulation.”

“Was there any sign of struggle, Dr. Morrison?”

“We found skin particles under the victim's fingernails.”

“And what were your findings with these skin particles?”

“The particles matched samples taken from the defendant.”

“In your opinion, would those particles of skin be a result of scratches inflicted on the defendant by the victim?”

“That would be consistent with my findings, yes.”

“One last question, Dr. Morrison. Was the victim conscious at the time of her strangulation?”

“No, she was not. The blow to the head knocked her unconscious.”

“Thank you, Dr. Morrison. No more questions. Your witness, counselor.” Paul strode triumphantly back to his seat.

Khendra walked up to the witness box and looked the stately doctor straight in the eye. “Dr. Morrison, is it your testimony that the victim died from strangulation by that scarf?” She pointed in the direction of the table that held the evidence. “Is that correct?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Were you able to lift any fingerprints from this scarf?”

“No, we were not.”

Khendra nodded and paced in front of jury box.

“So in other words you could not positively determine that my client used this scarf to strangle the victim?”

“No, I could not.”

“What could have caused the blow to her, Doctor?”

“The lab report states that blood was found on a brass coat rack. Tests revealed the blood type matched that of the victim's. Also, the bruise on the victim's head had an imprint similar to that of a coat rack.”

“And does the report indicate the weight of the coat rack?

“Yes, the coat rack weighed thirty-five pounds.”

“And is it your opinion, Doctor, that in this struggle, my client lifted this thirty-five pound brass coat rack and struck the victim in the head?”

“His fingerprints were found on the coat rack.”

“Just answer yes or no, Doctor.”

“No. I cannot say conclusively that he struck her.”

“Isn't it possible then that during this struggle, the coat rack could have fallen, hitting the victim in the head?”

“Yes. It is quite possible,” he conceded.

“Isn't it true that some pressure had been applied to stop the bleeding from the victim's head?”

“It appeared so from my examination.”

“Your honor, I'd like to introduce this bloodstained cloth as Exhibit C.” She brought the soiled washcloth up to the witness stand.

“Doctor, did the lab test this cloth for blood samples?”

“Yes.”

“And what were the findings?”

“The blood matched that of the victim's.”

“Now, Dr. Morrison, you previously stated that the victim was unconscious at the time she was strangled. Yet here is physical evidence that attempts were made to stop the bleeding from the blow to her head. She obviously couldn't do it herself. So are you saying that my client attempted to revive the victim and then strangled her? Is that the action of a cold-blooded killer?”

“Objection! Objection, your honor. Counsel is asking the witness to presume the mind of the defendant.”

“Sustained. The jury is ordered to overlook this last line of questioning. Counselor, you know better. Stay within bounds.”

“Yes, your honor. No further questions for this witness.” She breathed a silent sigh of relief as she returned to her seat. Even though the question was stricken, the jury heard it. And the seed of doubt had been planted.

Paul Gamer reluctantly rose from his seat, feeling that his case was already lost. “The people rest, your honor.”

“Very well. Due to the lateness of the hour,” said Judge Abramson, “this court will adjourn until nine a.m. tomorrow. Ms. Phillips, be prepared to call your first witness.”

“Yes, your honor.”

He banged his gavel and exited the court, his heavy black robe flowing around his large frame.

Sean turned to Khendra. “You were wonderful today. That was a nice piece of work. I couldn't have done better myself.”

He smiled gently, and she felt the stab in her heart.

“I'm only doing my job, Sean,” she said, forcing the knot out of her throat.

He lowered his gaze and looked away, wanting to grab her and shake some emotion back into her. He had ruined everything. But his pride wouldn't let him go crawling to her now, trying to explain. And right now, he didn't give a damn about any of it. It had all been for nothing anyway. And the irony was that he was only trying to protect her. Well, if she only wanted a platonic relationship, business only, then that's what he would give her.

Sean and Khendra shouldered their way through the throng of reporters and cameras and were ushered out of the courthouse by court officers, only to be assailed by more reporters on the steps.

“Ms. Phillips, how do you feel the case is progressing so far?” yelled one reporter.

“The case is moving along to our satisfaction,” she stated simply.

“Why did you leave your law firm and then come back to defend an old associate?” the same reporter asked. Flash bulbs sparked in her eyes.

Her chest tightened. “I left the firm for personal and professional reasons,” she said in a controlled voice. “And as for my return, I was asked by my client.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“No, I cannot. Now if you'll excuse me.” She brushed past the reporters, who then tried to converge on Sean. She automatically grabbed his arm, the contact sending jolts of electricity racing down her arm as she pulled him with her down the courthouse steps.

“Let's go,” she urged. “Where's your car?”

“I parked down in the municipal parking lot.”

“So did I,” she responded softly, feeling as though some unseen force had guided them both to the same spot. They were the only ones in the lot when they arrived. Khendra walked in the direction of Sean's car and stood silently by the door. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them as real as the cold air that wafted the pavement.

I guess I'd better be going,” she said finally, pulling her gaze away from him. She turned to leave.

“Khendra. Wait,” he pleaded softly, the deep timbre of his voice tickling her spine.

She looked over her shoulder and her breath caught in her throat from the intimate look that held her.

“Yes?” She didn't recognize the tremulous whisper that was her voice.

He shrugged his left shoulder and looked at her through thick black lashes, going against all the promises he had made to himself. But if all he could have was platonic, then so be it. “I thought maybe we could grab something to eat…together.”

“Sean, I—”

He held up his hand to stave off her rejection. “Listen, I promise no shop talk, no talk about you and me. I…I just want some beautiful company.” He flashed her a shy, boyish grin that made her knees quiver.

What's the harm in dinner?
she thought, dizzy with the idea of spending time alone with him again. Time that she knew was dangerously tempting, deeply provoking. Was she up to the challenge of his intoxicating charm?