Manhunt (24 page)

“Son, you cannot make an objection against your own defense. Unless you intend to ask for Mr. Strausman to be removed as your defense attorney, I suggest you sit down and remain quiet. I will not tolerate such outbursts in my courtroom. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, your honor,” Michael replied. “I apologize. Might I ask for a moment to speak with my attorney?” he asked much more respectfully.

“Very well, but make it quick,” Judge Stone replied.

Wes walked back, standing across the table from Michael and leaning over it. Michael was fairly certain the idea was to intimidate him, but it wasn’t working.

“That’s enough. I won’t have you slandering Nikki’s name to try and get me off,” Michael sneered.

“Michael, I already discussed my intentions with Nikki and Dorothy, her lawyer, and they are fine with it. She understands that I am not accusing her of murder, simply trying to put a little doubt into the minds of the jurors.”

Michael was incensed. “You discussed this with Nikki? Without my consent? What else have you discussed with her that I should know about?”

Wes sighed. “Nothing, Michael. I have not broken attorney/client privilege. Your secrets are yours to tell, and although I disagree with you, I will not go against you on it.”

The judge huffed loudly. “If you two are finished with your little pow-wow, I would like to return to the matter at hand.”

Wes raised an eyebrow at Michael questioningly, and Michael nodded his head. Wes returned to questioning Aaron.

“I apologize for the interruption. So, what is your opinion of the events of the night in question, based on your medical expertise and your personal relationship with Ms. Wright?”

Aaron’s voice was strong and determined. “I believe that Sebastian Cross physically attacked Nicole Wright and she fought back.”

“Thank you, Dr. Brennan. I’d like to discuss Ms. Wright’s amnesia next, if I might. The tests performed on her in the emergency room showed no sign of brain trauma, correct?”

“She had a laceration on her temple that required 15 stitches, and she may have suffered a concussion, but no permanent brain trauma, no.”

“Then what possible cause could there be for her amnesia?”

“Amnesia can be caused by many factors, brain trauma being but one of them.”

“All right, outside of brain trauma, what is the most common cause of amnesia?”

“Amnesia is associated with post-traumatic stress disorder, where the patient is unconsciously blocking out an event, or in more severe cases, everything they knew prior to the traumatic incident.”

“Considering that Ms. Wright had allegedly suffered abuse from Mr. Cross in the past, is it likely that another such incident would cause this type of amnesia?”

“More than likely, no.”

“So what would?”

“This is pure speculation, of course, but I think more happened in that house than we know that night.”

“Objection, your honor!” The district attorney stood. “Witness is speculating.”

“Sustained. Please strike the last statement from the record,” the judge indicated to the stenographer, who nodded silently.

“No further questions, your honor,” Wes stated as he sat down.

The district attorney wasted no time rising to her feet. “Dr. Brennan, did you see your son Michael in person on the night Sebastian was murdered?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Security camera footage, as well as several eyewitnesses, indicate that when Mr. Brennan entered the hospital that night, his arms and face were both covered in a substantial amount of blood. Do you deny this?”

“No, I do not,” Aaron replied. Michael noticed he was giving short answers now and wondered if Wes had coached him to do that. He was certainly not giving her any additional ammunition.

“Did you ask your son why he was covered in blood?”

“No, I did not.”

“Why not? As a parent, why didn’t that concern you?”

“I didn’t say it didn’t concern me. I said I didn’t ask.”

Ms. Singer wasn’t about to accept that as an answer. “Why not?” she pressed, pacing in front of him like a caged lion.

“I assumed that he and Sebastian got into a fist fight over Nikki. It wouldn’t have been the first time that happened, as you know, and God knows that bastard deserved it after what he did to her,” Aaron said, the calm, cool doctor giving way to an enraged parent and protector.

“And now that you know Mr. Cross was shot to death that night, why do you think Michael was covered in blood when he came to the hospital and took Nikki? Do you think it was because Michael murdered Sebastian at close range in cold blood?”

“Objection,” Wes stood.

“Sustained,” the judge eyed Ms. Singer meaningfully.

“I withdraw the question, your honor. No further questions.”

Michael wanted to collapse from the mental exhaustion this trial was putting him through. He was mortified his father had to endure that on his behalf. Aaron gave his son a tired smile as he walked past him and out the gate, taking his seat next to Olivia.

The next several days were filled with questioning so-called experts, who attempted to say there was no way Michael could have committed the murder. There was a forensic expert who stated that, based on the security camera photos of the blood on Michael’s clothes, it was unlikely that Michael could have pulled the trigger; the blood splatter patterns were inconsistent and his shirt was too clean. There was someone else who claimed the estimated time of Sebastian’s death was prior to the cell phone call or texts between Aaron and Michael, according to the phone records. There were other experts as well. Each one would build up the defense, only to be shot down by the district attorney on cross examination.

On the evening of the defense’s fifth day, the jury, who’d been sequestered during the proceedings, looked exhausted as they were dismissed. Wes returned to the jailhouse with Michael to go over last minute preparations for him to testify on his own behalf.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Michael asked.

“Yes. It’s a risk, but I think it’s important for the jury to hear your voice, see you for the sensitive, mild-mannered guy you really are,” Wes joked.

“Right. Clark Kent, that’s me,” Michael quipped.

Wes looked at him, a serious expression on his face. “You are, you know. You saved Nikki. As far as I’m concerned, you’re fucking Superman.”

Michael chuckled and shook Wes’s hand as he stood to gather up his belongings. Officer Slader entered the examination room they were using for their meeting.

“Nikki’s here. Should I send her in or are you finished here?”

Michael had gone over the questioning and potential rebuttals with Wes so many times he could give the carefully crafted answers by heart. He was told to give short, concise answers, not to give them any more than they were asking for, but to be cautious not to seem evasive.

“We’re done here, Todd.” Wes turned to Michael. “Did you want me to go to the visitation room to see her?”

“It’s up to you. As long as Wes is here, she can come back here with you. I can write it off as part of your defense meeting.”

Michael wished he could do something nice for Todd. He’d been so good to Michael since he’d been detained, to the point where he was truly beginning to consider him a friend.

“I’ve got a few minutes, got a few calls to make. Why don’t you have her come back here? I’ll go stand in the corner over there and give you guys some privacy,” Wes said, taking a couple of folders and his cell phone back out of his bag and dragging two of the metal chairs over by the barred window, one for him to sit in and one to use as a makeshift desk.

“Just remember, don’t lie and for God’s sake, don’t get pissed off!” were Wes’s final words of advice to Michael.

Todd closed the door again without another word and returned with Nikki a few minutes later.

“Michael!” she cried as she ran into his open, waiting arms, which wrapped around her like a vice grip.

Michael had seen her nearly every day, even if it was only while she sat behind him in support during the trial, and yet he missed her so much his chest ached. He pulled back a little to brush his lips against hers, and taking a quick glance towards Wes and finding him truly preoccupied, kissed Nikki passionately. She moaned into his mouth when he deepened the kiss, tasting her, devouring her, ravishing her. He heard the chair scrape against the concrete floor as his hands began wandering but couldn’t bring himself to stop caressing her, refreshing his memory about her every curve as his hands drifted over her clothing.

When they both broke away, gasping for air, Michael turned his attention to her jaw, peppering her face with moist kisses as he worked his way to her ear, down the delicate curve of her neck, and back up again.

“I love you, Nikki.”

“I love you too, Michael,” she moaned, the vibrations tickling his lips.

“Don’t forget me. Once this is over and I’m put away, I mean. Live your life and be happy, but please don’t forget me.”

Nikki pulled back from him, her mouth dropping, her eyes sparkling with fury. “How can you talk like that? The day this trial is over, you are coming home with me.”

She was resolute, and he wished he could share her confidence.

“I have some things to show you,” Nikki said as she tugged his hand and led him back to the dingy metal table. She took the spare chair and moved it next to him as she pulled a white and yellow envelope out of her purse. It was filled with photos, pictures of them with Donald Duck and Cinderella, pictures of Christian and Sophie and some of his family. The last group of pictures were of an empty brick building. It was clearly old, with a stone oven and commercial sink on the first floor, and beautiful architectural details in what appeared to be an apartment.

“What’s this?” Michael asked her, although he had a good guess.

“Well, if you like it,” Nikki stated proudly, “it’s our new home.”

Chapter 21

Nikki was completely full of shit, and she knew it. Empty bravado with a hefty side helping of intentional denial. Sophie had convinced her focusing on the future would be good for her, and for Michael too. They needed some sort of distraction from the stress of the trial and the increasingly bleak outlook it was providing. Deep down, Nikki didn’t see any way that Michael was going to get out of jail time, but she talked herself into thinking positively anyway and threw herself feet first into creating a life that she could share with him when this was all over.

She’d searched and searched for the perfect location for her bakery. The first several places she’d toured were modern, certainly, with a preference to function over form. They held no warmth, no character. And they were a lot more than she wanted to spend. Not only that, but most of them didn’t have an apartment above the store, which was high on her wish list. She couldn’t even articulate why. She didn’t want to go back to her house, so finding a place to live was essential. But it was more than that. Something about the smells of baked goods always wafting through her home from the bakery below sounded wonderful to her.

When she got the call about another possibility, the realtor didn’t sound too excited. Nikki figured it was a long shot, but she met her anyway. She knew the minute she walked in the front door that she was home. The building was old, and clearly needed a lot of work, but the architecture was amazing. There were white, chipped window boxes with dead plants, but she could picture them filled with pansies or miniature roses and hanging ivy. The door was heavy, solid, with a leaded glass window. Inside, yellow stucco and beige stone walls gave it a warm, Tuscan feel that she just loved. The floor was slate of different sizes in a mosaic, some with pieces missing that had been sloppily filled in with extra grout. The stone oven was blackened and sooty on the inside, and one look up the flue revealed a squirrel’s nest. The swinging doors to the kitchen groaned with protest as they walked through. The countertops were obviously new additions, stainless steel and butcher’s block, with holes where the sinks should be. There was an old, PVC utility sink, yellow stains on the bottom, in the back corner by a utility closet.

Climbing the creaky stairs while holding onto the loose and wobbly railing, she fell in love with the arched doorway, the crown molding, even the old lead glass windows which looked as though they hadn’t been opened in years. She looked around the apartment and all she saw were possibilities. The same brick and stucco walls were here, with a stainless steel kitchen, knotty pine flooring and worn burgundy carpeting. She loved it. Especially when she found out it was nearly half the cost of the other places she’d looked at.