Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
The judge enters through the right far doorway and we all stand, but I know that my husband can and will own this courtroom. He is the one everyone will be watching. He is the one that will win this case. He has to. Dana’s life is on the line.
Chapter fifty-two
Cat
Milton Wicker, the prosecutor, begins his case by calling Martina Hernandez, the housekeeper who found the body, to the stand. Martina is short, a bit plump, with dark hair streaked with gray. She’s in a plum-colored dress and sensible shoes. She claims the seat before us all and even from here I can see her visibly shaking. Considering she found her employer dead, and the world is now watching, this reaction shouldn’t feel off to me, but it does. There is something off and I don’t know what.
The prosecutor steps in front of her. “Please state your name for the court.”
“Martina Anna Hernandez.”
He presses his hands on the wood in front of her. “How are you doing, Martina?” he asks.
She brushes hair from her heavily wrinkled eyes. I guess her to be a haggard fifty, a hard living under her belt. “I’m not good. Mr. Warren is dead. How can I be good?”
“I know,” he says. “But we need to get him justice. We need to tell your story, okay?”
“Yes. I told you I will tell my story.”
“Tell us about finding Mr. Warren.”
“I’d gone to get groceries and returned to cook dinner. His favorite stew. He’d requested it for that night. He was locked in his study and when it was ready I knocked, but he didn’t answer. An hour passed and then two and I became worried. I returned and knocked again. Still no answer. I decided to risk him yelling at me and I opened the door. That’s when I found him sprawled on his desk—” She sobs and presses a fist to her lips. “He—his head was blown—hole—there was a hole and blood. A pool of thick blood. It looked thick. Like a horror movie.” She drops her hand. “I’m sorry. I just—I have nightmares.”
“Of course you do. The man you saw every day, your boss, was murdered brutally.”
“Objection,” Reese says. “Commentary leading the witness.”
“Sustained,” the judge, a stout man in his late forties, says, before eyeing the prosecutor. “Move on, counselor.”
“Apologies, judge,” he says and refocuses on Martina. “How long did you work for Mr. Warren?”
“Twenty years.”
“How well did you know him?”
“As well as anyone,” she replies.
That’s a loaded reply I’m certain Reese will jump all over. The prosecutor doesn’t. He moves on. “How well do you know Dana Warren?”
“I watched her grow up since she was five years old. I know her very well. She was good to me.”
Another comment Reese can use.
“And to her father?” Wicker asks.
“He was a difficult man,” Martina replies. “Mean. He was mean.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“She gave what she got. She had to survive that man.”
“Did you give what you got?” the prosecutor asks.
“Well no, but—”
“That was a yes or no question,” the prosecutor says, cutting her off. “Did you survive?”
“Well yes, but—”
“That was again a yes or no question,” he says. “You survived and you didn’t have to give what you got. Did you ever consider killing Mr. Warren?”
“No, but—”
“Yes or no.”
“No,” she says tartly.
“How did Dana and her father get along?”
“Fine.”
“Fine as in good, bad, indifferent?”
“The way he got along with everyone.”
“Which is how?” the prosecutor presses.
“Badly. He got along with everyone badly.”
“Including his daughter?”
“Yes,” she confirms.
“Did you see Dana the day of the murder?”
“Yes,” she says.
“She saw her father that day?”
“Yes.”
“Did they fight?”
“They always fought.”
“Do you know what they were fighting about that day?”
“He wanted her to go meet with someone she didn’t want to meet,” she says.
“Who?”
“Some Prince from another country. He wanted them to date. Something about a business deal it would help make go through. That’s all I heard.”
And there it is, I think. Another reason for the boyfriend to kill the father.
The questioning goes on for another fifteen minutes before the prosecutor rests with the reserved right to recall the witness. Reese stands up and approaches Martina. “Hi, Martina.”
“Hi,” she says, softening with his greeting. God, he’s good. He’s so charming and she’s melting under the force of his attention.
“How many people did you hear fight with Mr. Warren over the years?”
“Hundreds.”
“How many in the past year?” Reese asks.
“At least twenty,” she says.
“In person?”
“A few. Often by way of the phone.”
“How many have you heard threaten to kill him or wish him dead?”
She considers a moment. “Six or seven.”
“How many in the last year?”
“Two.”
“Was Dana one of the two?”
“No.”
“Please tell us who those two people were.”
“Gerome Nichols and Sara Newton.”
“Who are they?”
“Gerome is a business acquaintance and Sara was seeing Mr. Warren up until a month ago.”
“You said Dana got along with her father about as well as he got along with anyone. Explain, please.”