I run through my notes a couple more times as the SUV rolls towards town. Alex sits beside me, stares out the window, and strums his fingers on his knee. I place my hand over his, gently squeeze it in the hopes of alleviating some of his stress. That's impossible, of course, he'll be testifying in open court about the death of his mother at the hands of his father. He buried this event deep in his psyche, and never intended to speak of it again until he broke down and told me one night, months ago.
He glances down at my hand on his, then into my eyes. I swear, whenever his blue eyes gaze at me, I melt. He still has the ability to make me feel like a girl chasing after the most popular, handsome boy in school. I smile, and he offers a small one back, but there's no joy in it.
"I want to go over a couple of things with you before we get to the courthouse, and things get hectic," I say, my voice calm but not overly serious. I want to put him at ease, not add to his anxiety. "I'm going to start with basic questions—name, business—they're going to seem innocuous, but they serve a couple of important purposes. One is so I can lay the proper foundation for your testimony, a sort of introduction of you to the jury. The second allows you to answer easy questions and gives you time to get nerves under control. When you're answering questions, direct them to the jury, not me or Hamilton. The jurors are the ones who will be deliberating, and we need to respect their role in the process. Plus, studies show that jurors are more apt to believe a witness who addresses them during testimony."
"Okay," he says, "anything else?"
"When Hamilton questions you on cross examination, don't elaborate on your answers. He's going to shut you down if you try, anyway, but I don't want you to worry about the narrative he's trying to put in front of the jury. Any answer you give that needs further explanation, or clarification, I'll correct on rebuttal."
"And?" His eyebrows lift, and he cocks his head slightly to the side. "Come on, Kylie, I can see it in your eyes. There's something else, but you're trying to be diplomatic about your delivery. What is it?"
"You think you know me so well," I joke. I inhale, and look him straight in the eye, all kidding aside. "He's going to do his best to get you worked up. He'll pull out all the stops to piss you off. You have to remain calm, and not play into his hands."
"Why is it so important to make me mad?" he asks.
"To see if you'll lose your temper on the stand. It's the only way he has a snowball's chance in hell of placing the blame on you."
"How does that prove anything?"
"It doesn't…it provides reasonable doubt, and that's all he needs to get the jury to swing his way."
Alex's eyebrows knit together, and he lets out a long exhale. My attempt at alleviating stress has failed in near epic proportions.
I twist in my seat and face him. "Look, even if he can get the jury to believe you resented your mother enough to want to harm her—they won't believe you acted in a way that caused her death unless there was a catalyst. If the jury sees you on the witness stand, calm and under control, it'll be nearly impossible to associate who they see with what the defense is trying to sell. Hamilton has to show you're easily enraged, and that rage—fueled by your resentment—pushed you over the edge."
He looks away from me, and back out the window. "These are some fucked-up games you lawyers play with other people's lives." Resting his elbow on the ledge of the door, he rubs his finger across his bottom lip.
I sit back in my seat, straighten my skirt, and peer out the front window. "Yeah, everyone hates the games until it's their ass in a ringer—then their disgust and high morals go right out the window, and they demand we use whatever tricks we have to get them the outcome they want."
The fucking double standard people have when it comes to the legal system infuriates me. They scream for reform, bang their fists on desks while proclaiming revulsion at our tactics, and then turn on a dime when they need—no, demand—we act in the very manner which left such distaste in their mouths.
"Hey," Alex says, and tugs on my hand until I look at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it to come out that way. I'm frustrated James can even make the allegations in the first place. Hamilton has no idea what I went through that night, how helpless it is to watch someone slip away and not be able to do a damned thing about it. If he did, he would never mount this type of defense."
I doubt that's true, Hamilton is defending his client, and will use any defense he thinks will get him that result, even if he doesn't agree with it. I caress Alex's cheek, and he relaxes into my hand. "Well, luckily, our side has someone with experience in criminal defense who can anticipate his moves and mount a counter-attack." I point to my chest and mouth "me."
Alex let's out a laugh, grasps my face in his hands, and kisses me. "Best damn criminal defense attorney turned special prosecutor in the world."
Jake pulls up in front of the courthouse, and our lively moods evaporate. Hundreds of people line the sidewalks, spilling onto the road. The incoherent rants are muffled, but the hatred is unmistakable. Many are thrusting their fists in the air, yelling at us, while others hold signs that proclaim Alex is a murderer and Free James Now.
Police officers in riot gear force the protestors back and create a path for us to get into the courthouse.
"Can't we go in through the garage, Jake?" I ask, not at all sure we'll be safe getting out of the vehicle here.
"No, they have closed it off," he answers, his eyes moving around the crowd to guard against—what?—I don't want to even consider the possibilities.
"How am I going to get all my boxes inside?"
"I'll pull around to the side and park in one of the designated spots for law enforcement. Thomas and I will unload them and bring them up."
"Well, if we're going to do this, we better do it now," Alex says, and glances at me. "You ready?"
I nod. He reaches for the door handle, grabs my hand, and hauls me out of the vehicle. Profanity-ladened insults are directed towards us, many protestors shove against the police officers acting as human barricades. I keep my head down, subconsciously ducking as we rush to get inside. Once we make it to the steps, the doors open, and we are hurried in, the doors swiftly closing behind us.
Reyes comes up beside me, places his hand on my elbow, and directs me to the security screening area. "Are you okay?"
"Uh, yeah," I mutter, and slip my elbow out of his grasp. Alex comes up beside me, his arm snakes around my waist and pulls me into him.
"Sergeant," Alex greets Reyes, with no warmth to his voice.
"Mr. Stone," Reyes responds, and glances at the vitriolic mob outside. "You certainly know how to draw a crowd."
I glare at Reyes. He's not going to rile up Alex before he testifies. "Jake and Thomas are bringing in the boxes. I need for you to wait here and help them get through security. I'll see you upstairs."
He nods, and sheepishly adds, "Yes, ma'am."
I'm still fuming as Alex and I step off the elevator on the fourth floor and walk down the wide corridor to our assigned courtroom. I reach for the door handle, but Alex grabs my hand and takes a couple of steps back.
"What's the matter?" I ask, a little more brusque than I intend.
"It's your turn to calm down. You look mad as hell, and while I'm no expert in courtroom appearances, if I walk in after you, everyone is going to think you and I are fighting. Or that you want to cut off my balls and feed them to me." A crooked smile graces his face and reaches his eyes.
I sigh, close my eyes, and rub the bridge of my nose. "I'd like to cut Reyes's nuts off and—"
"I object, counselor. I don't want you anywhere near that man's lower extremities, even if it is to cause immense pain." He pulls my hand from my face, steps into me, and gives me a chaste kiss. My forehead rests on his, and I take a deep breath, allowing his calm reserve to center me. This is what he does for me—one of the many reasons I love him. We have the uncanny ability to provide what the other needs without a single word, our bodies totally in sync with each other. "Better now?"
I gaze into his eyes. "Better now." I lean in close, my lips brush up against his ear, and whisper, "I love you, baby," and give him a quick peck on the cheek before leading him into the courtroom.