Juror #3(24)

During direct examination by Lafayette, the state’s physical evidence had been introduced. Jewel Shaw’s bloody purple dress was admitted into evidence and circulated around the jury box. Some jurors were quick to pass it off. Others handled the plastic shroud reverently. Only juror number 3 seemed unmoved by the exhibit. I couldn’t tell whether his lack of reaction boded ill or well for Darrien.

The DA asked Sheriff Stark about the telephones. A brief introduction of Darrien’s phone showed his receipt of Jewel’s text directing him to the cabana. They spent far more time on Jewel’s phone, encased in the plastic bag I’d opened in the evidence room at the sheriff’s department. I fidgeted in my seat as the sheriff and the DA handled the plastic-wrapped phone, anxious they might notice my intrusion into the exhibit.

But after the phone was introduced into evidence, Lafayette dropped it on the prosecution’s counsel table and left it there. He pushed a flash drive into his laptop and directed the jury’s attention to a large screen in the courtroom.

The first image caused Darrien to jerk violently in his chair. Draping an arm around his shoulders, I gave an urgent whisper.

“Pull yourself together.”

His eyes met mine, and he nodded, placing his hands on the tabletop, and sat perfectly still.

The picture blown up on display was one of Jewel’s selfies; she’d captured a shot of herself astride Darrien.

When Lafayette finished his direct examination of Sheriff Stark, he turned to the judge.

“Your Honor, I offer State’s Exhibits One through Thirteen into evidence.”

The judge peered down at me. “Miss Bozarth?”

I huddled with Darrien.

“Darrien, he laid the foundation for his exhibits. We can object to them, but the judge will overrule us.”

He spoke in a hushed voice. “So we’d end up losing that fight, plus the jury will think we’re trying to hide something from them.”

His perception impressed me. I whispered, “You’d be great in criminology. You’re a natural.”

He almost cracked a smile, but as he straightened in his seat, his face regained a grave expression.

I stood. “No objection.”

“The exhibits will be received. Miss Bozarth, your witness.” And he inclined his head toward the witness stand.

“Sheriff Stark, did you conduct a search of the cabana at the Williams County country club?”

He cleared his throat before answering. “I did. Me and two deputies.”

“The physical evidence identified in court today—the dress, the Mardi Gras beads, two telephones, the blood samples—were those all discovered at the scene?”

“They were. I said that already, when I testified for Tom.”

“Did you conduct a thorough search, Sheriff?”

His eyes narrowed.

“I always do.”

“But on this particular occasion—your search of cabana six—was it thorough? Conducted in a professional manner?”

He leaned forward in his chair. “I know what you’re getting at.”

I took a step closer to the stand. “Answer the question: yes or no.”

Lafayette jumped up. “Your Honor, she’s badgering the witness.”

I shot him a look and was about to protest, but Judge Baylor intervened. “Answer the lady’s question, Pat.”

The sheriff shifted back in his chair, watching me with a shuttered face. “Yes. Thorough.”

I faced the jury. “Sheriff, where is the murder weapon?”

He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Did you look for it?”

“Of course I did. You know, he could’ve stashed—”

I cut him off in a ringing voice. “Objection, Your Honor: speculation.”

The judge said, “Don’t speculate, Pat.”

“Sheriff, what was the diameter of the cabana? How big of a space are we talking about?”

“I don’t recall a measurement, can’t rightly say.”

“Well, then, let’s narrow it down. Bigger than a football field?”

Another sigh from the witness stand. “No.”

“Okay, we’ll scale back. Big as this courtroom?”

“No.”

I walked over to the jury room. It adjoined the courtroom, and the door was located right outside the jury box. I turned the knob and pushed it open. “About the size of the jury room?”

He leaned over his seat and peered into the space. Most of the jurors did the same. Inwardly, I warmed; they were paying attention to me. “Yeah, that might be about right.”

I shut the door. As I advanced on the witness stand, I said: “So three law enforcement professionals conducted a thorough search of a space as small as the jury room, and couldn’t turn up a weapon.”

“We didn’t. Didn’t find it in there.”

I walked to the counsel table and leaned against it. “Sheriff, when my client was apprehended in the cabana, did he have a weapon in his possession?”

“No. Not that I know of, anyway.”

I pushed away from the table. “Let’s be clear. Did he or didn’t he?”

He met my eye with a look that was unmistakably hostile. “He didn’t.”

I walked to the podium to glance at my notes. The sheriff volunteered: “She was stabbed with a weapon like a knife. He’d have access to knives in the kitchen at the club.”