Juror #3(69)

“What?”

I walked up to the witness stand and gripped it with my right hand.

“You never said my client hired a prostitute. You said you did it.”

“I don’t think—” he began, but I cut him off.

“You hired Monae Prince. It was your idea, you brought her to the hotel as a gift for my client.”

Reynolds didn’t answer. Isaac Keet jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The counsel for the defendant is badgering the witness, is not permitting him to answer.”

The judge fiddled with his ear. “Sustained.”

I stayed rooted to the spot; for an extended moment, Cary Reynolds and I engaged in a staring war. He blinked first.

In a calmer tone, I said, “Let me repeat the question, Mr. Reynolds. Did you tell me that you hired Monae Prince to come to Lee’s room at the Magnolia Inn?”

“Never.” The pit bull had disappeared; his voice oozed sincerity.

“May I remind you, sir, that you are under oath?”

As I asked the question, I heard a buzzing sound. At first, I thought it was coming from inside my head, but it grew louder, intensifying into an excruciating squeal. Three of the jurors clapped their hands over their ears.

Isaac Keet rose to his feet. “Judge Ashley.”

Making an apologetic face, the judge pulled out the hearing aid and tinkered with it until the whine subsided and the room fell silent.

The judge looked at me. “Where were we? Do you need the court reporter to repeat the last question?”

Cary Reynolds spoke up. “No sir, Your Honor. I remember.”

“You may answer.”

Reynolds turned his face to me. I read the challenge in his eyes before he spoke.

“Yes, ma’am, I know I’m under oath. I swore I’d tell the truth, about that night in Vicksburg with Lee. And about the other night when we had our little chat. I’m under oath.”

He coughed into his fist, then added. “But you ain’t. Surely do wish you’d got it down in writing.”

Reynolds’s statement was accompanied by a smirk. The sight of his face caused a ball of fury to wedge in the center of my chest.

As I struggled for control of my anger, Judge Ashley said, “Ms. Bozarth? Any further questions of this witness?”

My voice sounded hoarse when I answered. “Not at this time, Your Honor.”

“Redirect, Mr. Keet?”

“No, sir,” the DA said.

“May this witness be excused?”

As Keet opened his mouth to speak, I jumped in. I’d regained my voice.

“No, Your Honor, he may not. Mr. Reynolds is under subpoena to appear tomorrow, and I want the opportunity to call him.”

I fixed Reynolds with a junkyard glare as I added:

“As a hostile witness.”





Chapter 62



AS CARY REYNOLDS stepped down, Judge Ashley announced that he was adjourning court early due to a personal matter. While the judge spoke, Reynolds brushed by the counsel table, refusing to meet my eye. I tensed in my seat, eager for the judge to depart. I intended to waylay Reynolds and demand that he explain himself.

But Judge Ashley called the DA and me up to the bench to explain the reason for his early exit. As the judge spoke, mentioning something about his wife’s medical appointment, I glanced over my shoulder and watched Cary Reynolds disappear from the courtroom.

By the time the judge had left the bench, my client was disappearing as well. I had to elbow through the courthouse spectators to catch up to Lee, slipping away at a brisk pace.

I chased Lee down the courthouse steps, calling his name, but he ignored me. I had to break into a run to catch up.

I managed to grab on to his suit jacket. He paused, then spun around. In an angry whisper, he said, “Why didn’t you depose him?”

I was breathing hard; the past hour had been beyond stressful. “I tried to, twice—you know that. He bailed on us, had insurmountable conflicts both times.”

Lee shook his head with a humorless laugh. “Right.”

I kept my voice low as I said, “You said it would be fine. You told me a deposition wasn’t crucial. You said that it was just as well because we wouldn’t give Isaac Keet a shot at him before trial.”

I was nose to nose with Lee, but he wouldn’t meet my eye. A suspicion took hold in my brain.

He sighed, with a weary sound. Looking up at the courthouse clock, he said, “I wish I were dead.”

“Stop it. Don’t say that to me.”

“It would be better than this. Better to just disappear. I can’t take any more of this.”

He still wouldn’t make eye contact.

I knew Lee well. Well enough to know he was less likely to contemplate suicide than anyone on this side of the Mississippi River.

And he was entirely likely to deceive me when he thought it was in his best interest.

I pointed at a stone bench on the courthouse lawn. “We’re gonna stroll over there and have a talk, Lee.”

I took his arm and he followed my lead, walking like an automaton. Once we were planted on the bench, I took a careful look around to make sure no one was within earshot.

Then I lit into him.

“It’s high time you told me the truth about your relationship with Cary Reynolds.”