The Night Swim(43)

This is Rachel Krall for Guilty or Not Guilty, the podcast that puts you in the jury box.

Before you go, in my short time in Neapolis I’ve learned about another girl who lived in this town. Her name was Jenny and she died a quarter of a century ago. I first learned about Jenny in a letter delivered to me in a, shall we say, unorthodox way. I want the writer to know: You have my attention. You know where to find me. Let’s talk. I mean, really talk. I’m game if you are.





25



Rachel


Harris Wilson was a bundle of nerves as he walked across the courtroom and took the stand. He pulled at his tie as if it were choking him and exhaled loudly after taking his oath.

Rachel watched the courtroom artist next to her draw Harris as a gangly young man with bad acne, sitting awkwardly in the witness stand. His tie was almost comical around his scrawny neck. Standing alongside him in the courtroom sketch was Mitch Alkins. His dark hair brushed across his forehead, his hands in his pockets. Even in that relaxed pose, he looked like a cobra. Ready to strike.

“Are you nervous, Harris?” Alkins asked.

“A little.”

“Must be nerve-wracking to testify at such a young age. I gather you’ve only recently turned eighteen?”

“Yeah. Three weeks ago.”

“Your Honor,” Dale Quinn interrupted. “The defense acknowledges that Harris Wilson is young and nervous. Perhaps that will allow Mr. Alkins to get to the point.”

“Let’s move it along here, Counselor,” Judge Shaw directed.

Rachel bent down to check her phone as Alkins guided Harris through the events of the night of Lexi’s party.

Rachel had been waiting all morning for Hannah to respond to the callout on the podcast by sending another letter or email to the podcast email address. So far there was nothing from Hannah, and no messages from Pete other than to say that he’d come up empty-handed after calling every hotel in Neapolis. And I mean every single hotel, motel, and bed-and-breakfast place within twenty miles of town, he’d written. There’s nobody named Hannah staying at any of them.

Rachel returned her attention to Harris, who was sitting on the edge of his seat and talking too fast as he answered Alkins’s questions about the night of Lexi’s party.

“Scott told me to go after Kelly and meet him at the playground near my house,” said Harris. “He said that when he got there, I should leave because he was going to take her somewhere and have sex with her. He told me he was in this competition with his roommate and he was trailing behind by a few girls. He said he needed an easy lay and that he needed my help to reel her in.”

“What did you say in response?” Alkins asked.

“I asked Scott, ‘What if she doesn’t want to have sex with you?’” Harris recalled. “Scott said, ‘Trust me; she knows who I am. She’ll be flattered that I’m interested in her. Anyway, I wasn’t planning on asking her. She’ll do what I want. They always do.’”

A gasp rippled through the courtroom. Alkins paused as heads turned toward Scott Blair. He sat impassively, but Rachel could tell that he was exerting every ounce of self-control to avoid reacting. His parents, behind him, were equally still, like gazelles freezing to avoid catching the attention of a predator. Gradually, despite Scott’s best efforts, a pink tinge ran up his neck.

Alkins nodded slightly as if to tell the jury that he wasn’t surprised at the red flush of guilt. He moved on, asking Harris to describe what happened once he’d brought Kelly to the playground and waited for Scott’s next move.

“Scott texted me to say he was in his car next to the playground and that I should leave so he could be alone with Kelly. He used an emoji that means sex. I hesitated. Kelly seemed nice. I was worried about Scott. He’d drunk a lot that night. Usually he didn’t drink because of his swimming. That night he was plastered. Scott can get pretty unpredictable when he’s drunk.”

“But you left her anyway?”

“I stayed for a little, thinking that maybe Scott would change his mind if he saw that I wasn’t leaving. Then he sent me another text telling me to ‘beat it’ with an emoji of a finger across a throat. It scared me … and—I left,” said Harris.

Alkins asked Harris to read the text messages that Scott had sent that night. After Harris read the messages out loud in a trembling voice, Alkins moved into a series of questions to show the jury that Scott had planned to rape Kelly Moore that night. That it wasn’t done in the heat of passion, or out of drunkenness. It was premeditated.

“Did you see Scott on your way home?” Alkins asked.

“I passed Scott’s car. When he saw me, he put his hand out the window to fist bump me. I fist bumped him back. Once I crossed the road to my house, I turned and saw him get out of his car. I should have gone back and stopped him,” said Harris. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything. Although I’m not sure it would have helped. Scott always gets what he wants. That night he wanted Kelly.”

When Alkins was done with his witness, Harris scrambled to his feet, his relief visible. He seemed about to bolt from the witness stand when the judge leaned forward to his microphone.

“It’s just a wild guess here, Mr. Wilson, but I’m thinking there’s a chance Mr. Quinn might have a few questions for you.”