I See You (8 page)

Alicia shook her head. ‘I told her not to.’

Hannah frowned and hesitated. ‘Not to what?’

‘Well, not to take a selfie in the first place.’

Hannah blanched. ‘A selfie? Lisa took the picture?’

‘I tried to warn her. I did. But she grabbed my phone and held it out and took it. And then she just loved it so much that she posted it right away to Twitter. And now this happens. I’m so sorry, Mrs Whitman.’

Hannah stared at the girl in her living room. ‘She did it herself?’

‘She didn’t mean anything by it,’ Alicia protested. ‘I wonder who ratted her out. How did the judge find out about it?’

Alicia was already busy looking for someone to shift the blame to, away from Lisa. Hannah, on the other hand, was looking at Alicia, but her mind was racing as she thought about her daughter.

The life of a typical teenager had been denied to Lisa because of her prodigious intellectual gifts. Often, when Lisa acted up, Hannah looked the other way, because, fundamentally, she saw Lisa’s extreme intelligence as both a blessing and a curse.

But this time Lisa’s thoughtlessness had caused her to lose her bail. And she had tried to shift the blame to somebody else. Well, Hannah thought angrily, if that was how she wanted to live her life, so be it. But she had acted as if Sydney didn’t even matter.

She didn’t intend for this to happen, Hannah reminded herself, trying to calm herself down. Lisa just wasn’t thinking like a mother. But then again, thought Hannah, if she admitted the truth to herself, Lisa rarely did.

‘I should never have given her the phone,’ said Alicia. ‘This is all my fault.’

Hannah looked at Lisa’s friend helplessly. ‘I wish that were true,’ she said.

A
lthough it was mid-September, the first day of the trial was sultry and Hannah dressed accordingly. She wore a silky T-shirt over a calf-length skirt and sandals but she carried along a sweater. Marjorie had warned them that the courtroom would be kept chilly, in deference to the judge’s robes, and the fact that the jury needed to be alert through all the testimony.

As she checked herself in the mirror before leaving the house, she noticed that her hair looked limp, and there were dark circles under her eyes. These few weeks had been a form of torture. Visiting Lisa at the county jail had forced all of them to face up to the unthinkable – what the future might hold. Before Lisa’s bail was revoked, and she was still waking up every morning in her childhood bed, it was easier to discount the possibility that this trial might lead to the end of life as they knew it. Of course, they knew that it was possible that Lisa could be convicted. But arriving for a visit at the jail and seeing her emerge in an orange jumpsuit brought that fact home with dreadful clarity.

‘
No
,’ Hannah said sternly to the mirror. ‘She is innocent, and she is going to be acquitted.’

Adam stuck his head into the room. ‘Are you about ready? We need to drop off Sydney before we go.’

‘Just about,’ said Hannah. Hannah and Adam had taken Sydney to see her mother twice. Sydney had clung to Hannah during the visits, and the last time Hannah suggested they go, Sydney had pitched a fit and refused. Rather than bring a screaming child into that mausoleum where every sound reverberated, Hannah went with Adam or by herself.

At least the trial could begin now. Waiting for it to begin had been terrible.

And there was a hopeful part of Hannah which believed that this prosecution was spurious, that they had nothing substantial against Lisa, beyond that unfortunate check-cashing. It could all be over in no time. ‘Please,’ she thought, closing her eyes and speaking in a whisper. ‘Let it be over quickly. Let my baby come home.’

Chanel Ali Jackson jiggled impatiently as an intern from make-up dabbed at her forehead with a sponge. Chanel smoothed the front of her form-fitting dress.

The intern stepped back and scrutinized the reporter’s hairline. Then she nodded. ‘You look fine.’

Chanel flashed her dimpled smile as another technician handed her a microphone and the cameraman directed her to move five feet to her left. Chanel did as she was directed. The assistant director looked at his stopwatch and then pointed at Chanel. She raised her mike and began her smooth delivery.

‘Adrian,’ she said, addressing the host back in the studio, ‘I’m here at the Lisa Wickes murder trial. Wickes is the young medical student with the genius IQ who is accused of the murder of her former boyfriend, hospital nurse Troy Petty.

‘Petty died in an explosion several months ago in his rented bungalow out near J. Percy Priest Lake. In opening arguments this morning the prosecution said they will prove that the defendant, Lisa Wickes, killed Petty in an argument over money. They stated that they will present videotaped evidence that Lisa Wickes cashed her old boyfriend’s paycheck on the night that he died. The prosecution contends that Wickes knocked Petty unconscious and then used candles and a propane stove to cause an explosion.

‘The defense claims that Lisa Wickes had no part in causing the explosion which killed Troy Petty. They insist that Troy Petty signed over his check to her, and Lisa Wickes cashed it because her boyfriend owed her money. What really happened to Troy Petty? That question will be up to the jury.’

As she was smoothly outlining the schedule of trial testimony, Chanel suddenly spotted a familiar vehicle. As the car turned the corner, she ordered to the cameraman to follow her because she was about to make a move. As she rounded the corner, she saw a couple getting out of the car on the other side of the street.

Chanel bolted across the street without looking, the cameraman immediately in her wake.

‘Excuse me, excuse me. Mr and Mrs Wickes,’ she called out, thrusting her microphone, her whole body, in fact, in the path of the couple who were trying to hurry into the side door of the courthouse. ‘I’m Chanel Ali Jackson, from
Channel Six News
, Nashville. Can I talk to you for a moment?’

Hannah looked startled. Adam wore a pained expression.

Chanel was not about to let them elude her. She focused her laserlike, sympathetic gaze on Hannah. ‘Mrs Wickes, you heard the opening arguments this morning. Does the prosecution have a strong case, or does it seem to you that their case against your daughter, Lisa, is purely circumstantial?’

‘My daughter is innocent of this crime,’ said Hannah, although the expression in her fine, gray eyes was anything but sanguine. ‘This trial is going to show that.’

‘We have no further comment,’ said Adam stiffly.

Chanel ignored him, concentrating on the defendant’s mother. ‘This has got to be the hardest thing in the world, to watch your child subjected to all these terrible accusations,’ she suggested.

Hannah nodded. ‘It’s very difficult,’ she said. ‘But I believe that justice will prevail.’

‘How do you keep going?’ Chanel asked. ‘I don’t know if I could do it.’

‘Our granddaughter needs us,’ said Hannah simply. ‘We have to be strong for her.’

‘How is Lisa’s daughter holding up?’ Chanel asked gently.

‘She’s a child. She doesn’t understand too much about what is happening. But she misses her mother.’

Adam Wickes raised his hand, palm up. ‘All right. That’s enough questions.’ He put a hand under his wife’s elbow and began to guide her past Chanel and into the courthouse.

Hannah nodded and pressed her lips together as Adam steered her away.

Chanel turned back to the camera. ‘There is a lot more of this trial still to go. We’ll be here, keeping you apprised of every development. This is Chanel Ali Jackson, reporting from the courthouse in Nashville, as the prosecution in the murder trial of Lisa Wickes get ready to call their first witness.’

‘God, I just hate this,’ Adam said.

‘I know. I feel like a sideshow attraction in the circus. Let’s get in our seats,’ Hannah said.

Other reporters called out to them as they made their way through the security checkpoint and into the courtroom, but Hannah held tight to Adam’s hand and did not look around. They took their seats behind the empty defense table, and waited as the room filled up with court personnel, journalists and onlookers. The door to the right of the judge’s bench opened, and two burly court officers came through, flanking Lisa, towering over her. Lisa’s curly hair was clean and shiny and she wore it loose so that it formed a dark halo around her pale, bespectacled face. She was wearing the modest navy and white dress which Marjorie Fox had suggested Hannah buy for her, low-heeled pumps and handcuffs on her wrists and ankles. Hannah was struck anew by the sight of her daughter here in the court, dressed as if ready for Easter, and in chains. It was almost more than Hannah could stand. She let out a little cry, and Adam put his arm around her and squeezed her, as if to give her strength.

Lisa nodded at them as she was led to her seat at the defense table, and gave them a thumbs up with her shackled hands. Hannah smiled back at her hopefully. Adam nodded gravely at his daughter. Marjorie Fox, who had already arrived, stood up to greet her client. Across the aisle, the prosecution team was conferring.

‘All rise,’ said the bailiff.

Everyone stood as the judge entered and sat down. ‘Bring the jury back in,’ he instructed the bailiff. The courtroom was respectfully quiet, if a little restive, as they waited for the jury to appear. The door beside the bench finally opened again, and the twelve jurors came in and took their seats. Judge Endicott, a gray-haired, balding man with half-glasses, waited until they were all seated, welcomed them back and reminded them to listen carefully, take notes and not discuss the case until it was time to deliberate.

‘Very well. Let’s proceed. Mr Castor, will you call your first witness.’

The D.A. called the first officer at the grisly scene at Troy Petty’s bungalow after the explosion. ‘Part of the front of the house and the roof blew off. The victim’s body was mangled and charred.’

‘How did the explosion occur?’

‘As far as we can tell, gas was escaping from the propane stove, and there were lit candles in the house. When the flame from the candles ignited the gas, it caused an explosion like a bomb going off.’

The spectators in the courtroom murmured.

‘No one else was in the house at the time?’

‘We did not find any other victims,’ said the officer.

Marjorie rose to question the witness. ‘Could someone have left the gas on accidentally so that it filled the room?’

‘Sure you could,’ said the officer. ‘The pilot light can go out. It could happen. But the only way you wouldn’t notice the smell was if you were not in the house at the time. Or unconscious. Otherwise you would have smelled it.’

Next, D.A. Castor called the coroner, Dr James Evans, to the stand. He was an old man, a no-nonsense type with wire-rimmed glasses, and a well-tailored but ancient suit. The coroner took his oath, recited his credentials and proceeded to describe, in sickening, clinical detail, the corpse of Troy Petty which he had examined.

‘In your opinion,’ asked the D.A., ‘what was the cause of death?’

‘The deceased died of injuries sustained in an explosion.’

‘Were there any injuries on the body not related to the explosion?’ asked the D.A.

‘The victim had a head wound which he may have incurred before the explosion. He appeared to have been struck on the back of his head by a blunt object. He was, most likely, unconscious at the time of the explosion.’

‘Was there a weapon found in the house?’

‘Yes,’ said the coroner. ‘A brass desk lamp with a heavy base was found near the body. There was blood and tissue on the base, which belonged to the deceased.’

Hannah’s shoulders hunched; she closed her eyes and shook her head slightly at the vivid image created by the plainspoken coroner. The testimony was damning. At the same time, it did not prove that Lisa had done anything. How could anyone think that Lisa could ever have hit a man as burly as Troy Petty with that much force? Adam gripped her chilly fingers with his own.

Castor turned to the defense table. ‘Your witness.’

Marjorie Fox arose and approached the witness in the box. ‘You referred to that lamp as a weapon and you said that Mr Petty was unconscious when the explosion occurred. Could he not have sustained that head wound, and been knocked unconscious by debris falling on him?’

‘Possible. But unlikely. The head injury was caused by a direct blow to the skull.’

‘Could the lamp have been pulled out of the socket by the force of the blast? Could it have flown up and whacked Mr Petty in the head?’

‘He could have been hit by debris, but a direct hit like that would be highly unlikely.’

‘But it’s not impossible that his head injury was incurred during the blast.’

‘Not likely. But not impossible,’ Evans conceded.

‘Dr Evans, what if Mr Petty had been outside, doing some nighttime fishing on his dock? What if he had walked back into the house at the moment of combustion?

‘He would have been blown back out the door,’ said the coroner.

‘And if he came in, smelled the gas, and approached the propane stove to turn it off? Would his body have remained in the house during the blast?’

‘It might have,’ the coroner conceded.

‘Did you do a toxicology test on Mr Petty’s remains?’ Marjorie asked.

The coroner nodded. ‘I did.’

Marjorie looked at him innocently. ‘Did you find any traces of alcohol in his system?’

The coroner nodded. ‘Yes, I did find traces.’

‘Enough to determine if he was intoxicated?’

‘I determined that his blood alcohol was at the legal limit.’

Marjorie pounced. ‘In fact, could intoxication have accounted for Mr Petty’s inability to recognize the danger he was in as the gas filled the house?’

‘It might have slowed his reaction time. However …’

‘No further questions,’ said Marjorie.

‘Objection,’ said the D.A. ‘The witness should be allowed to answer.’

‘Sustained. Finish your answer,’ said the judge.

‘The victim would have had to be unconscious not to notice the smell.’

‘Or just severely inebriated,’ said Marjorie tartly.

‘The defense attorney is testifying,’ the D.A. objected.

‘Withdrawn,’ said Marjorie politely. ‘No further questions.’