Seconds - Freya Barker

Chapter One

Reagan

“Objection!”

I glance over at the prosecutor’s desk where my ex-husband jumps to his feet, red-faced.

“What now, Mr. Tory?” the judge, who appears to be running thin on patience, barks.

“Irrelevant, Your Honor. The victim isn’t on trial here.”

I duck my head to hide my smile, even as I get to my feet as well. I was waiting for his objection when I started questioning my witness about his connection with the victim. It would appear Neil is finally cluing in to my purpose for calling William Cirillo.

“Ms. Cole? Relevance?”

“Yes, Your Honor. It has been my client’s testimony from the start; it was Mrs. Winters’ own action at the root of the unfortunate accident that ultimately took her life. A claim dismissed by prosecution, touting Sheila Winters’ near saint-like reputation ad nauseam. Since Mr. Tory continues to bring up Mrs. Winters’ exemplary character, I’m merely trying to establish a more realistic picture.”

According to Sean Davies, this wasn’t the first time he’d picked up Sheila at the Red Lion on Godwin Boulevard. The pub is close to the highway and a popular stop for truckers and travelers, right down the road from a couple of economy motels.

That’s where they’d been heading, my client and the victim, when he lost control of the wheel, hit the ditch, and his van rolled several times before coming to rest against a tree. Sheila, who hadn’t been wearing a seat belt at the time because she was busy going down on my client—by his account—was ejected through the windshield and perished at the scene.

Cirillo is a regular at the Red Lion who had his own experience with the victim, which is what I was asking him about when Neil shouted his objection.

“Mr. Tory,” Judge Embury calls his attention. “Ms. Cole makes a valid point. Since you’ve opened the door to Mrs. Winters’ character, defense has a right to walk through.” He turns his gaze on me, over the rim of his reading glasses clinging desperately to the tip of his nose. “Ms. Cole, you may continue, but I suggest you get to the point.”

I do an internal fist pump before sharply nodding in confirmation.

“Of course, Your Honor.”

Ten minutes later, Judge Embury hammers his gavel on his desk to try to restore order to the courtroom, as the victim’s husband is hauled off by two burly court bailiffs. A quick glance over to the jury box shows most eyes are on the irate man, yelling and struggling against the firm hold the guards have on him. The moment the heavy oak doors shut behind them, all eyes turn front and center, where William Cirillo sits open-mouthed in the witness box.

“Ms. Cole. Any more for this witness?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Would the prosecution like to cross-examine the witness?”

“Yes,” Neil snaps, before quickly adding, “Your Honor.”

He glares at me before rounding his desk and walking up to Cirillo.

For the next forty-five minutes, he tries every trick in the book to shake William from his testimony without success. The only thing he accomplishes in his frustration is shine a spotlight on the fact the victim was a part-time hooker, who apparently enjoyed the thrill of giving head while her john was operating a moving vehicle.

He finally gives up—clearly disgusted with the witness and angry with me—and stalks back to his table. What he thought would be an easy conviction and another chance to best me, is not looking so good now.

Judge Embury dismisses the witness before calling a recess until court reconvenes on Monday for closing arguments.

“That was good, right?” Sean asks me when the judge disappears into chambers.

“That was very good,” I confirm, grinning at him.

I dive under the table for my accordion folder and start stuffing my files in when I can sense Neil looming over me.

“That’s low, even for you,” he says in a growl.

I shove my chair back and stand up before turning to him. My eyes are level with his, thanks to the six-inch heels that are killing my feet, but it’s worth it; they have the desired effect. Neil has always been sensitive to his height, or rather, lack thereof, and I’m not above using that in my favor. Like now.

“Merely doing my job,” I reply calmly.

“You just destroyed a good woman’s reputation.”

That stills my hands. He’s trying to get under my skin and knows me well enough to be effective.

“I’m not the one with a propensity for fairy tales, Neil. I deal in facts.”

“Don’t work too late.”

I look up to find Sally standing in front of