Page 17 of Deadline

“He laughed. With contempt. He called Jeremy a coward and said, ‘He might, now he knows I’m on to them. Let’s see.’” She paused to wipe her moist palms on the lap of her skirt. “He took me by the arm.”

She went on to describe how he had roughly propelled her through the house, searching the rooms on both stories for Jeremy, all the while deaf to her denials that Jeremy would seek refuge in her house. “By the time we got back downstairs, he was even angrier and more frustrated than before. He was sweating profusely, swearing with every breath.”

She paused, expecting an objection from Strong’s lawyer, who was sitting perfectly still, staring at her as though contemplating his counterattack. Strong’s stare was malevolent. Quickly she shifted her gaze back to Jackson.

He asked, “Was he still restraining you?”

“Yes. I thought this was the point where he would kill me. But then…” She swallowed, remembering the fear that had gripped her. “Then we heard the car pull up out front. Car doors slamming. My boys laughing and shouting excitedly, calling my name as they ran toward the townhouse. I heard Mrs. Abernathy cautioning them to be careful on the steps.”

“What did Mr. Strong do when he heard them?”

“He started moving toward the front door.”

“Was it locked?”

“Yes, but I was afraid that he would open it, and there my sons would be. Or I thought that he might fire the shotgun through the door.”

“What did you do?”

“I dug in my heels and tried to bar his way.”

“You placed yourself between him and the front door.”

She nodded. “I didn’t think about it, or plan it, I just reacted.”

“You reacted to what you perceived to be mortal danger for your children.”

Again, she swallowed drily. “Yes. I begged for their lives. By now I was on the verge of hysteria. Frantic. I asked him what he was going to do. He shoved me away from him with enough force to knock me to the floor. I was terrified that he would blast the front door.” She looked over at the glowering defendant and said quietly, “But he didn’t.”

She hoped that in spite of Willard Strong’s ferocity and the enmity with which he was glaring at her, he knew how grateful she was to him for sparing the lives of her children.

“What did he do, Ms. Nolan?”

She brought her gaze back to Jackson. “He stepped past me, went through the kitchen, and out the back door, the same way he’d come in.”

“When you frantically asked him, ‘What are you going to do?’ did he offer a reply?”

She dampened her dry lips and looked toward the twelve people who would decide Willard Strong’s guilt or innocence. “He said, ‘I’m going to find them, and when I do, I’m going to kill them.’”

* * *

Lemuel Jackson was seasoned enough to know to quit when he was ahead. He told the judge that he had no further questions for Ms. Nolan.

The judge consulted both attorneys. Cross-examination was likely to take a while. Considering how late in the day it was, and the approach of the holiday weekend, they agreed that court should be adjourned until after Labor Day. The judge told Ms. Nolan that she could step down. A bailiff escorted her out through a side door.

The judge said, “Defense counsel will be ready to cross-examine Ms. Nolan when we reconvene at nine o’clock next Tuesday morning. Enjoy your holiday.”

She banged the gavel. Dawson was the first one out of the courtroom.

A few

minutes earlier, his phone had vibrated, signaling a text message. He claimed a relatively private place in the corridor and accessed the text. It was from Glenda, the researcher, asking him to call her. He wasted no time punching in her number, wanting to take advantage of her help while she was in a generous mood.

As soon as she answered, he said, “Have you finally decided to marry me? Please say you’re calling to accept my many proposals.”

Crossly she said, “Kiss my skinny ass, Dawson.”

“You name the time and place.”