Page 11

11

SIOBHAN

I stand behind my table as Mick O'Connor rises and smooths his tie against his chest as he walks toward the witness stand. The court official swears him in, but I'm shaking. The man is intimidating. He's run his entire empire for years without anyone in this city suspecting a thing, perhaps because he typically runs a clean game. Not one murder or theft has been reported out of his family until now. He usually sticks to guns and drugs.

As he sits, I approach him. It's been weeks since this trial has started and I'm down to only a few witnesses left. Ronan O'Rourke's testimony as one of Mick's most trusted allies was very damning. O'Rourke painted O'Connor as nothing but a model citizen, the way this entire city views him, but I have evidence that says otherwise.

Today, Mick must bail himself out of hot water because I have a bomb that's about to explode and he won't like it one bit. I take my sworn statement, written by the only person in the world who can reveal the lie Mick's been telling, and I stand in front of him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. O'Connor, how are you doing?" The paper flutters in the breeze I make moving into place, and Mick stares at it.

"Good," he says coldly. He looks tired, haggard even. Most defendants do at this point, months into their trial and holding. He's probably not eating well, not sleeping right. He misses his family and he's desperate to do anything. By now, some of them crack, but he's a practiced liar like the rest of his allies.

"Very well." I sigh and glance at the judge, still feeling chills from his impromptu visit last week. "Well, I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind." My insides quiver like jelly. It's going to get wild in here in only a few minutes, and I can't say I'd like to be his wife when this news comes out.

"Get on with it," Quinn says from his place behind his table, and Judge Callahan eyes him angrily but says nothing.

"Mr. O'Connor," I start, "did you murder Aiden Hughes in cold blood on the night of April twentieth?"

"I did not." His cold, calculated stare isn't directed at me, but I don't turn to see who he's staring at.

"Mr. O'Connor, let me remind you that you're under oath."

"I did not kill that man." Now his eyes are focused on me.

"And were you at the residence, three twenty-three Portsmouth Road that night?" I have a footprint that matches his boot, soaked in mud from his farm to prove he was, but I know he’ll lie anyway.

"I was not, nor have I ever been on that premises." Mick's eyes are black as coal, dangerously studying my face.

"Mr. O'Connor, were you at the pub known only as 'The Pub' by locals, located on Drury Lane, the night of April twentieth as you claim you were in your sworn written statement?" Excitement zings up my spine as he stares me dead in the eye and lies yet again.

"I was, and I have several family members as witnesses to prove it." He is a loathsome soul, deserving of the pits of hell, and my jury is about to hear why. They lean forward on their chairs waiting as I walk to the judge and hand him a letter sworn to me by my very reluctant witness.

"Your Honor, I'd like to submit into evidence this letter, notarized and sworn by a witness who'd like to remain silent for now." A witness who Liam found for me, though I did speak to her myself. "And a videotape will follow shortly." I turn to Mick and smirk at him as I walk back to stand in front of him. He looks pale now, the color draining from his skin.

"Let me ask you again, Mr. O'Connor, were you at The Pub on the night in question?" I stare him down, ready to pounce as he says nothing. There's nothing he can say, so I continue before he tries lying his way out of this. "Do you know a woman by the name of Miriam Flaherty?"

"I do not," he chokes out, but his posture is wilting.

"You probably know her better as the name 'Candy Star,' a hooker from the red-light district. Do you know Ms. Candy Star, Mr. O'Connor?"

"Objection, Your Honor, she states facts not in evidence." The objection from Quinn is weak. I will have a videotape produced by Ms. Star in less than two hours on my desk and he'll have no grounds for defense then.

"Overruled, Mr. Quinn. Mr. O'Connor, you'll answer the question." Judge Callahan narrows his eyes as if waiting for Mick to answer, curiosity, intrigue in his gaze.

"I've met Ms. Star once." Gasps erupt in the courtroom, but I hold my gaze on the defendant. I don't want to miss this at all.

"Is it true that on the night of April twentieth you were at Ms. Star's apartment having sex with her, and that she produced a pornographic video tape of this event?" More gasps erupt, and I hear sobbing, presumably Mick's wife or daughter. I can imagine how it's hurting her, but her husband is a murderer. There are bound to be more harsh truths come out about him.

Mick rubs his forehead, then massages the bridge of his nose a few seconds before letting his shoulders completely droop. "Brennan, you have to understand… Please…" He reaches toward the back of the courtroom as I hear people rushing about. I turn to see Mick's wife rushing out of the room sobbing and then hear the gavel banging on the sounding block. I've hit my mark.

"Answer the question, Mr. O'Connor," I repeat as I walk back to my table.

"Yeah, okay? I fucked her!" Mick is standing now, and Judge Callahan is banging mercilessly on the gavel.

"Order in this court!" he shouts and glares at the people who are jabbering like gossiping schoolgirls.

"Your Honor, I request a recess," Quinn demands. "We have to check out the new alibi." I sit happily behind my table knowing the gold I've dug up. Ms. Star's apartment is less than two blocks from the defendant's home. It gives him plenty of time to have screwed the whore, been to the scene to murder the man, and back home before anyone was the wiser. And I couldn’t have done it without Liam.

The judge, happy to grant the request for recess, clears the courtroom for the day. I gather my things and look around for Finn, but he's not here today. It's all well and good because being around him makes me feel and think things I shouldn't. Being in his arms again last week made it very clear to me that I've crossed yet another line. I'm catching feelings for him and it's dangerous territory. Maybe he realizes it too, and that's why he's not here.

With my things in hand, I walk out the front of the courthouse, set to hail a cab. I check the time on my phone. It's early today. Maybe Finn will be free for dinner and we can do something besides have sex for once. Or maybe I'll dine alone and turn in to some reruns of my favorite old-time cop shows.

It's a nice day, though I'm feeling a bit more tired than normal. I wait on the sidewalk, watching Quinn and a few of the deceased's family leave in their cars, when I hear squealing tires and my head jerks around. There is a car speeding up the road at racing speeds, swerving erratically and jerking back and forth.

My natural instinct is to back away from the curb where I wait, but when shots ring out, there's no time. I fall to my knees and cover my ears, dropping everything and skinning my knees. So many shots ring out as I plaster myself to the cement and curl into a ball. People are screaming and running. I hear a few of the bullets hit their mark in the sides of parked cars, or ricocheting off the courthouse steps, but I stay there in a trembling ball.

When the shooting is over, strong hands jerk me upward and arms wrap around me. I have my eyes clamped shut, unintelligible noises coming out of my mouth, and all I can think is thank God Finn is here. But it doesn't smell like him, and it doesn't feel like his arms.

Prying my eyes open, I hear, "Shh, it's okay." My vision is a bit blurry from adrenaline, but I see Liam hovering over me, guiding me like he's herding a sheep to his car. "Get in… We need to get you out of here." He opens the door to his cruiser and pushes me in, then collects my things from the sidewalk.

I press a hand to the glass, feeling tears welling up and flowing freely. What the hell just happened? And where was Finn when I needed him?