Page 34 of The Right to Remain

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, feeling a few judgmental glares from the grand jurors. “Yes, that’s true.”

“So, you were stressed. Your marriage had been under stress. The situation could not have been more stressful. And that’s when Detective Osborne stepped out of the kitchen and showed you the handwritten list. Correct?”

“That’s right.”

“By this point, it was what time—after midnight?”

“Yes.”

“On top of the stress, you must have been tired.”

“I suppose I was.”

“So, you’re sleepy, tired, and stressed, and Detective Osborne hands you the list to examine it?”

“Well, no. He wouldn’t let me handle the list.”

“Ah,” said the prosecutor, as if to underscore the point for the grand jurors. “He wouldn’t let you hold the note closer to take a good look, is that what you’re saying?”

“He held it for me.”

“Detective Osborne held it at a distance thathefelt comfortablewith. Not thatyoufelt comfortable with. And just to paint the entire picture, this was not in the bright light of the kitchen, correct? You were in the living room with what—maybe a lamp on?”

“I believe so.”

“Let’s be honest, Mrs. Pollard. You may have told Detective Osborne that this handwriting looked like your husband’s. But you didn’t really get a very good look at it, did you?”

“I—I did the best I could.”

“The best you could under very difficult conditions.”

“I gave him my honest opinion.”

“But you weren’t under oath at the time, were you?”

“No. Of course not.”

“You understand that you are under oath now, do you not?”

“Yes. I do.”

The prosecutor took a step closer. “I want you to take a good look at that handwritten list now, Mrs. Pollard. Look very closely.”

Helena did so, then looked up.

The prosecutor tightened her gaze. “I don’t think that’s your husband’s handwriting,” she said, and then her voice became more forceful. “You agree with me, don’t you, Mrs. Pollard? That isnotyour husband’s handwriting.”

Helena swallowed hard. “I honestly can’t say that it’s not.”

The prosecutor snatched the exhibit away, her voice rising. “Well, is ityourhandwriting?”

Helena suddenly was on the defensive, which seemed to have been the prosecutor’s intent.

“No, of course it’s not my handwriting. Why would I create a list that says over and over again that I was the source of all my husband’s stress? ThatIwas the reason Owen shot himself?”

The prosecutor changed her tone, her voice softening. “I agree. We all know it’s not your handwriting. You can testify to that under oath with one hundred percent certainty, right?”

“Yes.”