Page 70 of The Right to Remain

“Were you a party to the phone conversation between your husband and the defendant?” Weller asked.

“Not exactly. But it was very short, and I heard what Owen said to him.”

“What did your husband say?”

The witness didn’t answer. The prosecutor asked again, this time in a firmer voice. “Ms. Pollard, what did your husband say to the defendant?”

She took a breath. “He said, ‘Stay away from my son, you freak.’”

Jack checked his client, but there was no reaction—neither to the witness’s answer nor the prosecutor’s smugness.

“Then what happened?”

“The call ended. Owen told me to get out.”

“Your husband told you to leave the house?”

“Yes,” she said into her lap. “And not come back. So, I left.”

“Did he tell you to leave with or without Austen?”

“Without. He said he was keeping Austen. And that I obviously didn’t know how to raise a boy.”

“Did you leave without your son?”

The question touched a nerve, and even from his seat, Jack could intuit the range of emotions on display—shame, guilt, regret.

“Yes,” she said in a weak voice. “I went to my mother’s house. Alone.”

The prosecutor stepped away from the lectern, returned to the table, and took a seat. “Your Honor, I have no further questions at this time,” she said.

The judge looked at Jack. “Any cross-examination, Mr. Swyteck?”

Jack rose. His trial instincts told him that he could elicit helpful testimony from Helena, but the risk was almost prohibitive without input from his client.

“Your Honor, I would like to request a ten-minute recess.”

The prosecutor chuckled to herself. “For what, Judge? To consult with a client who refuses to speak to his lawyer?”

She was grandstanding for the media, and Jack could only hope that the judge would rise above it.

“Ten minutes is all I ask, Your Honor.”

The judge groused, and it seemed that he was on the prosecutor’s same wavelength. “Counsel, I don’t grant recesses because lawyers are unprepared. If the witness needs a break, I’ll grant one. Ms. Pollard, do you need a break?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Then we’re all fine,” said the judge. “Mr. Swyteck, please proceed.”

It was a cheap shot to accuse a lawyer of being unprepared when his client refused to speak to him, but Jack shook it off.

A stillness fell over the courtroom as Jack approached. Helena had managed to calm her nerves during the prosecutor’s examination, but the tension had resurfaced for the anticipated grilling by counsel for an accused murderer. Helena didn’t seem to know where to fix her gaze—until, again, it settled back on Patricia Dubrow.

“Ms. Pollard, my apologies in advance,” said Jack, beginning in a gentle tone. “But I need to take you back to the night of your husband’s death.”

“I understand,” she said.

Jack retrieved an exhibit from a folder. “I have a copy of the police report from that night, which was presented as evidence to the grand jury. The report is by MDPD Detective Osborne, who was at the scene. Do you recall speaking to Detective Osborne that night?”