Page 87 of The Right to Remain

The lawyers returned to their places at their respective tables. Judge Garrison turned and faced the witness.

“Austen, did you just say, ‘The answer is no’?”

The child looked up at the judge. “Yes.”

“There’s no wrong or right answers in this courtroom,” the judge said, “but I need a little bit more information. The answer towhatis ‘no’?”

Austen glanced at Jack, then looked at the judge. “The answer to his last question.”

The prosecutor rose. “Judge, I—”

“Ms. Weller,please,” said the judge. “Madame court reporter, could you please read back Mr. Swyteck’s last question?”

She did, and the judge immediately followed up with the witness.

“Austen, are you saying that your answer to Mr. Swyteck’s question is no, you never saw Mr. Stafford hurt your father in any way?”

“That’s the truth,” he said softly.

The courtroom was utterly silent, but something spoke loudly to Jack. Right before Austen had confirmed his first answer and clarified “the truth,” if only for an instant, he had looked straight at Elliott.

“Very well,” the judge said. “Austen, thank you for coming here today. You’re a very brave boy. I’m going to dismiss you now, which means you can go home with your mother.”

Austen didn’t move, until Helena came forward and stood at the swinging gate at the rail behind the lawyers. Austen’s eyes lit up, and he hurried toward her. The gate swung open, Helena gathered her son in her arms, and they exited through the courtroom’s rear door.

Weller picked up where the judge had cut her off. “Judge, I move to strike the witness’s response to that last question.”

“On what grounds?”

“The testimony is completely out of context. Maybe Austen closed his eyes at the crack of the gunshot. Maybe it’s a memory that he has blocked out of his mind. There’s so much we don’t know.”

Jack didn’t want to overplay the first break to swing his way, but he had to go on the offensive.

“Judge, I’m having a hard time distinguishing between the prosecutor’s admission that ‘there’s so much we don’t know’ and ‘reasonable doubt.’”

“That’s a complete distortion of what I just said.”

“I’ve heard enough,” the judge said. “I’m prepared to rule. Mr. Swyteck, your client’s request for pretrial release on bond is denied. The prisoner is hereby remanded to custody through the end of trial and the rendering of a jury verdict.”

“Judge, the defense hasn’t even had the chance to call any witnesses,” said Jack.

“Oh,” Weller said, scoffing, “nowyour client is willing to talk?”

Jack ignored her. “Judge, I have a handwriting expert who will testify that Mr. Stafford did not write the so-called suicide list in question.”

The judge rolled his eyes. “Mr. Swyteck, I’ve been on the bench for over three decades. Here’s what I think of expert handwriting analysis: It’s junk science. I appreciate the fact that the prosecution didn’t waste my time with testimony from a handwriting expert, so there’s no need to hear from Dr. Quack for the defense. My ruling stands. Take it up on appeal if you wish. We’re adjourned.”

With a crack of the gavel, the judge rose and stepped down from the bench.

“All rise!”

Jack rose with his client at his side. An appeal would be useless, but he knew Elliott wasn’t thinking about an appeal. The thought of going back to jail had a way of crowding out all other thoughts. Jack felt the need to say something to his client before they were separated, even if it was little more than a whisper in the courtroom silence.

“We didn’t win the hearing, Elliott. But trust me. We’rewinning.”

The judge disappeared into his chambers, and as the side door closed with a thud, a half-dozen reporters rushed to the rail. Some wanted a quote from the prosecutor, while others wanted to talk to Jack. But it was the armed officers of the MDPD Court Services Bureau who commanded Jack’s attention. They cuffed Elliott’s hands behind hisback and led him away. As they made their way toward the prisoners’ exit, Jack spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Resting alongside a notepad on Elliott’s side of the table was a yellow Post-it note that Elliott had crumpled into a tight little ball. Handwritten Post-its were Jack’s preferred method of communication with his clients at trial, though he’d yet to receive one from Elliott, which made him even more curious about the one he’d discarded. Jack unwrapped the paper ball and, sure enough, Elliott had written his first and only message to his lawyer. Presumably he’d wanted to share it with Jack during cross-examination, but Jack had moved away from the table, or perhaps Elliott had changed his mind. Either way, the words were chilling.

Leave my son alone,it read.