|
Home
About the Author
The Book
Reviews
Publicity
Updates & Upcoming Events
Contact the Author
|
| Excerpts from
UNDER OATH |
| |
|
Chapter One |
"Raise your right hand, please." Right hand?
"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing
but the truth, so help you God?"
The whole truth? Please help me God.
"Miss?" the Clerk said.
"1 do," Jennianne Smith whispered, her fingers trembling.
Anson Mitchell floated up from behind the prosecutor's table
like an elongated phantom. His shadow stretched all the way to
the witness stand. "Good morning," he said, his voice blasting
out like an untuned trumpet.
She yearned for a drop of water; her tongue and throat bristled
with dryness.
"Please introduce yourself to the ladies and gentlemen of the
Grand Jury."
She peeked through the openings in her uncut yellow bangs and
examined row by row of empty wooden benches in the spectator's
gallery. She had to make certain the defendants were not present
before uttering a word. Her eyes shifted to the right. Nothing
but the dark paneled wall, the American flag, and the elevated
judge's bench. And to the left, she spotted the gold-fringed
Massachusetts State flag, followed by two rows of grand jurors,
all twenty-three leaning forward, studying her. Her eyes plunged
to the courtroom rug.
Mitchell cleared his throat.
"Jennianne Smith," she said.
"You'll have to speak up now, so they can here you waaayyy over
there."
Mitchell pointed beyond the last grand juror with his whole arm arced over
his head like a parking lot attendant. "The acoustics are
abominable in these old Boston courtrooms."
Jennianne barely recognized her hollow voice as she repeated her
name.
"Now that's much better." Mitchell tossed a half-smile out to
the grand jurors. "Where do you live?"
She froze. No one was supposed to know where she and her sister
were living except Detective Callahan. They'd certainly kill her
for what she was about to do. No one who had ever testified
against Billy Malone made it back alive. There were three rules
of survival: You see nothing, you hear nothing, and you never
speak with cops.
Mitchell appeared to recognize her fear, his mistake. "Just tell
us where you're from."
"Charlestown." Her eyes remained fixed on the triangles. She had
to face the grand jurors eventually; they'd be asking her
questions. How could she look them in the eyes without breaking
down? Did they have any idea how dangerous this would be for
her? She slouched in her seat and chewed the sparkle nail polish
from her fingernails. Detective Callahan had advised her to
relax and tell them what had happened eleven days before on the
night of the murder.
"Directing your attention to the evening of November tenth, do
you recall what you were doing at approximately seven P.M.?"
Mitchell said.
Her voice caught in her throat. She'd gone over it so many times
with Detective Callahan that the actual events seemed blurred.
She had to get it right, stick to the script they'd practiced.
Her eyes flickered for an instant upon the grand jurors. She
needed their votes. Callahan's words flashed across her mind,
"if twelve or more vote in favor of an indictment, then the case
will be bound over to the Superior Court, which means it will no
longer be pending in the Charlestown District Court."
"What if you don't get twelve votes?" she had asked.
"End up with a 'no bill,' and in that case the Complaints
against the Malones will be dismissed."
"You mean they'd walk free?"
"Yup."
"What would happen to me?"
Callahan had shrugged his shoulders. "You'd go back to the
project."
"But, they'll kill me because they know by now I've-"
"If that happens, you'll have to fend for yourself. So, if I
were you, Jennianne, I'd do a real knock up job today."
She concentrated on Mitchell's question; they
were waiting for her. What happened on November tenth?
She felt the familiar sensation of cold air blowing along the
back of her neck, raising the tiny hairs. Trevor Shea didn't
deserve to suffer like that. She should've called an ambulance.
Without her voice, Trevor's case would be filed away in the
cabinet along with the rest of the unsolved murders. Detective
Callahan had piled all those dead cases in a heap on the
conference table in front of her. All twenty-six.
|
 |
