That sounded like Giselle. I could almost hear her saying it.
In the end, I took the stand with only Juan Manuel to corroborate my side of the story.
Apparently, I did well. Apparently, I had a calm demeanor on the stand and the judge took notice. Charlotte says that most witnesses feel attacked up there, and they either lash out or break down.
I’m used to name-calling and insinuations about my character. I’m used to verbal jousts and jabs. They’re fired my way every day, often without me even being aware of them. I’m used to my words being my only defense.
For the most part, being on the stand was not difficult. All I had to do was listen to the questions and respond with the truth, my truth.
The hardest part was when Charlotte asked me to walk the court through my memory of the day I found Mr. Black dead in his bed. I told them about Mr. Black almost bowling me over outside the suite. I told them how I entered later that day and Giselle was gone, how I turned the corner to the bedroom and saw Mr. Black lying there. I told them every detail I could remember—the drinks on the sitting-room table, the open safe, the spilled bottle of pills, Mr. Black’s shoes akimbo on the floor, three pillows on the bed, not four.
“Three pillows,” Charlotte said. “How many are usually on a bed at the Regency Grand?”
“Four is our house standard. Two firm, two soft. And I can assure you, I always kept four clean pillows on that bed. I’m a very detail-oriented person.”
A muffled eruption of laughter traveled through the courtroom, laughter at my expense. The judge called for order, and Charlotte asked me to continue.
“Tell the court, Molly. Did you see anyone in the suite or in the hallways, anyone who might have had the missing pillow?”
Here came the tricky part, the part I’d never discussed with anyone, not even Charlotte. But I’d prepared myself for this moment. I’d practiced night after night, in between counting blessings and sheep.
I steadied my gaze and my voice. I concentrated my mind on the pleasant sound of my own blood. I could hear it in my ears, the rushing flow, in and out, rolling waves on a faraway beach. What’s right is right. What’s done is done.
“I wasn’t alone. In the room,” I said. “I thought I was at first, but I wasn’t.”
Charlotte swiveled on her heel and turned my way.
“Molly?” she said. “What are you talking about?”
I swallowed, then spoke. “After I called down to Reception for help the first time, I put the receiver down. Then I turned toward the bedroom door. And that’s when I saw it.”
“Molly, I want you to think very carefully before you speak,” Charlotte calmly advised, though her eyes were wide with alarm. “I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re to tell the absolute truth. What did you see?” Her head tilted to one side as if nothing made sense.
“There was a mirror on the far wall in front of me.”
I paused and waited for Charlotte to catch up. It didn’t take her long.
“A mirror,” she said. “And what was reflected in it?”
“First, myself, my terrified face staring back at me. Then behind me, to my left, in the shadowy corner by Giselle’s armoire was…a person.”
My eyes locked with Charlotte’s. It was as though her mind were an intricate machine, reading me, deliberating on how to proceed.
“And…was this person holding anything?” she asked.
“A pillow.”
Murmurs traveled through the crowded courtroom. The judge called for order.
“Molly, is the person you saw standing in that dark corner present in this courtroom today?”
“I’m afraid I would not be comfortable saying,” I said.
“Because you don’t know?”
“Because at that precise moment, when I turned from the mirror to get a direct look at the figure in the dark corner, I fainted. And when I woke up, the person wasn’t there anymore.”
Charlotte nodded slowly. She took her time. “Of course,” she said. “You have a history of fainting spells, don’t you, Molly? Detective Stark testified that you fainted once at your front door upon arrest and once at the station, is that correct?”
“Yes. I faint when under extreme duress. And I most certainly was under extreme duress upon wrongful arrest. I was also under extreme duress when I looked into that mirror and realized I wasn’t alone in that hotel room.”
Charlotte began to pace in front of the stand. She stopped directly in front of me. “What happened when you came to?” she asked.
“When I regained consciousness, I called Reception for the second time. But there was no one in the room at that point. Just me. Well, me and the corpse of Mr. Black,” I said.
“Is it possible, Molly—I’m not saying it was—but is it possible that the person in that dark corner was Rodney Stiles?”
Rodney’s lawyer jumped to his feet. “Objection. Leading the witness,” he said.
“Sustained,” the judge replied. “Counsel, do you wish to rephrase your question?”
Charlotte paused for a moment, though I doubt it was because she was thinking. I took that time to study Rodney. His lawyer was leaning forward, whispering something in his ear. I wondered what I was being called this time, not that it mattered. Rodney was wearing what appeared to be a very expensive suit. I used to think he was so handsome, but as I looked at him in that moment, I couldn’t imagine what I’d ever seen in him.
After a long interval, Charlotte finally said, “No further questions, Your Honor.” She turned to me. “Thank you, Molly,” she said.
For a moment I thought it was over, but then I remembered we were only halfway through. Rodney’s lawyer sauntered toward me, stopping right in front of me and staring me down. It did little to unnerve me. I’m used to such looks. The world had prepared me well.
I can’t recall every word that was said, but I do remember treading the same old ground, telling the same story the same way every time I was asked. I didn’t trip up even once because it’s easy to tell the truth when you know what it is and what it isn’t, and when you’ve drawn your own line in the sand. There was just one moment during cross-examination when Rodney’s lawyer drilled into me with particular vigor.
“Molly, there’s something I still don’t understand about your story. You were brought to the police station several times. You were given ample opportunity to tell Detective Stark about the figure in the corner of the hotel suite that day. Doing so might have even exonerated you. And yet, time after time, you never mentioned seeing someone in that room. You never said a word about that. And if your lawyer’s behavior means anything, it sure seems like she didn’t know until today either. Now, why is that, Molly? Is that because no one was actually there? Is it because you’re protecting someone else, or is it because when you looked in that mirror, all you saw was your own guilty face reflected back at you?”
“Objection. Badgering. Of the very worst kind,” Charlotte said.
“Sustained, minus the last bit,” said the judge.
The whispers fluttered through the courtroom.
“I’ll rephrase my question,” Rodney’s lawyer said. “Did you lie to Detective Stark when you first told her about what you saw in that hotel room?”
“I did not lie,” I say. “On the contrary. You’ve all read the transcripts. Perhaps you’ve even watched the video of my testimony on the very first day I was interrogated at that filthy police station. One of the first things I said to Detective Stark, in no uncertain terms, was that when I announced my arrival in the suite, I thought someone was there with me. I asked her specifically to write that detail down.”