Bailed Out (The Anna Albertini Files #2) - Rebecca Zanetti Page 0,94

her. “I’d like to clarify a few things. Where were you when Mr. Dorsey, also known as ‘the blond guy,’, allegedly touch your butt?”

“In the bar,” Krissy said. She cleared her throat and met Alice’s gaze head on.

“Where in the bar?” Alice asked.

Krissy bit the inside of her cheek as if thinking. “Over by the pool tables and the bathrooms.”

Alice paused. “Your sister said you were by the dart boards.”

Krissy faltered. “The pool tables and the dart boards are in the same area.”

Well, kind of. I’d spent my share of time in that bar, and I wouldn’t say same area. But it was close enough.

Alice frowned as if she didn’t agree. “All right. Let’s move on from that for now. Where was your sister?”

“Um, over by the dartboards.” Krissy blushed.

Alice’s smile was a warning. “Guess I told you that one, huh? How often does your boyfriend keep a gun on his person?”

Krissy paled. “Never. He can’t have a gun.”

Nice reminder that Pucci was a felon who couldn’t have a gun.

Krissy realized it quickly. “He’s a good guy who’s made mistakes. He’s not perfect, but he’s trying.” She rubbed her face. “We all are. It’s hard.”

Alice walked closer to her. “Ms. Walker? Are those bruises on your face?”

Fuck, fuck, and double fuck.

Krissy jumped. “No. I mean, yes. Just one bruise.” She unconsciously rubbed her neck.

Alice ducked her head. “And on your neck?”

Krissy’s gaze darted to Pucci. “Um, yes. But, um, I fell.”

“Oh God,” Pucci muttered beneath his breath.

Alice slowly turned to look at Pucci and then returned her focus to Krissy. Nice theatrics. The jury leaned forward as one. “When I saw you outside yesterday, you didn’t have bruises. Now you do. Did the defendant harm you last night, Ms. Walker?”

Pucci leaned toward me. “She’s leading the witness. Object.”

“You can lead on cross-examination,” I said. “Shut up and let me work.” Alice needed to say something to which I could object.

Krissy floundered and tears sprang into her eyes.

Alice softened her voice. “You need to answer the question, Ms. Walker.”

“Wh-what was the question?” Krissy asked.

Crap.

“Did the defendant put those bruises on your face?” Alice asked.

“No,” Krissy said. A couple of tears tracked down her cheeks, and she rubbed them off—along with the makeup. I’d been wrong. The bruise was more blueish than amethyst.

A couple of women in the jury box gasped.

Krissy reared up. “Honestly. I fell down the stairs last night. I’m so tired. I was up all night worrying about testifying and then fell, and I’m just not myself.” She looked fragile and desperate. “Rich didn’t hurt me. This is all a mistake.” She looked imploringly at the jury, panic clearly across her bruised face.

In jury seat number four, an older man, who still worked as a farmer outside of town, turned and glared at Pucci. Even I could feel the heat from that stare.

Alice shook her head as if she couldn’t believe it. “The defendant hit you, didn’t he?”

“Objection,” I said, standing up. I had to do something. “Relevance.”

Alice pivoted to face me. “Relevance? The defendant physically harmed the witness before testimony today. It’s witness intimidation at the very least.”

“No,” Krissy said, also standing. “He didn’t hit me. It was my fault. Look at his neck. I scratched him. This is my fault.”

“Oh, shit,” Pucci muttered. “I’m going to kill her.”

The judge looked at Krissy. “Has your testimony been influenced? Have you been threatened?”

Tears now streamed down her face. “No. None of that happened.” She wiped off her eyes, revealing more of the bruise, and then looked at Pucci. “I love him. We’re going to work all of this out.”

It was just getting worse.

Alice ran her through more questions, but Krissy was pretty much a basket case after the initial questioning. Finally, Alice tendered the witness.

I looked at a visibly struggling Krissy. “No further questions, but the defense reserves the right to recall the witness.”

“All right.” The judge slammed down the gavel. “It’s after four in the afternoon, and it looks like we’ll need another day for trial. Let’s start at ten in the morning.” He stood, we all stood, and the jury filed out. Most of them averted their gazes from Pucci, but a couple of the older ones gave him a good glare on the way out.

“I’m screwed,” Pucci said.

“Yeah. You are.” I gathered my belongings and stuffed them in my briefcase. “I can call Alice and try for a deal, but I’m not sure if I’d grant one in this case.” My mind spun on what to