Star Witness - By Mallory Kane Page 0,27
admitted that you were medicated. In fact, you really can’t testify to what the men said, can you? They could have said William or DeYoung or a dozen other names, right? It might not have been a name at all. It could have been anything.”
Dani spoke clearly and calmly. “I was there, and I know what I heard. I can’t tell you exactly what they said about Senator Stamps or Paul Guillame, but I am absolutely certain those names were spoken that night, along with the name Mr. Yeoman.” She glanced at him sidelong. “And don’t think for a minute that I don’t know who Paul Guillame is.”
“Objection. Irrelevant.”
“No, it’s not. Tell me, counselor, is it going to impact me that my attorney is related to one of the people whose name came up while my grandfather was being beaten to death?”
Harte’s mouth thinned. “The D.A. has considered that and is not concerned. We’re marginally related at best. He’s like a third cousin.”
“So Akers asked you about it.”
“I’m your attorney. Don’t even suggest that I don’t have your best interests at heart. But please, by all means get all this hostility out before you actually go on the stand. And don’t forget that it’s not going to be me badgering you about what you heard. I’ll let you tell the jury what happened in your own words. It’s going to be Drury who’ll be hitting you with the tough questions. He’s a snake. Don’t let him upset you. Think about what you tell your own witnesses. They lose credibility if they let the opposing attorney get to them.”
Dani tried to compose herself. Everything Harte said was true. But the renewed pain of her grandfather’s violent death, combined with the storm outside and the fact that she had to rely on Harte Delancey, her courtroom nemesis, was about to undo her. “I apologize,” she muttered.
“Let’s get back to the question at hand. Isn’t it true that you’re not certain about the names you heard? That you’re merely desperate to find someone to blame for your grandfather’s death?”
“That is not true. And of course I’m—” She stopped. Her breath caught in a sob. The tears she’d been trying to hold back stung her eyes. She blinked fiercely. She would not cry!
“Okay, okay,” Harte said gently. He sat back. “Don’t worry about not being absolutely sure about Stamps and Guillame. As long as you’re positive about Yeoman.”
She sniffed. “But I am sure—like ninety-nine percent. About Stamps and Guillame, I mean. I’m definitely a hundred percent about Yeoman. That guy said his name twice, or maybe three times.”
“Okay. That’s good. When you’re certain, be sure the jury knows you’re certain. Now, go on. You said you heard violent noises.”
She nodded. “They must have been hitting him. I heard him fall, and one of them said, ‘Do you understand Mr. Yeoman’s message?’ But Granddad didn’t answer. Then I heard them say, ‘We better get out of here. The granddaughter will be home soon. And I think he’s hurt—bad.’” Her breath caught again and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.
“It was so awful,” she mumbled from behind her hand.
“Come back over here and sit down,” Harte said. “Want some coffee?”
She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I just can’t help thinking of Granddad. They murdered him. He must have been so scared in those last minutes—” She stopped and tried to suppress the little sobs that kept quivering in her throat. “And I wasn’t able to help him. By the time I got to his study, the men were gone.”
“They didn’t pass you as they left?”
She shook her head. “The study has French doors that lead to the outside. That’s how they got in and how they left.”
He studied her for a few seconds, then turned his attention to his water glass, tracing a finger down the side. He spoke without looking up. “You know, my grandfather was murdered too.”
Dani was surprised. He didn’t seem like the type to share his personal life casually. Certainly not with a witness—or a rival.
She nodded. “I’d heard that. He was killed by one of his employees?” She looked at him, expectant, but apprehensive. Was he about to try to give her encouragement by relating some anecdote about bravery in the face of tragedy? Or how Con’s wife testified, head held high, even though she was heartbroken?
“He was murdered by his personal assistant, Armand Broussard.”
“I’ve heard that name,” she said. She waited for a few seconds, but he