deal, a bit of camaraderie between us. I’m not the one who changed things. What happens next is his fault, his doing. Not mine.
Part II
This Love Hurts…
Delilah
“I’d like to remind you that you’re under oath, Miss Parks.” I’m aware my voice is harsh, demeaning even, as I look across the courtroom at Missy Parks’ flushed expression. The sheen across her forehead and upper lip only adds to my suspicion. I think she drove the car. We don’t have proof. Not a shred of evidence, so I don’t hint at it; I didn’t charge her with a damn thing because I wasn’t certain I had enough to convince a jury. My red heels click on the shiny obsidian marble floor in Judge Partings’ courtroom. I may not be able to tie her to the robbery, but her testimony is crucial to ensuring her boyfriend goes down for his part.
After all, he’s the one who killed the eleven people inside the bank that night. My hunch that she was driving the car is only that, an inkling based off of years of experience. My gut instinct tells me she didn’t know he was going to shoot anyone. Thus the sweat along her brow and how frequently her voice shakes, requiring her to repeatedly clear her throat.
She’s an accomplice to murder and she knows it. I wonder if the guilt eats her alive at night.
“I’ll ask you again, did you expect your boyfriend at the time, the defendant, Mr. Wilson, to meet you at your home that Friday evening?”
“No, I mean,” she says as she shakes her head, her gaze on the floor to my right. She can’t even look me in the eye and knowing that, I walk with a set pace toward her, forcing her to look at the harsh sound of my heels clacking. “He—he…”
The pencil skirt of my suit is tight as my gait widens. It’s custom tailored, as is my jacket. In contrast, Missy is wearing a shirt far too large for her frame and the same could be said for her jeans. Her attire reinforces her mousy demeanor, making her appear that much more minuscule as she raises her widened eyes to me from the stand. The poor girl looks like she hasn’t eaten in days and her hair pulled back in a ponytail so tight it makes my own scalp hurt, only makes her appearance look worse.
“We’ve gone through your whereabouts and text messages surrounding the time of the crime, Miss Parks. The defendant saw you every Friday evening.” I make sure I point to him, forcing her to look back at him. Look at him. Look at the man who you know committed murder. I pray the jury sees how her expression displays horror just glancing at him.
“Six weekends in a row he met you at your house and stayed the duration of the weekend. After the previous Sunday, he was out of town so you wouldn’t have been able to meet in person and according to your phone records there were no calls between the two of you.” My voice is tight in a ruthless manner as I stare into her eyes now glossed over with unshed tears. I’m conscientious about keeping my body language nonthreatening. My tone and the way our gazes meet may be strict and unrelenting, but the jury needs to relate to me. They need to want to ask the same questions that I’m asking. I lower my voice just slightly and knit my brow as if I’m confused. “So please, enlighten me as to why you wouldn’t have expected him to be at your house that evening. Because every shred of evidence points to the fact that your boyfriend should have been with you that evening.”
Her bottom lip trembles as she shoves both of her hands into her lap. With her shoulders hunched she appears defeated. It would be a dream come true for her to just admit it. To admit she drove to pick him up. That they spent six weeks together planning a robbery and she’s the one who drove. If only she would admit they were together… but that would be a fool’s errand.
Wiping under her eyes, Missy sucks in a deep breath, her shoulders shaking as she holds back a sob. I’m quick to grab the square box of tissues and hold them up to her.
“I realize this is a difficult time, Miss Parks.” She nods, greedily accepting the tissues and playing the part of