“Sounds like quite the time,” D.A. Stern muses, smiling first at Alizay, then at the jury. “Tell us more about this monkey. That’s quite an unusual pet.”
“Her name is Deborah. She was a gift from my husband for my fortieth birthday. The kids love her. Dover and Emblem adore her, too. They come to play with her often.”
“Did Mr. Kitsch like to spend time with these animals?”
“N-no. He didn’t particularly like animals.”
“And is it true Mr. Kitsch was allergic to Deborah, your pet monkey?”
“Yes, he’d break out in a horrible rash, have trouble breathing. It was the strangest thing. He didn’t seem to have allergies to any of the other animals. Just Deb.”
“Sounds horrific,” D.A. Stern states. “Tell me, once you all learned of Joe’s severe allergy to this monkey of yours, was he ever around it—”
“Deborah,” Alizay corrects.
“Right, Deborah. Was Joe ever around Deborah again?”
Alizay shifts in her seat. “Perhaps once.”
“Oh? And when was that?”
Alizay’s eyes dart to Margot at the defense table. “Margot was kind enough to offer to watch Deborah for us when we were headed to the Caymans and our usual handler wasn’t available.”
“How generous. And when was this that Margot offered to take in the monkey that her husband was severely allergic to?”
“I wouldn’t say severely...”
Judge Gillespy chimes in. “Ms. DuPont, please answer the question.”
“It was just after we had wrapped season five, I believe.”
“Just after filming season five,” D.A. Stern quips. “If I have my timeline correct, this would be right around the time Margot was learning of Joe’s affair with Tenley Storms.”
It’s not a question. D.A. Stern looks to the jury again to ensure we know it’s a statement.
“It’s getting a littleLegally Blondein here,” Cam whispers from behind me. Juror number eleven snickers.
Damon adjusts in his seat.
I exhale until my lungs are empty. We are reaching the end of the trial, and it’s clear Durrant Hammerstead is out of his depths when matched against D.A. Stern. There’s little time to right this ship.
Especially because come Monday morning, Margot is set to take the stand.
35.
Bailiff (n.)
responsible for security in the courtroom and for the safety of all participants
my fate, their hands
Long after retreating to my room for the evening, I sit at the foot of my bed, twirling Damon’s napkin elephant delicately between my thumb and forefinger, thinking about the trial. Could Margot really have done it? Convinced Ms. Pembrooke to squeeze three bottles of eye drops into Joe’s smoothie that morning? Could she have sat in Alizay’s bathroom, laughing and sipping mimosas, casually glancing at her watch, wondering if it was yet done? Two weeks ago, I adamantly believed there was no way. But after all this testimony and witnessing firsthand Margot’s courtroom behavior, I’m jarred by the doubt that has crept in.
Staring at the napkin elephant’s folded edges, I feel the keen desire to press it in between the halves of a book, like I once did with the single red rose Damon handed me on my fifteenth birthday.
I think of being pressed beside him in the closet. Of sitting on his lap on the roof. Of his tatted forearms and general broadness. A restlessness has been brewing inside me since the first few days of the trial. I feel it taking over in the tap of my foot and jitter of my hand.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I dash to my door and look out the peephole. With no one in sight, I pull the handle carefully and step into the hallway. In a flash, I am at his door, knocking quietly.
