A Reasonable Doubt by Susan Sloan (free novels .txt) 📕

“No  yes,” Lauren whispered, as tears began slipping down her cheeks.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to lie.  I wanted him to be remembered for being a policeman, not for what he did at home.  Am I going to get in trouble?”

“I don’t think so,” Lily reassured her.  “But now we have to talk about something else.  About what Dale was like when he was using drugs.”

Lauren dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.  “I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said.

“Well, let’s take the homeless man -- the one your husband beat up so badly for no reason at all.  The one who ended up at a community hospital all the way out in Trent.  Did you know about that?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Well, he did.”  Lily looked her former neighbor straight in the eye.  “You’re familiar with that hospital, aren’t you?”

The color suddenly drained from Lauren’s face.  “Yes, I know there’s a hospital in Trent,” she said carefully.

“So then, let me ask you again, how would you characterize your husband’s behavior when he was on drugs?”

“When he took the drugs, he was fine -- euphoric, even.”

“And when the high wore off?”

Lauren sighed.  “He could have mood swings  really powerful mood swings  and paranoia, too,” she responded.  “Sometimes, he would tell me the whole world was conspiring against him.  And other times, he would say there was a colony of red ants crawling up his body.”

“Was he verbally abusive?”

“He could be.”

“And what about physically -- was he physically abusive?”

Lauren looked at Lily.  “Do I have to?” she whispered.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” Lily told her gently.  “He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Yes,” the widow said, “my husband could be physically abusive.”

“So, would it be fair to say then that his mood swings from the cocaine could make him lash out at someone, for any reason, at any time?  Even at someone he loved?”

“  Yes.”

“He lashed out at you, didn’t he?”

Tears were flowing freely down Lauren’s cheeks.  “Yes,” she said.

“In fact, isn’t it true that the reason you wear clothing with long sleeves and high collars -- even on a day like this, when it’s ninety degrees in here -- is to hide the scars?”

“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Lauren sobbed, even as she nodded.  “I didn’t want anyone to know what a failure I was as a wife.”

“Is that what he told you?”

Lauren nodded.  “Yes.”

“And you believed him?”

“Not at first   but then, after a while ”

“After a while, you began to believe it, didn’t you?  You began to believe you were a terrible wife and a worse mother.”

“ Yes.”

There was a sympathetic gasp from the spectator section.  Members of the jury frantically scribbled on their notepads.

“Thank you,” Lily said gently.  “I have no further questions.”

. . .

At the prosecution table, Tom Lickliter closed his eyes and sighed heavily.  He had been waiting for something like this, knowing it was bound to come, and knowing that when it did come, it was going to be a bombshell, and Lily Burns hadn’t disappointed.

John Henry, on the other hand, wasn’t sure what had just happened.  He thought he had the perfect witness to knock down any theory that Dale Scott was an abusive drug addict, and it had just blown up in his face.  He knew it wouldn’t do him any good to berate her.  His next witness would have to redeem the victim.

“Mrs. Scott,” he asked, his voice carrying into every corner of the courtroom, “the night your husband was killed, when he left the house, where did he tell you he was going?”

“He told me that he was going to work,” Lauren replied.

“Thank you,” the prosecutor said.  “I have nothing further for this witness.”

The widow fled from the witness stand, and from the courthouse.

. . .

“The people call Raymond Scott to the stand,” John Henry declared above the murmuring gallery.

Dale Scott’s father was ushered into the courtroom.  He lumbered down the aisle and into the witness box, took the oath, and sat down.  He was not much taller than his son had been, but he was a lot heavier.  He had tried to dress appropriately for the occasion, but his jacket was already soaked through with perspiration.

“Detective Dale Scott was your son, was he not?” John Henry asked.

“My only son,” Raymond Scott replied.

“Was he a good son?”

“The best,” Scott said, his voice choked with emotion.  “From the day he was born.”

“There has been some here testimony that your son was a drug addict, and that he was violent. Do you have any information that would either refute or corroborate this?”

“I say no to both. I brought my boy up to be a good man, and he was.”

“Was he violent?”

“He had a temper, sure, but it never got out of control -- not even when he was dealing with the scum he had to deal with.  He used to tell me some of the stuff he had to do, and when he had to get rough, he told me it bothered him.  He did it because he had to, but it bothered him.”

“Do you know if your son used drugs?”

“How do you mean -- used drugs as in did he have a habit?”

“Yes.”

“No way,” Scott declared.  “No way anyone’s going to say my boy had a drug habit.  He may have done a little experimenting in his time, sure -- doesn’t everyone do that when they’re young and ignorant and need to learn?”  He looked to the jurors for confirmation, and several of them smiled.  “But he wasn’t any addict, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“Well, the answer is no.  I knew my son better than anyone, and I would’ve known. I would’ve known.”

“Can you tell the jury why you’re so sure your son was not doing drugs, sir?”

“I know because he lived through it all with me,” Raymond Scott replied.  “I got hurt on the job when Dale was just a boy.  Crushed two vertebras in my back, and there was nothing I could