knotted.
"And Camilla sensed something last night. Like she knew I was playing the wrong role. We slept in the same bed, but that was all."
Jeff blinked. "Really?"
"Yes," Geoffrey said, reaching out and taking him by the shoulders. "Look, we need each other. And I need you to be thinking clearly. I want you to go home. Spend the day with the family. Decompress a little. Meet me back here in the morning, and we'll run those tests and get this all squared away. Okay?"
Jeff looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. "Okay."
"Go," he said, giving Jeff a playful punch on the arm, "Get out of here."
"Okay," Jeff repeated. With a deep breath he heaved himself up and trod heavily towards the door. Halfway there he turned back with a questioning look.
Geoffrey gave him an affectionate smile. "Go on. Have fun. I'll see you bright and fresh at eight tomorrow."
Jeff nodded twice before turning and continuing to the door.
Geoffrey watched him go, steadfastly holding the smile until the moment the door clicked shut.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"MR. BARTELL, YOU HEARD the testimony of Dr. Joshua Stein prior to the lunch break, did you not?"
"Yes I did."
"And do you recall the good doctor's testimony in regards to the DNA results, specifically as to the victim sharing your DNA?"
"I do."
"And can you offer an explanation as to the unusual nature of said testimony?"
"Yes I can."
James Scott May nodded at his client with a genial smile. "Please do, sir."
"It was me," Geoffrey Bartell said matter-of-factly. "I killed myself."
The courtroom erupted. Alton McBride jerked to his feet as if propelled by the force of the outburst in the gallery behind him. "Objection, Your Honor!"
Judge Lemar rapped his gavel violently, but was unable to quell the uproar. He grimaced and increased the gaveling, smashing the sounding block furiously, over and over, until it spun out from under the gavel's assault, dropping from the high bench and striking the polished concrete floor with a loud crack. The crowd fell into a breathless hush as every eye watched the wooden disc bounce and clack its way across the courtroom, narrowly missing the defense attorney's knees, before settling into an arcing roll that ended against the rail of the jurors' box. The room was dead silent as the disc finally extinguished itself in a quivering rattle.
The judge looked out at the crowd with a fierce intensity. His cheeks were blotched with a red freckled flush and in his right hand he still held the gavel, white-knuckled and raised in the air, as if in challenge to anyone who might presume to further speak out of turn in his courtroom.
"Sit down, counselor," he said, flashing a sharp look at the prosecutor before settling his formidable gaze upon the gallery. He scanned every row, left to right, front to back, making eye contact with each and every person seated or standing. A brittle silence filled the chamber, save for the wheezing hiss of forced air pushing through the ancient brass floor vents.
"Bailiff," he said without breaking eye contact, "you will take into custody for contempt any person uttering so much as one word behind the bar."
The aged bailiff nodded somberly, accepting with sobriety the burden for law and order now placed upon his sloped shoulders.
"Furthermore, any outbursts from the gallery, of any nature, will result in this courtroom being cleared and the remainder of the trial being conducted behind closed doors." He carefully set the gavel down and leaned back in his chair.
"Please continue, Mr. May."
"Thank you, Your Honor," May said with a gracious nod. He quickly retrieved the sounding block from the floor in front of the jurors' box and, with averted eyes, reached up and placed it on the judge's bench. Clearing his throat he returned his attention back to his client, upon whose face resided a distinct look of suppressed mirth.
"Now, Mr. Bartell, when you say that you 'killed yourself', what exactly do you
"And Camilla sensed something last night. Like she knew I was playing the wrong role. We slept in the same bed, but that was all."
Jeff blinked. "Really?"
"Yes," Geoffrey said, reaching out and taking him by the shoulders. "Look, we need each other. And I need you to be thinking clearly. I want you to go home. Spend the day with the family. Decompress a little. Meet me back here in the morning, and we'll run those tests and get this all squared away. Okay?"
Jeff looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. "Okay."
"Go," he said, giving Jeff a playful punch on the arm, "Get out of here."
"Okay," Jeff repeated. With a deep breath he heaved himself up and trod heavily towards the door. Halfway there he turned back with a questioning look.
Geoffrey gave him an affectionate smile. "Go on. Have fun. I'll see you bright and fresh at eight tomorrow."
Jeff nodded twice before turning and continuing to the door.
Geoffrey watched him go, steadfastly holding the smile until the moment the door clicked shut.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"MR. BARTELL, YOU HEARD the testimony of Dr. Joshua Stein prior to the lunch break, did you not?"
"Yes I did."
"And do you recall the good doctor's testimony in regards to the DNA results, specifically as to the victim sharing your DNA?"
"I do."
"And can you offer an explanation as to the unusual nature of said testimony?"
"Yes I can."
James Scott May nodded at his client with a genial smile. "Please do, sir."
"It was me," Geoffrey Bartell said matter-of-factly. "I killed myself."
The courtroom erupted. Alton McBride jerked to his feet as if propelled by the force of the outburst in the gallery behind him. "Objection, Your Honor!"
Judge Lemar rapped his gavel violently, but was unable to quell the uproar. He grimaced and increased the gaveling, smashing the sounding block furiously, over and over, until it spun out from under the gavel's assault, dropping from the high bench and striking the polished concrete floor with a loud crack. The crowd fell into a breathless hush as every eye watched the wooden disc bounce and clack its way across the courtroom, narrowly missing the defense attorney's knees, before settling into an arcing roll that ended against the rail of the jurors' box. The room was dead silent as the disc finally extinguished itself in a quivering rattle.
The judge looked out at the crowd with a fierce intensity. His cheeks were blotched with a red freckled flush and in his right hand he still held the gavel, white-knuckled and raised in the air, as if in challenge to anyone who might presume to further speak out of turn in his courtroom.
"Sit down, counselor," he said, flashing a sharp look at the prosecutor before settling his formidable gaze upon the gallery. He scanned every row, left to right, front to back, making eye contact with each and every person seated or standing. A brittle silence filled the chamber, save for the wheezing hiss of forced air pushing through the ancient brass floor vents.
"Bailiff," he said without breaking eye contact, "you will take into custody for contempt any person uttering so much as one word behind the bar."
The aged bailiff nodded somberly, accepting with sobriety the burden for law and order now placed upon his sloped shoulders.
"Furthermore, any outbursts from the gallery, of any nature, will result in this courtroom being cleared and the remainder of the trial being conducted behind closed doors." He carefully set the gavel down and leaned back in his chair.
"Please continue, Mr. May."
"Thank you, Your Honor," May said with a gracious nod. He quickly retrieved the sounding block from the floor in front of the jurors' box and, with averted eyes, reached up and placed it on the judge's bench. Clearing his throat he returned his attention back to his client, upon whose face resided a distinct look of suppressed mirth.
"Now, Mr. Bartell, when you say that you 'killed yourself', what exactly do you
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