Free Presumed Guilty by James Scott Bell

none.”
“What did you do next?”
“I secured the room and contacted the sheriff’s department homicide division.”
“When did they arrive?”
“Approximately twenty minutes later.”
“Did anyone enter or exit room 105 before the homicide division arrived?”
“No, sir.”
“No further questions.”
Freton was direct, confident. And from the moment he started, a blistering dread thickened inside Dallas, nearly choking off breath. It was happening. Really happening. Her husband was really a defendant in a murder trial.
2.
Jefferson Waite stood up, buttoned the coat of his dark blue pinstripe suit, and approached Deputy Barnes.
    “Just a few questions, Deputy. You say you received a dispatch about a 911 call?”
“Yes.”
Dallas noted that the witness did not add sir when addressing the defense attorney.
“You did not hear the 911 tape, did you?”
“Nope. I merely responded to the call.”
“And the call was for a possible domestic disturbance at the Star Motel, isn’t that correct?”
“Some sort of disturbance, yes.”
“The dispatch told you that someone had reported screaming, correct?”
“Yes.”
“That person, in fact, was the manager of the motel, Mr. Franze?”
“Yes.”
“But Mr. Franze was relying on the statement of a Mr. Knudsen, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you proceeded to the scene?”
“Yes.”
“Did you at any time on the way to the Star Motel receive any further information on the factual basis of the 911 call?”
“Factual basis?” Barnes said this incredulously, as if everyone in the world would know that was an absurd question.
Jeff did not flinch. “Yes, Deputy. Factual basis. As opposed to mere speculation or opinion. I’m sure they cover that at the sheriff’s academy.”
“Objection,” Freton said.
The judge half closed his eyes. “Sustained. Continue, Mr. Waite.”
“So the answer is, you did not receive any further information concerning the 911 call, is that correct?”
“No, and that’s the way it always is. There is no — ”
“You’ve answered the question. Next question. When you got to the motel and contacted Mr. Franze, did you question him about who this man Knudsen was?”
“No.”
“Instead, you made him walk down to room 105 and open it up.”
“Objection,” Freton said. “Misstates the evidence.”
“Ah, yes,” Jeff said. “There was the token knock on the door. By the way, when you knocked and announced, there was no answer inside, was there?”
“No.”
“No sounds from inside, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then you instructed Mr. Franze to open the door.” “Yes.”
“And you went in.”
“Yes.”
“No more questions.”
Dallas could not see that the cross-examination of the deputy had made any dent in the prosecution’s case. What was Jeff after? A deputy sheriff answered a distress call, went into a motel room, and found a dead body. Hard facts indeed.
The prosecutor placed some papers in front of Jefferson Waite and was saying something to him. Jeff was looking at them with a concerned expression. Dallas saw him in profile, then he gave her a quick look. The next thing she knew he was standing and saying, “Your Honor, may we take a ten-minute recess?”
“Very well,” the judge said.
What was happening? Dallas looked at Jeff. His eyes practically burned with neon, a sign spelling out disaster.
3.
    Jared found the cardboard box at the back of the hallway closet, under the Christmas wrapping paper. He’d been looking for a fresh toothbrush, and his mother usually kept such items in this closet.
At least she had five years ago.
    But the box didn’t contain what he needed. It held, instead, a bunch of old stuff from his room.
Weird. Like going back in a little cardboard time machine. But it wasn’t a fun trip. He was tense. His jaws were locked and hurt. His insides were screaming for some combo, but he’d stayed away from weed and beer and even loud music for his mother’s sake.
He wondered how long he’d last