Free Sweet Violet and a Time for Love by Leslie J. Sherrod Page A

dressed in a black suit too.
    We were all in black. I guessed to mourn the victims.
    Ms. Marta had been the first one.
    â€œNow, Ms. Sanderson St. James Sienna, you stated yesterday that you had no relation to any of the victims. Are you continuing with that assertion today?”
    â€œOf course. I’m under oath and I have no reason to fabricate a story.”
    â€œA simple yes or no would suffice,” the attorney snapped again. Alisa even looked at me annoyed. “Just stick to the script we practiced,” the prosecutor spoke to me with her eyes. I looked back at the defense attorney, Shanay Deen.
    â€œI am sorry. Yes, I am still stating that I have no relationship with any of the unfortunate victims.”
    Shanay nodded. “None of the victims were clients, friends, relatives, or coworkers of yours, correct?”
    â€œI did not know any of the victims in any capacity.” I moved my mouth closer to the microphone. Did the woman not hear okay?
    â€œThank you. I have no further questions at this time.” The defense attorney nodded again, smiled as she turned back to her seat. I looked over at Alisa Billy who sat with the prosecuting team, raised an eyebrow, wondering why after such an intense first day of questioning, I was only asked one question on day two.
    â€œThe witness may—” the judge began. He was an older man with a heavily cratered and bumpy face. Reminded me of a bulldog for some reason. I guess that’s why I was surprised the defense attorney cut him off midsentence.
    â€œI’m sorry, actually, I do have one more question for you, Ms. St. James Sienna Sanderson.” The young lawyer looked excited, was almost breathless as she turned around and walked back toward me. “You stated that you did not know any of the victims, yet we have evidence that you had a phone conversation with the first victim, Ms. Marta Jefferson, just hours before she was found dead at an entrance of the women’s shelter where she worked.” The attorney blinked at me, her face unreadable as the entire courtroom seemed to suck in a deep breath and lean closer in toward me.
    Suffocating.
    That’s how I felt at the moment, and that was also the final autopsy report for Marta Jefferson. Before the single bullet pierced her head, she had been suffocated by an unknown object, from behind.
    Close. Personal. The prosecution had used those words to describe the circumstances surrounding her death. I swallowed hard, the question that had been floating in my head for months back again at the forefront of my consciousness.
    But Leon didn’t think I should bring her up. Sweet Violet had nothing to do with any of it. She was harmless. Senile. A lost old woman who loved to dance to the music only she heard in her head.
    â€œWell?” The attorney tapped a foot. She wore black heels that soared for days. Didn’t her feet hurt in those things?
    My mind seemed determined to stay on anything but the moment.
    â€œI’m not sure what you’re asking me.” It was an honest statement. What was the evidence that I had talked to Marta? Phone records? A recording? My documented notes in Sweet Violet aka Frankie Jean’s hospital chart? They’d kept her name “Jane Doe” in the hospital records, I knew from KeeKee. Does the hospital staff know about her? The questions fired off in my head. Leon said not to bring her up. It would only complicate matters for an already complex case where all the evidence pointed to the man at the defendant’s table.
    Delmon Frank. Twenty-one years old. The same age as my son.
    Our eyes met.
    During my first conversation with him, he’d been smoking a cigarette.
    Had asked if I was a cop.
    â€œMs. St. James, can you please explain why you stated that you did not know any of the victims, yet there is evidence that you spoke to at least one of them mere hours before her untimely demise?”
    â€œI do not know what