Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Shana, will you tell the court in your own words what happened on that particular Friday afternoon?”

Shana began her recital in a firm voice, her eyes fixed on Brett’s... “I heard a car coming, it was still a long way off, but I got over to the shoulder of the road. I couldn’t see the car, there’s a curve where Mill Lane and Fairlee come together. The car was on the other side of the curve. I could hear it. It was going the — opposite way I was—”

“Excuse me, young lady,” Judge Flood said, “but I’m not sure I get the picture.”

“Well, that’s what I saw, sir.”

“Yes, but we want to be sure the jury sees everything just as you did.” Flood glanced at Brett. “A question or two might clarify the geography for us, Miss Brett.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Shana, you were facing the sound of the approaching car, right?”

“Yes...”

“You rode onto the shoulder of the road when you heard it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get off your bike?”

“No, I just stopped and put my foot on the ground.”

“You were in full control of your bicycle?”

“Yes, I wasn’t moving at all.”

“And the car was heading toward you? You saw it then?”

“Yes.”

“Could you see the driver?”

“Yes. It was a man, he was alone. The car came around the curve and slowed down.” Shana swallowed; the small dry sound traveled to the ends of the big room. “He headed straight for me then and I knew he was trying to kill me—”

Davic stood and said quietly, “Objection, Your Honor. There is no evidence to support that conclusion.”

“Sustained. Young lady, I don’t want these proceedings to confuse you. So let me explain something to you now. I’ll try to be as clear as I can. We want you to tell us just what happened, and when it happened. But you mustn’t get into the why of it. It’s possible the driver fell asleep or was distracted by a flash of sunlight. I’m not saying that’s what happened, you understand. It’s just as an example. He could have driven onto the wrong side of the road for a number of reasons. But we can’t admit your conclusion that he did so for the purpose of harming you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, I think so. Sir.”

“Good. Please go ahead, Miss Selby.”

“The car came over to my side of the road, heading straight to me. I tried to get out of the way, but the fender hit my bike. I heard a grinding kind of noise, and then I was in the gulley beside the road. A man got out of the car and ran over to me. I thought he wanted to help me... I’m sorry if that’s a... a conclusion, but it’s the only reason I could think of. Then he grabbed me and got me to my feet and pulled me toward his car. I started to try to get away from him and he hit me in the face. I tried to—”

“Tell me, young lady,” Flood interrupted, “what did the alleged assailant hit you with? ”

“His hand. His fist, I mean.”

“Please go on.”

“I hit him back and tried to get away from him too. I must have fallen down because he picked me up again and hit me in the neck and in the face. That’s all I remember until we were inside his car somewhere, driving in the back country.”

Judge Flood said, “How did you know you were in the country, Miss Selby?”

“I... I don’t know. But I couldn’t hear any other traffic, and the air smelled like meadows.”

Brett said, “Shana, will you please tell the judge now if the man who forced you into his car that afternoon is present in this courtroom?”

“Yes... He’s sitting next to his lawyer there, Mr. Davic.”

“Will you point to him?”

A stir of excitement as Shana pointed to Earl Thomson.

“That’s him, Miss Brett, right there.”

“Let the record show that the plaintiff has pointed to and identified the accused, Mr. Earl Thomson.”

Davic put a hand on Thomson’s arm and said something in a whisper. A flush of color had come into Earl’s face.

Brett said quietly, “Shana, tell us what happened then?”

“We drove through the... the darkness for a long time.”

Judge Flood looked annoyed but said nothing.

“My face hurt where he hit me. I tried to watch the numbers on the... the odometer, I think it’s called. I thought I could figure out the distance. But I was partially on the front seat beside him and partly on the floor. It was hard to look without moving my head and I was afraid he’d know I was conscious and could see... We turned into a driveway. He pulled me out of the car and made me go into a house with him. It was starting to rain. He was angry about something. He shouted at me, told me to sit on a chair. It was a living room with a fireplace and antlers. I saw that when he turned on a lamp. He tied one of my arms to the arm of the chair with a thin strip of leather like the kind we use on ice skates, square and hard. It was new, I think. I asked him what he was going to do with me. He didn’t tell me, he didn’t say anything, I mean. He went into the kitchen and closed something... shutters, I think, from the sound. He made a fire in the fireplace with paper and kindling. Then he turned on a record player and started shouting at me again, about how bad I was. The music was classical, I think, lots of horns and woodwinds. I didn’t recognize it, though. He drank something in the kitchen. He filled a glass from a bottle and drank it and filled it again. It was whiskey, I could smell it. Then he came and stood where I was in the chair. There was a water stain on the ceiling just above me. He started shouting again. He told me I was a sinner, that I was evil, I would be sent to hell by myself. Everything seemed crazy then. I thought once I was having a terrible dream. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t knocked anyone down with a car and tied them up. But he kept getting angrier, said I had to be punished.”

Shana locked her hands in her lap and stared down at her whitening knuckles. A wall clock ticked stolidly in the silence, lights gleaming on the brass pendulum. In a low voice, Shana told how the man had knelt to take off her sandals, how a rivet had torn from the cloth while he jerked and pulled at her cut-off jeans, of the tearing of her cotton shirt... How after releasing her from the chair he had pushed her across to a canvas cot, forcing her to lie on her back, then had bound her wrists over her head to the wooden supports of the cot...

“And you were struggling all of this time?” the judge asked her.

“I was trying to talk to him,” Shana said, “but I was kicking him too. He... he spread my legs and tied my ankles to the sides of the cot. It hurt, the leather was cutting me, and I got mad. Real mad. I asked him what I’d ever done to him, and what reason did he have to treat me this way, I told him he was going to get into trouble... He started... doing it to me then and I don’t know if I struggled anymore. I was screaming but wasn’t sure it was really me screaming. The music was so loud. I thought if I’m not sure who’s screaming, maybe this isn’t happening, but he kept on doing it and I knew who was screaming then... it was like all of me... my whole body... was screaming.”

Brett put a hand on her arm. “Just take your time, Shana.”

“ No . I’m all right.”

Judge Flood said, “We can recess here for a few minutes—”

“No, I want to get it over with.”

“I understand your feelings, but painful as it may be, you must tell us in detail” — Judge Flood looked sharply at the gallery; whispers had started among the spectators.

Earl Thomson spoke to Davic, his words softly blurred but carrying a tone of derision.

Flood rapped his gavel. “The court will be cleared if there is any disorder in the gallery. Miss Brett, you will elicit the testimony that is required of your witness.”