Уильям Макгиверн - Summitt

“Yes, Your Honor. Shana, you have testified that the defendant, Earl Thomson, did something to you while your wrists and ankles were bound to the frame of the cot. Would you please describe his actions?”

“He got on top of me. He put his penis between my legs and forced it into my vagina. He was shouting something about women and squeezing my breasts hard. He hit me in the face when he got soft in me and fell out. His face was wet when he put his head between my legs. He licked me, between my legs, then started hitting me again. He got up and untied my hands. He went into the kitchen and filled his glass again. I hoped he’d get drunk and go to sleep. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I didn’t know why he was shouting at me and hitting me. Everything inside my head was white. I had a feeling I could write words on it if I just knew how. I was frightened, but I was sad, because I knew he was going to kill me and I started to cry because nothing made any sense.”

This time Davic did not object to Shana’s conclusions.

“I must ask you one or two more questions,” Brett said. “Then we’ll be through with this. Did the defendant tie your hands to the cot a second time?”

“Yes, he untied my feet and made me turn over. After that, he tied me up again.”

“Tied your wrists and your ankles to the frame of the cot?”

“Yes.”

“You were then lying face down on the cot, is that right, Shana?”

Shana nodded, moistened her lips. Her face had become red.

“While you were in that position,” Brett went on, “would you describe what the defendant did to you?”

“He got on top of me again—” Shana swallowed hard and looked at her hands.

Brett said, “May I lead the witness at this point, Your Honor?”

“Yes, Miss Brett.”

“Shana, did the defendant force an entry into your anus, up your anal aperture, using his erect penis for that purpose? Is that what he did?”

“Yes, Miss Brett.”

“Is there anything else?”

“I started screaming and he pushed my face against the mattress. It was hard. It hurt so. It was like something hot from a fire... then he was yelling, and then he suddenly stopped, was quiet. He stayed on top of me for a long time, just lying there. Then he moved around and put his... his penis in my mouth.”

Judge Flood pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. The pressure left white marks.

In a quiet, strangely distant voice, Shana told about leaving the farmhouse and sitting in the Porsche while Earl Thomson went into the garage. She told about his efforts to get the car out of the rutted driveway, using a shovel and shafts of wood and kindling.

When she finished, Brett turned to the bench and told Judge Flood she had no further questions.

“Mr. Davic?” Flood looked down at the defense table.

“No questions, Your Honor, not at this time.”

Earl Thomson muttered, “What bullshit, what bullshit ...”

Davic stood and said in an overriding voice, “Considering the painful nature of Miss Selby’s testimony, I won’t add to her ordeal at this point. But the Defense reserves the right to cross-examine.”

Brett helped Shana down from the witness stand and led her to the People’s table.

His daughter was pale, Selby saw, her lips dry and trembling a little.

As they walked past Judge Flood and the jurors, Brett squeezed Shana’s arm and gave her a quick nod of encouragement.

When Shana was seated, Brett said, “Your Honor, the Commonwealth will call no other witnesses. The People rest, if it please the court.”

A commotion then broke out at the defense table. Attorney Royce was trying to quiet Earl Thomson. Davic gripped Thomson’s shoulders, but he knocked the lawyer’s hands away.

“I don’t give a damn, ” Thomson said. “It’s a phony setup and you know it, Davic.” His face tight with anger, he stood so abruptly that he almost knocked over the defense table. Papers fell and scattered onto the floor. “It’s a goddamn lie, it’s all lies ... how long do you expect me to sit here and take this—?”

Marshals moved quickly from their posts to converge on him. Judge Flood hammered his gavel and spectators stood, craning to follow the action.

Thomson shouldered Davic aside and took a step toward Brett and Shana. “Some con game... you bitches... not one word of truth in any of it...”

Selby jumped quickly over the gallery railing and put himself between Earl and his daughter. He swung his forearm against Earl’s chest, checking his momentum and holding Thomson until the marshals surrounded him and led him, struggling and cursing, from the courtroom.

For an instant Earl Thomson’s flushed face had been only inches from Selby’s, so close that he could see the sweat on Earl’s upper lip and smell his mint-scented after-shave lotion. He had felt the strength in Thomson’s hard shoulders, and the thought of that power violating Shana’s slender body made Selby devoutly wish that no officers were there to intervene...

Later, Selby helped his daughter through the crowded corridor, an arm tight around her shoulders as they passed the gauntlet of reporters and photographers and TV cameras.

A man unexpectedly joined them, a short, fat man falling into step beside Selby. His breath smelled of whiskey. “A terrible business, Harry, a terrible thing for the child, but your Shana’s a gutsy little lady, God bless her.”

It was Jay Mooney. He slipped a folded piece of paper into Selby’s hand, patted Shana’s shoulder and hurried off into the crowd lining the sidewalks.

That night Selby studied the information Jay Mooney had given him. Her name was Emma Green and she lived somewhere in or around Jefferson, New Jersey. She was black, twenty-six or twenty-seven, and once worked in a bar off-limits to the students of Rockland Military College. She had been sexually assaulted and grievously injured several years back by the then-Cadet Colonel Earl Thomson.

Captain Walter Slocum and Dom Lorso had personally prevailed upon the assault victim to drop charges against young Thomson.

Why Jay Mooney had changed his mind and decided to help him, Selby couldn’t guess... maybe because he couldn’t kill the fly sharing his pizza... futility might be as good a reason as any.

Selby called Burt Wilger at the sergeant’s apartment in East Chester and asked him if he could help him find the address of a woman named Emma Green who lived somewhere in Jefferson, New Jersey.

When he explained why he wanted it, Wilger was silent a moment, then said, “You know you can’t use it, Selby. Not in this trial.”

“I understand. Brett explained that.”

“Okay then, I’ll check out where your Emma Green is living. But it could take time. She could’ve moved anywhere by now, you know.”

The hall was dark but Shana’s door was open and her light was on. She was sleeping on her side, an arm trailing over the side of the bed. The radio was still playing.

Selby eased himself carefully into the wicker armchair at her worktable, but it creaked under his weight and she turned quickly to look at him.

“Is anything wrong, daddy?”

“No, I just wanted to look at you. I’m sorry I woke you up. Try to get back to sleep, honey.”

She turned off the radio and pushed her hair from her forehead. Then she smiled uncertainly and he knew she was puzzled, and maybe embarrassed.

“Do I look okay?” she asked him.

“You look fine, you look perfect,” he told her. “I like to look at you. It’s one of the things about being a father that’s fun. But after kids are about three or four, it’s all over. They’re always running up and down stairs, in and out of rooms, and they don’t sit still long enough anymore. If you look at them while they’re eating or watching TV, they get self-conscious and want to know if they’ve done something wrong or why you’re staring at them. I thought you were asleep so I came in to look at you, okay?”