Panthea laid her upper torso across the tabletop and eased her legs apart. “I’ve missed you,” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder. She did a move that made her lips actually contract, all but inviting Marcus inside.
He smirked, narrowed his eyes at her wetness then unzipped his slacks. He massaged himself in strong, long even strokes and moved closer to his target.
“I’ve missed you, too. I can’t focus without you,” he declared.
Marcus was so stiff he feared he might never cum again. He didn’t hesitate to thrust himself into her and swore he had fallen into utopia.
“Oh God,” Panthea cried, huffing as she accepted his blows. “Yes . . . yes!”
He couldn’t understand how Scott could have foolishly left this pussy for anything else. Marcus couldn’t imagine anything better at that very moment. He felt Panthea hold and squeeze him tightly, just the way he enjoyed it. He loved women like Panthea who understood sex was definitely a contact sport that required great physical exertion, and she wasn’t afraid to put in the work.
“Damn,” Marcus said, moving his hips.
He grabbed her shoulders and again thrust himself deeper and deeper. Nearly an hour and a half after their tryst, Marcus was back behind the wheel of his car.
“She just used me,” he mumbled under his breath. “She used me!” He slammed his palm on his steering wheel. “Shit, I’ve gotta get her to talk about this case,” he snickered as he made the drive home.
22
Panthea’s trial began with absolutely no fanfare. There were only a handful of spectators and no member of the media. To the press, a jealous wife killing her husband’s mistress wasn’t even news worthy. That was just fine with Marcus. It would make things progress that much faster, especially since the assistant district attorney he would face was Kelly Paxson. Kelly had an eye for the media, and planned to be mayor of Atlanta someday, but nobody but him thought he had a chance. Atlanta hadn’t elected a white mayor since the seventies.
Marcus sat next to Panthea at the defense table and listened as ADA Paxson made his opening statement. Hoping to curry favor with the nine women and three men on the jury, he had asked Panthea to dress down for the trial and try not to show so much cleavage. “Maybe we can get those women to feel sorry for you,”
Marcus told her on the phone the night before.
While he listened, Marcus allowed his arm to drop to his side. Panthea quickly took the opportunity to touch his hand and then quickly moved it away. When she touched him, he looked at her. The look on her face said, “Don’t worry, Marcus. Everything is going to be fine.” Panthea’s eyes told him the words that she had said so many times.
He wanted to hold her hand, squeeze it tightly and never let it go. Marcus should’ve been the one assuring Panthea that everything would be fine, but he couldn’t do that. The prosecution’s case would be simple and straight to the point—a jealous wife kills her husband’s mistress hours after receiving the news from her attorney.
And the only defense Marcus had to offer was, “She didn’t do it,” he said and stood up from the defense table, prepared to make his opening statement. Since he didn’t have much of a defense to offer, he planned on keeping his remarks brief and was glad that Paxson was uncharacteristically short with his.
“She didn’t do it, ladies and gentleman. Panthea Daniels did not kill Abril Arrington.” Marcus walked slowly toward the jury box and elegantly presented his opening statement. “And once the judge gives you your instructions and asks you to decide this matter, I am confident that after hearing the evidence or the lack of it, you will believe that Panthea Daniels did not murder Abril Arrington.” Marcus turned to Panthea. “She couldn’t,” he said and returned his focus to the jury. Marcus leaned on the rail in front of the jury box and made eye contact with the jurors who he thought would be sympathetic to his defense of Panthea.
“Mr. Paxson promised, standing in this very spot, to present you with the evidence in this case, evidence that would prove the fact beyond any reasonable doubt. Not theory, not conjecture, actual evidence that Mrs. Daniels murdered Abril Arrington. But that’s what you’ll get—that’s exactly what you will get is theory and conjecture. Mr. Paxson has asked you to reach into the darkest part of yourselves and agree with him.” Marcus turned quickly and faced Paxson and began walking toward him. “What else could she do?” Marcus asked mocking Parson’s southern drawl. “When faced with adversity, everybody doesn’t revert to their base instincts and commit murder to resolve their issues.”
Marcus returned to the defense table and stood behind Panthea. “Panthea Daniels didn’t kill Abril Arrington, ladies and gentlemen. And you’ll hear nothing that proves beyond any reasonable doubt that she did.” Marcus turned to Paxson. “We anxiously await the presentation of your case, sir.”
Paxson smiled at Marcus, and then proceeded with his case. They had faced off in court before, and Paxson knew Marcus was famous for his courtroom theatrics and colorful cross-examinations. With that thought in mind, Paxson was anticipating a much grander opening argument and planned to negate it by slowing things down and taking Marcus out of the trial. The absence of theatrics gave Paxson confidence that Marcus didn’t have much of a defense to offer.
His first witness was Detective Silver, who testified as expected that he entered a crime scene with obvious signs of a struggle. While Paxson showed them pictures, Silver told the jury how he found Abril Arrington's body in a pile of broken glass and a pool of her own blood.
When the detective was asked to speculate as to how the crime was committed, Marcus objected. “Calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness. The detective was not a witness to the crime.”
“Overruled,” the judge said. “I think the detective’s professional opinion on how the crime was committed is important to the case, Mr. Douglas.”
Marcus knew his objection would be overruled, but he wanted to establish for the jury that this was just the detective’s theory, and he also wanted to establish some precedent, since he planned to ask the detective to give his professional opinion when the time came.
“As I said there were signs of a struggle,” Silver said. “In my opinion the killer pushed the victim, and she crashed through the table.”
“Thank you, Detective Silver. Your witness, Mr. Douglas,” Paxson said and smiled at Marcus.
Paxson had turned over the detective without ever mentioning the eyewitness or connecting Panthea to the crime. This move caught Marcus off guard. Since he could only ask him questions about items covered in direct examination, his cross would be limited to asking questions about the crime scene. About facts that were supported by the picture Paxson had shown the jury. “No questions at this time, your honor.”
“Next witness.”
“The state calls Clint Ford.”
As medical examiner, Clint Ford spent the next forty minutes explaining the intricacies of blunt force trauma to the head. Then he took the next half an hour to explain in more nauseating detail than everyone needed on how a cut to the jugular vein can cause a person to bleed to death. By the time Paxson asked the medical examiner to reach a conclusion it was almost noon. “Thank you, Dr. Ford. Your witness, Mr. Douglas,” Paxson said and smiled at Marcus.