The judge banged her gavel several times and sustained Jackson’s objection.
Many more were to come. Despite them, Gleason tried his hardest to chisel away at Amelia’s loyalty and integrity. Merciless and selfish were words he used to describe her efforts to get out of the marriage.
He grilled her about the two times she’d been with the defendant, at Hunter’s birthday party, and then the day he had come to the townhouse looking for Jeremy. He tried to discredit her accounts of these incidents, to put a spin on them that would make her out to be a woman prone to either hysterics or malice.
It was an ill-chosen strategy. Amelia remained calm. She didn’t get flustered, even as she stressed the immediate threat that Willard Strong had posed to her and her children.
Eventually the lawyer must have sensed that her composure was more persuasive than his theatrics and that all he was accomplishing was to irritate the jurors and make them more, not less, sympathetic toward her. After an hour of getting nowhere, he wrapped up rather quickly and told the judge that he had no further questions for her.
She stepped down, and the bailiff led her out through the same side exit as before. Dawson whispered, “Let’s go,” and together he and Headly left through the door at the back of the courtroom.
They intercepted Amelia in the corridor. Cell phone in hand, she was punching in a number when she noticed them walking toward her. Her hands dropped to her sides. “They let you out of jail?”
“You sound disappointed.”
Headly stepped forward and extended his right hand. “Ms. Nolan. Gary Headly.”
She shook his hand, but with a notable lack of warmth. “Are you his lawyer?”
“Second-generation family friend. Also his godfather. But please don’t hold that against me.” His friendly smile wasn’t returned.
Dawson tilted his head toward the courtroom. “You did great in there.”
“It wasn’t a talent show.”
“I know that,” he shot back, matching her ire. “All I meant was that your reason was effective against his ranting.”
“I’m just grateful to have it over and done with. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She made to go around them, but Dawson sidestepped and blocked her path.
“Where are you going?”
“To pick up my children.”
“Are they all right?”
“No. They’re not all right.” She pushed back her hair, hooking a strand behind her ear, which was a sure signal that the composure she’d exhibited in the courtroom was about to desert her. “They keep asking where I am and when I’m coming to get them. They sense that something is wrong, but they don’t know what, and not knowing is frightening to them, especially to Hunter, who is remarkably perceptive for his age. At some point I must tell them that their adored nanny is dead.” Her voice cracked, which she tried to cover by clearing her throat. “I have to go.”
This time Dawson didn’t physically try to stop her, but he spoke her name with appeal.
She turned back, but her body language remained hostile. “If you’re still after a good story, why don’t you write one about yourself?”
“I’m not interesting.”
She gave a caustic laugh. “Oh, but you are. You’re secretive, mercurial, a study in contradictions. Beyond that, you’re…”
“What?”
“Just so I’m clear, those pills you were taking weren’t doctor prescribed, were they?”
He wouldn’t admit it out loud, not inside the courthouse. But he gave one shake of his head.
Softly, but bitterly, she said, “Right.” As she turned to go, her cell phone, still in her hand, vibrated. She looked at the LED and answered immediately. “Deputy Tucker?” She listened for a moment, her face going pale. “Where did you find him?”
Dawson was beside her in an instant, whispering, “Dirk?”
She looked up at him and nodded. “I see,” she said into the phone. “Well, please keep me—”
“Excuse me, Ms. Nolan.” Headly took the phone from her hand and raised it to his ear. As he started walking purposefully toward the elevator bank, Dawson heard him say, “Deputy? My name is Gary Headly. I’m a friend of Ms. Nolan’s. Also an agent with the FBI. We’re on our way. Please be there to meet us.”