The AAG was getting frustrated with her witness. “Nova, just start at the beginning. Tell us about the party. No need to be embarrassed. Please.”

  CHAPTER

  64

  Nova Jones

  BULLOCK COUNTY COURTHOUSE UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA

  There wasn’t no party.

  Nova never been to a high school party.

  The lawyer in the blue dress, Miss Eleanor, was bossing her again. “Nova, I’m directing your attention to the night you had sexual intercourse—in December of last year. Tell us what you recall—”

  The white lawyer for Dr. Bria got out of his chair. “Your Honor, I object; this is direct examination, and the attorney for the State is leading her own witness.”

  “Fine!” Miss Eleanor snapped at him. “I’ll rephrase. Nova, tell us what happened at the high school party you attended in December.”

  “I can’t.” Nova whispered it. She was too scared to speak up.

  “I know parts are fuzzy, Nova, because you were drinking. Start with that, explain to the jury. Tell them how you came to be intoxicated that night.”

  “I can’t!” Louder that time, but her voice cracked. Nova was scared, afraid she was about to bust out crying, squall like a baby.

  “Nova.” The woman lawyer looked stern. “You have to.”

  Nova wanted to disappear. She wished the floor would open right under her and swallow her up. “I can’t. I swore to God. You asked me if I know the difference between the truth and a lie, remember? There wasn’t no party, that’s a lie. I won’t tell a lie when I swore. I don’t want to go to…”

  Her voice died. She didn’t finish the sentence. Not because she was afraid to say “hell” in front of Judge Mary and the jury.

  It was because she’d spotted him. He was sitting in there, right out in that courtroom with all those people. His blue eyes were burning into her. Like he was daring her. Just go ahead and say it. See who they gonna believe. Me? Or you?

  She twisted her head away, so she wouldn’t be caught looking at him. But that felt wrong. Because he was the one who should’ve been ashamed. It was his fault.

  Dr. Bria had to sit right up front. Because everybody in town, seemed like, wanted Dr. Bria to go to jail. That just wasn’t right.

  He the one that needed to be locked up. He should go to jail, not Doctor.

  CHAPTER

  65

  Mary Stone

  BULLOCK COUNTY COURTHOUSE UNION SPRINGS, ALABAMA

  Sometimes a witness will fall apart on the stand. Nova Jones was teetering on the brink. I could see it coming, like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

  The lawyer said, “Let’s start with the party, Nova.”

  “I didn’t go to no party!”

  Ms. Lindquist said, “These were your words, Nova. The sneaking out, the party, the boy. And it was dark, and you didn’t remember? Your. Words.”

  “Not my words! Someone told me to tell the story that way. And I went along, because everyone wanted me to. I didn’t want no trouble.”

  Lindquist’s eyes had narrowed to slits. “You told the sheriff you went to a party and had sex—didn’t you?”

  Robert Reeves stood, waving his arm like a kid in school. “State requests a recess!”

  Benjamin Meyers was also on his feet, shouting over the other lawyers. “Objection, Your Honor—she’s badgering her own witness!”

  Nova had started weeping. That hard kind of crying, when a person tries to hold it in, and it makes the body convulse.

  The spectators’ gallery buzzed with noise, people weighing in on Nova’s breakdown. More than one person had the gall to pull out a phone and aim it at the witness stand.

  The courtroom was veering out of control—again. I slammed the gavel—just once, mind. Rose from my seat and pointed at the courtroom door, straight ahead of me.

  I uttered one word. “Out!”

  The noise settled down some. Except for the witness stand. The poor child still sobbed like her heart was broken.

  But the spectators hadn’t followed orders. I needed to provide specificity.

  “I am clearing this courtroom.”

  When I spoke, it came straight from the diaphragm. My voice can be a powerful instrument, and I’m grateful for that, at times. This was one of those occasions.

  “By order of this court, all spectators will leave immediately. That includes everyone seated in the gallery. Get. Out.”

  A white man stood up. “Your Honor, I’m with the local NBC affiliate—”

  Sweet Jesus, I recognized him: the entitled little jerk who’d crashed Saturday breakfast at my farm last spring. “Get out of my courtroom unless you want to see a contempt citation. I’m not playing.”

  That convinced them all, I guess. Folks figured that if I was crazy enough to threaten a TV journalist, I’d certainly rain down fury on a curiosity seeker. The courtroom emptied out, and Ross Carr shut the door behind the last visitor.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’re excused. I’m sending you off for a break. Ross and Luna will escort you to the jury room.”

  They didn’t dawdle. After the jurors departed, a handful of us remained in court. I stayed at the bench. Bria Gaines and the attorneys for both sides sat at their respective tables. The court reporter tapped her foot on the floor, wearing an uncertain look, like she didn’t know if she should stay or go.

  And Nova Jones. Huddled in that witness chair, hunched over with shame and defeat, shoulders shaking.

  The door to chambers was directly behind my chair. I rose, stepped out of court. In a matter of seconds, I was back at the bench with a cold bottle of water in my hands. A big one, sixteen ounces.

  “Nova, honey. Look what I found.”

  I peeled the plastic off the top, cracked it open. Sometimes those lids are tricky. “You look thirsty, Nova. I got you a drink of water. You see?”

  She lifted her head, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. When she peeked at me, I reached out and handed her the water bottle. She took it.

  “I’ve a box of tissues, right here.” I pushed the box closer to her. When she pulled a tissue out, I said, “Take the box.”

  She did. Blew her nose, wiped her face. Unscrewed the lid and took a long drink of water. The room was hushed, waiting.

  I had to hold myself together, too. It was personal for me. And painful, though I was determined to hide that, to project a calm demeanor.

  Nova tipped the bottle back a second time. Drank deep, like people do when they’ve been working in the sun all day.

  When she stopped to take a breath, I said, “Courtroom can be a scary place, can’t it?”

  Nova’s eyes turned to me and she nodded, one time.

  I kept my voice soft. “That testifying, it’s so hard. Especially when everybody starts talking at once. The lawyers and the judge and sometimes the people sitting out there watching. It can be hard to know what to do.”

  Lindquist was on her feet again. “Judge, the DA and I have had a moment to consult, and we both think it would be appropriate to have some time to talk with our witness. Privately.”

  I was in no mood. “Sit down, Ms. Lindquist.”

  “But Your Honor—”

  “I won’t tell you again.”

  Pretty sure I was giving her a deadly look. Because she sat, and didn’t say another word. When the DA tried to whisper in her ear, she pushed him away.

  The girl from the AG’s office had some sense. I was glad to see that. I turned back to Nova. “You want some more of that water, Nova? Or something to eat? Sometimes people forget to eat when they come to court.”

  The wicker basket sat on the bench. I picked it up and showed it to her. “How about a piece of candy? You like peppermint? How about an Atomic Fireball?”

  She peered in the basket before she sat back, shaking her head. “No, thank you, ma’am. I’m not supposed to eat candy. I’m the biggest girl in school. At the hospital, that’s why they say I got pregnant at thirteen.”

  That made my eyes sting. I looked straight at her.

  I said, “I was the biggest girl in school—bigger than most of the boys. So I got my period in fifth grade, before anybody. When that happened, I was scared to death. Afraid I’d start it in the middle of the school day. I used to lay awake at night, worrying about it.”

  Nova lost that guarded expression. “I worry about that, the same thing.”

  “That right? I think we’re alike in lots of ways.”

  She appeared to be considering it as she took another pull on the water bottle.

  I took a peppermint out of the basket. As I unwrapped it, I said, “This is a criminal case, Miss Nova. It’s important to remember that in criminal cases, the prosecution, Mr. Reeves and Ms. Lindquist—they’re trying to put Dr. Gaines in prison. They have accused her of breaking the law. When a person’s liberty, their freedom, is at stake, that’s very, very important. So it’s crucial that every witness tell the truth. The whole truth, while they’re in that chair you’re sitting in right now.”

  Nova clutched the water bottle so tightly, I could hear the crackle of plastic. “I swore the oath. I’m trying to do that. Trying my best. To tell the truth.”

  “The whole truth,” I said.

  She swallowed; I saw the movement in her neck. “The whole truth. Yes, ma’am, Judge Mary.”

  “All right, then. You ready?”

  She closed her eyes, just for a moment. Opened them and looked up at me.

  “Ready,” she said.

  “Nova, who was the boy you had sex with that night?”

  I could see her starting to seize up again. Reeves looked like he was about to raise another objection. I shut him down with a look.

  Nova lowered her eyes. She dabbed her nose with a tissue. She stared up at me with desperation and pain written all over her face.

  I could tell she was working up to something. Something painful.

  “It wasn’t one boy,” she said. “It was two.”

  Lindquist jumped up. “Your Honor!”

  I rapped my gavel. “Sit!”

  Then I leaned over toward Nova. “Don’t be afraid. Nobody here is going to hurt you. Just tell us what happened. Everything you can remember.”

  I could see that she was terrified. She took another drink from her water bottle, then put it down in her lap. “It was two boys. Two white boys. Back in the weeds behind the old gas station. I didn’t know ’em. Either of ’em. But they knew me. Called me by my name.”

  Her voice was trembling, but her words were clear.

  “They pushed me down and held me, and then they did it, one after the other. When they were finished, they said I should shut up and don’t say anything about it ’cause something might happen to my brothers or sisters, and they knew all of their names, too. They told me they were Klan. That one boy, the big one, show me a K mark on his arm, like he was proud of it. And then they run off.”

  I looked down at the prosecution table and just held up my hand. I didn’t want to hear a word from anybody but Nova Jones. Her chin was dipped down to her chest.

  “Nova, did they say anything else to you?”

  She was sniffling, starting to sob. “Yeah. One of them said I had pretty eyes.”

  CHAPTER

  66

  Your Honor! May we approach?”

  Reeves and Lindquist were both on their feet. I waved them over to the side of the bench. Then I looked toward the defense table. “Care to join, Mr. Meyers?” He jumped up and hustled over, too.

  I told the clerk to take Nova into my chambers.

  Judges learn to be human polygraph machines, so we can weigh the testimony and credibility of witnesses. I have pretty good radar for telling the difference between the truth and a lie. A judge who can’t spot a liar should be in a different line of work.

  I knew that what Nova had just said was explosive. I also knew it was the truth. I could feel it in my bones.

  It took me about five minutes to hear all the objections and arguments about her testimony, from both sides. I listened hard to all three lawyers. I really did. Then I said three words.

  “Noted. Step back.”

  I turned to the bailiff. “Retrieve Miss Jones, and call the jury back in.”

  When everybody was back in place, I looked down at Lindquist. “Your witness.”

  I watched her walk up to the witness stand, holding her legal pad in a death grip as she looked directly at Nova. I already knew where her questions would start.

  “Nova. On March 23, at midnight, where did you go?”

  “I went to the clinic. To Dr. Bria’s office.”

  “Dr. Gaines’s office in Union Springs? In Bullock County, Alabama?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They’d established venue with that question and answer. Nova was still speaking in hushed tones, but she’d regained her composure.

  “How did you arrive at Dr. Gaines’s office?”

  “Nurse Bass drove me in her car. I was waiting by the side of the building, our apartment building. In the shadow, so no one could see.”

  “Why did you wait in the shadow?”

  “My mama didn’t know about it. I sneaked out the window. Real quiet, so my sisters wouldn’t wake up.”

  “When you arrived at Dr. Gaines’s office, what happened?”

  “We went in the back door. I put on a blue nightgown thing.” She paused for a moment, then added, “Dr. Bria was nice to me. She said she was gonna help me.”

  Lindquist’s voice turned hard. “Help you with what, Nova?”

  “I was pregnant. Scared. I didn’t want to have a baby. I was so scared.”

  That lawyer’s face was like stone, no mercy. “What happened next?”

  “I laid down on a table in her office, the one with a paper cover. Put my feet up.” Nova’s voice broke then, but she recovered. “Doctor said it wouldn’t take long.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “I shut my eyes. I tried to think about something nice. Make pictures up in my head. Flowers. But it hurt, like cramping.”

  “Did you tell her to stop?”

  Sounding defeated, Nova said, “I didn’t tell her that. Didn’t want her to stop what she was doing. Because I couldn’t be pregnant. I couldn’t have a baby. I got all I can handle, taking care of the kids at home.”

  A Black woman on the jury, about my age, shook her head with sorrow. Wiped her eyes. If I could’ve gotten away with it, I’d have joined her. Wished we could hang on to each other and cry it out.

  “What else happened that night?”

  “I stayed a while after she was done. She told me some things to do, said I’d need to come back and see her. I didn’t pay much attention. I couldn’t go back, not without Mama knowing. So I just went home. Crawled back through the window.”

  “Did you get sick after that, Nova?”

  I saw her steal a look at the defense table before she answered. “I kept on bleeding. And then I started feeling bad. But I didn’t tell nobody.”

  “Why?”

  “I was afraid people would find out what I done. All in the world I wanted was for nobody to know. So I just kept on going, like usual. Till that day I got sick. And they took me to the hospital.”

  Eleanor Lindquist stepped back, away from the witness stand. “Nova, the person who aborted your baby at her clinic in Union Springs last March, is she in this courtroom today?”

  Nova hung her head and whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Point her out for the jury.”

  Nova did as she was told, but her hand shook when she pointed the finger at the defense table. “That’s Dr. Bria. Right there.”

  Lindquist projected a note of triumph as she said, “Your Honor, may the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant.”

  “It shall,” I said.

  Nova turned to face me. Looking up at the bench with a plea in her eyes, she said, “Judge Mary, Dr. Bria was good to me. It’s not her fault I got sick. She helped me. She and Nurse Bass both.”

  The DA was on his feet, shouting over the girl. “The witness is volunteering information outside of direct examination. I demand that the court instruct the jury to disregard.”

  “Sit down,” I told him. When he remained on his feet, I said, “This is your co-counsel’s witness. She’s conducting direct examination. You stay in your chair.”

  I turned to Lindquist, who was staring daggers at Nova Jones. “Ms. Lindquist, you may continue.”

  “No further questions.”

  I nodded at the defense table. “Mr. Meyers, you may inquire.”

  CHAPTER

  67

  Benjamin Meyers was out of his chair, moving toward the witness stand. I kept a sharp eye on him. There are criminal defense attorneys who view vulnerable young witnesses like Nova Jones as fair game. They’ll use cross-examination as an opportunity to scare a girl, confuse her, drag her through the dirt.

  Nobody got away with that in my courtroom, though. I didn’t tolerate it. And lawyers in my circuit in Alabama are aware of that. But Meyers was from out of state. Maybe he didn’t know how I roll.

  Meyers stopped a few feet away from the stand. When he spoke to Nova, his voice was soft, respectful.

  “Nova, I’m Ben Meyers. Dr. Bria’s lawyer. We’ve met before, some months back. Right?”

  Nova sniffled. She wiped her nose with a wad of tissue she held. “I remember you.”

  “When I talked to you and your mama at y’all’s house, I was told you went to a party and had sexual relations, that’s where you got pregnant. But that’s not what happened, is it?”

  “Objection!” It was Robert Reeves. The DA looked nervous. “Irrelevant, immaterial.”

  “Your Honor,” Meyers said, “I may be from Georgia, but I’m licensed to practice law in Alabama. And I know that under Alabama rules of evidence, cross-examination is wide open if it pertains to a material issue. The circumstances regarding Miss Jones’s pregnancy are material in this case.”

  I didn’t want the child to be publicly humiliated. But Bria Gaines’s lawyer was entitled to raise issues that supported her defense. “I’ll allow it.”