Judge Nolan was so pleased with having put me in my place, she called a fifteen-minute recess. To savor the victory, Harry told me. She’s back now, though, erect in her seat. She doesn’t say a word until the jurors settle in their chairs.
“Let me remind you again, Ms. Nickerson. I give instructions in this courtroom. You do not.”
We all know her reminder was for the jury’s benefit.
She swivels her chair completely around to face the jury box. Apparently my read-back suggestion is rejected. And I’m dismissed.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you will disregard the witness’s last answer.”
The jurors stare at the judge, their expressions still unreadable. The retired schoolteacher, though, sets her jaw and shakes her head at me. Damn. She thinks I’ve misbehaved.
Judge Nolan turns toward the daredevil stenographer and points at his narrow white paper. “The court reporter will strike the response from the record.”
String Tie leans over his machine again and makes a check mark next to the offending testimony, then keeps his eyes lowered and sighs. A working life spent with Beatrice Nolan would try any man’s soul.
Finally, the judge’s eyes rest on Patty. “Henceforth, the witness will confine her answers to respond to the questions posed. No extraneous comments.”
Patty stares up at the judge, blinking, a puzzled look on her face. It’s an expression I’ve seen her wear before. It’s a bewilderment, I think, particular to those who grieve, an inability to comprehend a person worked up over something trivial.
Judge Nolan takes a deep breath, her eyes still locked with Patty’s. “Do you understand me, Mrs. Hammond?”
The judge’s tone is harsh; she’s misread Patty’s expression. Beatrice thinks it’s her words that aren’t getting through.
Patty shakes her head, still staring up at the judge. “I guess not,” she says.
Judge Beatrice Nolan doesn’t like that answer. She clamps her lips together and leans toward the witness box, eyes protruding, nostrils flaring.
Patty actually recoils.
Beatrice opens her mouth to speak-or perhaps to breathe fire-but Stanley intervenes. “Your Honor,” he says, “I have no further questions for this witness.”
I’m sure he doesn’t. Badgering Patty Hammond in front of the panel would be a big mistake. Stanley doesn’t want it happening on his watch, even if it’s the judge doing the badgering.
Beatrice straightens in her chair and looks at me, her eyebrows knitted into one.
I return her stare. “No further questions from us, Judge. Patty Hammond said it all.”
Beatrice fires a threatening look in my direction before announcing yet another morning recess. I’ll pay for that editorial comment, it says. I wonder if Beatrice is having stomach problems. She never calls breaks so close together. She’s off the bench even before the bailiff tells us to rise.
Harry’s on the move as soon as Beatrice leaves the room. He saunters the length of our table, tapping his pen against his temple, as if coaxing a thought from his brain. He stops when he reaches my chair and points his pen at the bench.
I roll my eyes at him. I have a pretty good idea what’s coming.
“I could be wrong again,” he says, shaking his head, “but I think you’re headed for the cell block.”