"And did you clean the house on Thursday, June the fourth of this year?"
"Yes, I did that."
"What time did you arrive that day?"
"Maybe, eight."
"In the morning?"
"Yes."
"And what time did you leave?"
"Noon."
"Was anyone else in the house while you were there that day?"
"Mr. Rawlins, but he left at nine. And Ms. Fenney, she left at ten."
"And did you see them again that day?"
"No, I did not see them."
"And what did you do that day?"
"Wash the clothes, vacuum, windows, dishes…"
"Let's talk about the dishes. When you arrived, were there dirty dishes to be washed?"
"Yes, in the sink, and the dishwasher."
"Were there any dirty knives?"
"Yes."
The D.A. stepped over and picked up the murder weapon. "This knife?"
"No, not that knife."
"Other knives from this set?"
"Yes, one."
"And what did you do with that knife?"
"I washed it."
"How?"
"With my hands."
"Did you use a washrag and soap?"
"Yes, I did that."
"Did you scrub the blade?"
"Yes."
"Did you scrub the handle?"
"Yes."
"Is that how you always cleaned the knives, by hand?"
"Yes, then I put them in the dishwasher."
"You washed the knives first by hand and then in the dishwasher?"
"Yes, I do all the dishes that way."
"You're very thorough."
"Yes."
"So, by the time you had finished with the knives, anything that might have been on them would have been washed off, such as stains or food or fingerprints-"
Scott stood. "Objection. The witness is not qualified to testify as to fingerprints."
"Sustained."
But the D.A. had made his point to the jury.
"Ms. Gonzales, after the dishwasher had finished running, what did you do with the dishes and utensils inside?"
"I dried them off and put them up."
"Including the knife?"
"Yes."
"And did you put that knife in the drawer with the other knives in that set?"
"Yes, I did that."
The D.A. held up the murder weapon. "At that time, was this knife in the drawer?"
"Yes, it was there."
"Ms. Gonzales, when you left at noon on Thursday, June the fourth, were there any dirty dishes, glasses, silverware, or knives anywhere in the Rawlins house?"
"No. I clean everything."
Bobby had one question for Rosie: "Ms. Gonzales, did you ever hear Mr. Rawlins and Ms. Fenney arguing or fighting?"
"No. I did not hear that."
The prosecution's final witness was Terri Rawlins. She was petite and pissed. Which was understandable: her brother had been brutally murdered. Since she was a prosecution witness, Scott could have had her banned from the courtroom until she testified. But he hadn't because he wanted her to hear the truth about her brother-because Scott needed her to waive the attorney-client privilege. He needed to know what Melvyn Burke knew about Trey Rawlins.
"Ms. Rawlins," the Assistant D.A. said, "you and Trey were twins?"
"Yes."
"Were you close?"
"Very. We talked about everything."
"He called you often?"
"Almost every day."
"Do you miss your brother?"
"Every day."
"He was your only living sibling?"
"Yes."
"Did Trey ever mention to you that he was going to marry Rebecca Fenney?"
"No. Never."
"Thank you."
The jury seemed sympathetic toward Terri Rawlins, as well they should be. So Scott whispered to Bobby, "Be gentle." Bobby nodded and stood.
"Ms. Rawlins, I'm very sorry for your loss. I know you loved your brother, but I have to ask you some questions about him, okay?"
She nodded.
"Did Trey ever tell you about his affairs with wives of other pro golfers?"
She appeared flustered. "No."
"Did he ever tell you he was having an affair with a seventeen-year-old girl?"
Even more flustered. "No."
"Did he ever tell you that he used cocaine?"
"No."
"Or that he owed five hundred thousand to his drug dealer?"
"No."
"Or that he owed fifteen million to the mob?"
"No."
"Well, Ms. Rawlins, perhaps you and Trey didn't talk about everything."
FORTY-FIVE
"Bad time to stop smoking," Bobby said.
The state rested its case, and the judge recessed for lunch. The D.A. would now wait to cross-examine the accused-if she took the stand. If she didn't testify, the jury would certainly convict her. If she did testify, she would open herself up to questions about cocaine and sex tapes, after which the jury would certainly convict her.
"She's got to take the stand, Scotty."
Scott and Bobby needed food and fresh air to think and plot strategy, so they were having lunch on the seawall at Benno's on the Beach: shrimp poor-boy sandwiches and the sea breeze on the front patio facing the Gulf of Mexico.
"Rex did a good job with Holbrooke," Scott said. "Answered that question for the jury, how she could've slept in his blood."
"Which is why she's got to testify."
"And open herself up to questions about God knows what."
"You don't think she's come clean with us?"
Scott shrugged. "She's a pretty complicated woman."
"That's a bit of an understatement." Bobby bit into his poor-boy. "Scotty, I looked at those sex tapes, to see if there were any surprises… you know, other than how many women Trey could have sex with at the same time."
Scott had refused the tapes that day, but the D.A. had given them to Bobby, as the law required, so the D.A. could introduce them into evidence at trial.
"Bobby, she made those tapes just to make Trey happy. Dr. Tim said he was a narcissist, he made those tapes to watch himself."
"Weird."
"Yeah. But Rebecca wasn't a porn star like Lacy Parker. This was private, consenting adult stuff."
"You want Boo to see it?"
"No." Scott watched the waves roll ashore. "I'm sorry, Bobby."
"For what?"
"For dragging you and Karen down here. Maybe it was a guilt trip."
"Scotty, you had to come down here. And we wanted to come with you."
"Why?"
"We came because we're your partners, and you and me, we're brothers. You came because you've never gotten over Rebecca. If you didn't come down here and defend her and she ended up in prison, you'd never get over her. You'd blame yourself for that, too. You'd be taking Boo down to Huntsville every month to see her because you're that kind of guy. You'd be sentencing yourself and Boo to prison with her, you'd never be able to get on with your lives."
Scott stared at the sea.
"You representing your ex-wife charged with murdering the man she left you for-there ain't another lawyer in the country who'd do that… at least not for free-but you're doing it 'cause that's who you are. So do it. You signed up to be her lawyer, so get your butt in the game and defend your client. She's innocent, now go in there and prove it. Put Pete and Benito and Gabe on the goddamned stand and get in their faces till they fess up. One of them killed Trey Rawlins. Now get off your ass and do your job. Like Pajamae says, Man up, Scotty!"
"You really think she's innocent?"
"I do. I didn't before, but I do now. It's the Muertos or the mob or Pete, but it ain't her."
"Thanks, Bobby." Scott stood. "Let's do it."
"You gonna eat that?"
"What?"
"The rest of your poor-boy."
Scott needed to build his case like a symphony to a crescendo-to the moment in the trial when the killer of Trey Rawlins would reveal himself to the world. So he started quietly.
"The defense calls Ricardo Renteria."