“There is a certain amount of bravery required to save one’s self. Admittedly, not all of us possess the wherewithal to endure half of what my client silently endured for years. Not many of us have the kind of bravery it takes to reclaim one’s life. My client understood that if she was going to live, that threat could no longer exist.”
Silence continued to persist even after Tareef sat down. For the first time since the proceedings began, Jennifer’s head was no longer cast down. She’d lifted her head enough so that the jury could look into her eyes and maybe, see her for more than what she’d been described as. Naomi no longer felt like Jennifer’s case was a lost cause. Tareef brought the thunder. He made her case in such a powerful way that everyone who heard it understood Jennifer’s plight. Malcolm understood, too. Naomi could tell by his decreased position, the slight drop in his shoulders, and the side-eye he cut at Tareef. Round one – Attorney Tareef Ali.
Over the course of the next few days, Naomi was consumed by the trial. She attended every session she could while still attending to her mother and managing her burgeoning business. On those she wasn’t able to personally attend, she watched the recaps of the trial on multiple news channels, subconsciously keeping score. So far, the battle was hard-fought, and the score was too close to call. Malcolm scored, and Tareef countered. Tareef scored a round, and Malcolm countered. Watching the two men go toe to toe, dispensing legalese and intellectual expertise in the courtroom was a battle. Naomi hoped that at the end of it all, Jennifer would gain her freedom. She already felt that way, hearing others talk about the defendant’s circumstances, her empathy for those challenged with mental health issues notwithstanding. Today was the day the court would hear from the accused. Today, Jennifer would testify on her own behalf.
As Naomi stood outside the courtroom doors, waiting to file in, her phone vibrated. Naomi knew an active phone was prohibited in the galley. Yet, she didn’t want to risk being late entering. When the judge entered, no other persons would be admitted. Quickly, Naomi reached into her purse and pulled out her cellphone. She looked at the name on the screen.
Hey, girl. Can’t talk now. I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes.
Still too busy for me, I see, Racquel texted back.
It’s not that I don’t love you, just got a lot going on right now. Is everything okay?
Everything is fine. Just missing my best friend.
I promise when this is over, you will get so much of me, you’ll be sick of it. Love you. I gotta jet. <3
Talk soon. I hope, Racquel countered.
I promise we will.
Chapter nineteen
By the time Naomi slid her phone back into her purse, the line that formed outside the courtroom doors moved. Naomi filed in with the other interested parties, curious as to what this phase of the trial would bring. There was a heightened awareness of the proceedings as there had been much speculation as to whether the defendant would testify on her behalf. There had been experts who spoke to Jennifer’s mental health status for and against the reality of battered woman’s syndrome. There were police reports and officers that recounted the events of that evening in graphic detail, yet very little counterintelligence that proved Mrs. Whitman was a victim of domestic violence.
As Naomi took her seat, she was still concerned about Jennifer. The defense had taken some hits, Malcolm’s team scored some major points that Naomi was worried Tareef and his team might not overcome. Truthfully, the full weight of the case may rest in the hands of the woman at the center of it all. There was a feeling that permeated the courtroom. It felt like high-intensity angst. Naomi felt it especially. Yet, when she looked at Tareef, he seemed calm, cool, collected. Across the aisle, Malcolm seemed to feel what everyone else felt. He seemed unable to settle in what was his suave persona.
“Mr. Ali, you may call your first witness,” the judge announced.
Naomi watched as Tareef stood to his feet. The suit he wore was properly fitted to his athletic frame.
“The defense calls Jennifer Whitman,” Tareef replied.
Today was different for Jennifer. She wasn’t draped in the oversized orange jumpsuit that didn’t flatter her caramel complexion. When Jennifer stood up, she took a second to smooth down the dark brown skirt she wore before stepping from behind the defense table. The heels she wore were sensible and made very little noise as she slowly moved to the witness stand. Naomi could see that Jennifer was trying to keep her head up, to look forward instead of looking down. Naomi could almost see the internal struggle Jennifer was having, wanting to be invisible but forced to be seen by everyone. She looked terribly uncomfortable, even as she was instructed to raise her right hand and to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help her God.
“I do,” Jennifer quietly answered. Her response was so low, those in the galley had to strain in order to hear her.
She smoothed her skirt again, even after sitting down. Tareef didn’t immediately approach her. Naomi could only assume the two developed a rapport; however, considering the manner in which Tareef approached Jennifer, their rapport seemed tenuous. Or maybe Jennifer just didn’t warm up to people; protected herself from everyone, especially men.
I wonder why they didn’t assign a female attorney to her, Naomi thought as Tareef started to speak.
“There has been a lot said about you, Mrs. Whitman.”
“Please don’t call me that,” Jennifer replied. This time when she spoke, Jennifer’s voice was clear and audible.
“I’m sorry,” Tareef said. “Why don’t you want to be called by your legal name?”
“Because,” Jennifer began. “That name has caused me nothing but pain.”
Her voice cracked as she continued. “It ties me to the man that tried to take my life.”
“Objection your honor,” Malcolm raised in protest.
“On what grounds?” Judge Franks asked.
“Prejudicial,” Malcolm iterated.
“Sustained,” the judge answered. “The jury will disregard the witness’s last statement, and it will be stricken from the record.”
But how do you unhear something so damning, Naomi considered. She knew she could never unhear it. Jennifer rang the bell in her own way, and the chime resonated in the courtroom and in Naomi’s spirit.
“What would you prefer to be called?” Tareef continued unphased.
“Williams,” Jennifer answered. “My name is Jennifer Williams.”
“Alright, Ms. Williams,” Tareef replied, taking a few steps forward. “There’s been a lot of conversation about you, speculation as to what happened. But I am of the opinion that no one can tell your story but you. Everyone else can speculate, suppose, wonder, and even articulate their opinion based on what they think or know to be facts. However, at the end of the day, you were the one who experienced it. Talk to us about that,” Tareef encouraged.
“What do you want to know?” Jennifer asked. Her question sounded so innocent. The fire that entered her voice when she staked her claim about her name subsided some.
“How long were you married to your husband, Roger?”
“Seventeen years, since I was twenty years old.”
“And was the relationship always violent?”
“Objection,” Malcolm protested, lifting his tall frame to standing.
This time the judge didn’t even ask on what grounds. He sustained the objection without a second thought. That bad feeling Naomi had about Judge Franks was reignited.
“Let me rephrase,” Tareef rebounded. “Did you have a happy marriage.”
It took Jennifer a moment before responding. Her brow wrinkled slightly, and she tilted her head slightly to the side before answering.
“I wasn’t smart about the situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t smart about getting involved with Roger.”
“Please explain,” Tareef encouraged.
“When I first started going out with him, I tho
ught his jealous tendencies were because he cared so much because he loved me. When I finally took him home to meet my mother, she didn’t warm to him. She warned me to be careful. I thought it was just my mother being overprotective.”
“Did your mother say why she was concerned?”
“She did,” Jennifer replied. “She reminded me about all the things I already knew. I was Black. He was White. We would have problems with people not liking our interracial relationship, especially in the south. I thought she hadn’t advanced her thought processes. It was 2015. Surely our interracial relationship wasn’t that big of an issue. But that wasn’t the only thing she warned me about.”
“What else, Ms. Williams?”
Naomi watched as Jennifer’s head fell forward. The courtroom was already quiet, yet it felt like a new wave of silence fell over the space. And then Tareef heard it, the slightest whimper. And then Naomi saw Jennifer’s shoulders vibrating. When she finally raised her head, tears stained Jennifer’s cheeks, and fresh ones sat on her lower lids ready to be spilled.
“She said something wasn’t right with him, that he was too possessive, too domineering, that I should be careful.”
Jennifer’s voice faltered several times as she tried to speak. Naomi felt it as her eyes nearly misted over.
“I thought she didn’t know him like I did, and that she was wrong about him. It turns out, I was the one that was wrong.”
“How were you wrong?” Tareef’s voice was tender as he spoke to his client.
Reaching up, Jennifer swiped her tear-stained cheeks. This time when her brow creased, it didn’t seem creased from sadness.
“His possessiveness wasn’t love. He distanced me from my family and friends, so they didn’t see the bruises. He got smarter, though, not hitting me in places that left bruises people could see. His jealousy wasn’t love. It was insecurity, but he blamed me for it, cracking my ribs, burning me with cigarettes in places my underwear would cover.”
“And when did the abuse start?”
“Objection you honor,” Attorney Bridges argued again.
“Grounds?” The judge queried.
Naomi was surprised when the judge asked.
“Prejudicial,” Attorney Bridges replied.
“I’ll allow it,” Judge Franks answered.
“Ms. Williams,” Tareef began. Please answer the question.”
“He didn’t hit me right away. First, he separated me and isolated me. I am a college, educated woman. I had a good job. I loved my job. But I couldn’t report to work with black eyes without too many questions being asked. His compliments were backhanded, with a jab after them. I thought it was just him, you know, but the jabs became more demeaning. He lowered my self-esteem until it was in the gutter, and then he reminded me that nobody else would want me. I was so low, so demeaned that by the time he hit me, he made me feel like it was my fault because I was such a disappointment.”
“People have argued that you never told anyone that you never went to the police, the hospital. If all of this was happening, why didn’t you reach out for help?”
It was the one question Naomi figured everyone wanted the answer to. She certainly did.
“Who was going to help me?”
Jennifer’s weakened voice seemed even weaker, and Naomi felt a pang in her heart.
“The prosecution argues that the police, the hospital, authorities would have helped you,” Tareef reasoned. “Is that not true?”
“Did you listen to your own statistics, Mr. Ali?” Jennifer challenged. A buzz moved through the courtroom. Tareef wasn’t offended by it. He knew Jennifer wasn’t going to play the good little defendant. Tareef counted on Jennifer being her authentic self. People, regardless of their preconceived notions, could sense when a person was genuine. Jennifer was that if nothing else.
“Who was I going to tell? Who would believe me? Roger’s friends were police officers. They saw what was going on when it first started happening. And what did they do? Walk him around the corner and tell him to hit me in places where the bruises weren’t visible.”
“Objection, your honor.” It was Malcolm again, objecting. “Hearsay,” he offered even before the judge could ask the grounds for his protestation.
“I’ll allow it,” Judge Franks replied.
Naomi’s brow pitched high on her forehead. This was the first time the judge hadn’t ruled against the defense. Maybe Naomi had been wrong about him. Maybe he would be fair. She certainly hoped so.
“And is that what happened, Ms. Williams?” Tareef suggested. “Your husband took his friend’s advice?”
“He did,” Jennifer confirmed. “But I didn’t just take the beatings lying down, Mr. Ali. I got tired. My bones were tired. I ached all over. And when I gained my strength, I fought back, which made Roger beat me even more. That’s when he started threatening to kill everyone I loved, my mom, my dad, my family. I didn’t have friends anymore, or he would have threatened to kill them too. And I believed him that he was mean and evil enough to kill those most important to me. That’s why I didn’t tell nobody. If I had to take the beatings to keep my family alive, that’s what I had to do.”
“What happened on the night Roger died?”
“He beat me, bad. I don’t know what I did to warrant such a beating, but that stopped mattering a long time ago. He beat me when things didn’t go his way. That seemed like all the time; you know that things didn’t go Roger’s way. But that night, there was something in his eyes that scared me worse than I’ve ever been scared before. He beat me with reckless abandon. The only reason he stopped is because he got tired. Not because I was hurting or screaming or crying or begging him to stop. He stopped because he got tired. He couldn’t raise his fist anymore. He couldn’t lift up his leg anymore to kick me. He got tired. That’s when he fell asleep, but not before threatening to end my life.”
“Then what happened?” Tareef prodded.
“I was scared, scared for my life. I believed him when he said he would kill me, but Mr. Ali, I wasn’t ready to die. I wasn’t sure what I had to live for, but I knew I wasn’t ready for my life to end. I figured, if God let me survive all the beatings, all the insults, all the hurt, and pain, then maybe he had a plan for me.”
Naomi watched and listened. There was a long pause as Jennifer seemed to wander off, her words stopping, her eyes focused straight ahead.
“All I wanted to do was get away, to save my life. So, I picked myself up off the floor much as it hurt. I got up. I wanted to just walk out the door and go my own way, but I heard Roger stirring like he was waking up. If he woke up, he would kill me. That’s what he said. I believed him. When he raised up and threatened me again, I picked up the closest thing to me, and I swung. I just wanted to stop him from stopping me from leaving. That’s all, Mr. Ali. I just wanted to stop him.”
“No further questions, your honor,” Tareef iterated. “I would, however, like to have the opportunity for rebuttal.”
The judge nodded. “Your witness, Mr. Bridges.”
As Tareef returned to his seat, Malcolm stood from his chair, the two men crossing each other’s paths, sizing each other up. Malcolm wasted no time pouncing on the witness.
“So, you killed your husband, is that right?” Malcolm challenged.
“What. Didn’t you hear me, Mrs. Whitman,” Malcolm challenged. “You killed him, didn’t you? And all that talk about how he beat you over the years, you made that up, didn’t you try and garner sympathy from the jury? You don’t seem crazy to me, Mrs. Whitman,” Malcolm badgered.
Naomi looked at Tareef. Why wasn’t he objecting? Why was he allowing Malcolm to do that to Jennifer? Naomi was perched on the end of her seat, ready to object herself, but the badgering continued unabated. Tareef eyed the members of the jury to see their reaction to Malcolm’s line of questioning. Then he returned his gaze to his client.
“You don’t seem crazy to me at all, so that whole thing about battered women’s syndrome, this temporary mental ill
ness, is just a rouse a claim to make people feel sorry for you, right? Mental illness is a state of mind. You chose to kill our husband. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Whitman?”
“Objection, your honor,” Tareef stood up, leveling his objection. “Clearly, Mr. Bridges is harassing the witness.”
Before the judge could rule, Jennifer interjected.
“Has anyone ever beaten you to within an inch of your life, Mr. Bridges? I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted to live!”
The gavel sounded loud, the strike of wood against wood echoing throughout the chamber.
“Order in the court,” Judge Franks bellowed.
“Just one more question, your honor,” Malcolm said after the noise in the galley died down.
“Ask the question, Mr. Bridges, but be careful,” the judge warned.
“Absolutely, your honor.”
Malcolm swiped his jacket back and slid his hand into his tailored pants pocket. He approached the witness stand until he rested his arm there. Instantly, Naomi could tell Jennifer didn’t like it. She recoiled in her seat, attempting to gain as much distance between herself and the prosecutor as she could.
“Just one more question,” Mrs. Whitman.”
“I’ve asked not to be called that.” Her voice was level. That was surprising to Naomi. She didn’t know if her response could be so calm after what Malcolm just did. Naomi was in the galley, and she wanted to punch his lights out.
“Oh, forgive me,” Malcolm said, smiling unnaturally. Well, at least his smile seemed unnatural to Naomi. She still remained perched on the edge of her seat, curious as to what one question Malcolm had left.
“Why should we believe you? Why should we believe you over the experts, the evidence, your own admission? Why should we believe you now, Ms. Williams? The previous court didn’t believe you. The previous jury didn’t believe you. The police didn’t believe you. Nobody believed you then, so why should we believe you now?”
It was a poignant question; one Tareef wasn’t sure his client was prepared to answer. They’d gone over her testimony a few times. He asked all the pertinent questions and coached Jennifer as best he could on what to say, how to respond. But she was stubborn. That part about her, he still admired. After everything she’d been through, Jennifer was still stubborn to influence. She didn’t rile easily, but under Malcolm’s scrutiny, maybe it was too much. Maybe she would crack under pressure. Tareef leveled a gaze at his client, trying to contact her past Malcolm’s imposing frame. Jennifer needed to keep a cool head and not let Malcolm get her upset. If she did, the jury, the courtroom would see the person she’d been accused of being all along.
Tareef (The Brothers Ali Book 4) Page 14
