Somebody’s Perfect

by Kallypso Masters

  The DA held out a box of tissues to her, and Savannah plucked two to wipe away her tears, assuming it was okay to shed tears under the circumstances. “What happened next?”

  “My father told me to return to my room. That he would come and tuck me in later. He had never tucked me in before, so it surprised me.” She shuddered, remembering what would happen later that night and many nights to come.

  “And did you go to your room?”

  “Not right away. I kept trying to wake up Maman. When I begged Father to call the doctor, he yanked me off of her, grabbed me by the upper arms, and shook me viciously several inches off the floor. So hard that my teeth rattled against each other. His eyes were even scarier than before.”

  “Was he saying anything at this time?”

  She nodded, at last facing down the monster who had haunted her nightmares, narrowing her eyes at him. She relayed his words just the way she remembered them, vivid ever since that mental block had lifted while she was being tortured by him last March.

  “He told me, ‘You’re just like her, you dirty slut.’” Someone in the jury box gasped, but words like “dirty slut” no longer held any power over her, thanks to Damián. Suddenly, she felt Damián’s warm gaze washing over her. She couldn’t face him for much-needed comfort for fear the jury would misconstrue her actions and think he was coaching her. But his presence gave her the strength to continue.

  “Father yelled, ‘I told you to go to your room. You will do as I say from now on. No more being coddled by your sorry mother.’ And then the most ominous words of all. ‘I’ll take care of you later.’”

  An ache tore at her heart as she added in a near whisper, “That’s the last time I saw my mother.”

  A juror now sobbed openly, but Savannah tamped down her own emotions. She needed to stay strong. For Maman. For John.

  “What happened next?” the DA prompted.

  “I ran to my room.” Although she now knew there was nothing she could have done to save Maman that night, she wished things had come out differently. Perhaps if John had come to get them sooner or if they hadn’t returned to the house after the beach at all…

  Don’t go there. Tell your story as it happened.

  “I was afraid of Father now, so I hid under my bed.” Realizing she was feeding the twisted bastard the words he thrived on—admitting her fears out loud—she lifted her chin in defiance and hazarded a quick glance his way. He sneered at her, as if daring her to continue telling the truth about what happened.

  Never again would she be silenced by him.

  Savannah turned back to the DA. “He wanted my mother out of the way to get to me. He knew she’d have protected me from him.”

  “Objection. Speculation.”

  “Sustained. Mrs. Orlando,” the judge admonished, “please limit your responses to the facts as you witnessed them and wait until you’ve been asked a question.” To the jury, he added, “The jury will ignore Mrs. Orlando’s last statements.”

  Unable to help herself, she added, “I was an innocent eight-year-old—at least until he came to my room later that night.” She stared at Gentry, daring him to deny what she’d said, even though she knew he couldn’t speak and she’d gone beyond what she was supposed to say.

  A juror made a gasping sound. At least they were engaged and listening. She’d been warned by the DA not to bring up the incidents of molestation and rape for fear of causing a mistrial by tainting the jury, but Savannah hoped they’d all figure out what really happened, even if they weren’t supposed to draw their own conclusions.

  “Objection, Your Honor. There was no question asked.”

  “Sustained.” The judge addressed the court reporter. “Please strike Mrs. Orlando’s last statement from the record.”

  The DA cleared her throat, looking pointedly at Savannah to urge her not to try that again and to bring her back on track. “How long did you hide under the bed?”

  Savannah swallowed hard, remembering that scared little girl cowering in fear in her hiding place. She’d wished Whiskers had been with her and wondered where the cat had gone that night, but didn’t cats sense death and trauma and hide from it? Instead, she’d clung to the Barbie doll Maman had given her the previous Christmas. The one she’d recently been reunited with.

  “I’m not sure how long I was under there, but it was pitch dark when Father came into my room, calling out to me.” Breathe in. Breathe out. “I could only see his shoes. They were caked with mud. I’d never seen Father’s wingtips anything but shiny before.” She’d let them draw their own conclusions since they’d heard the evidence about where her mother’s and John Grainger’s remains had been found.

  “I didn’t make a sound,” she continued. “I didn’t want him to know where I was hiding—but he found me anyway.” Savannah’s throat closed off. Okay, perhaps she did still harbor some fear when it came to Gentry.

  “What did your father do next?”

  Drawing a ragged breath, she answered, “He pulled me out from under the bed.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Adam shove Damián back into his seat before he could make a scene going after Gentry.

  Savannah made eye contact with Damián and touched her collar, her signal to let him know she was okay. After months of working with Damián, she’d internalized the truth—she wasn’t a whore and never had been.

  I’m Damián’s good girl.

  Damián gave her an almost imperceptible nod as his body relaxed against the back of the chair.

  After a brief recess, the DA shifted gears to asking about the kidnapping last March.

  “Lyle Gibson and another man broke into my apartment in Denver. I was alone with my seven-year-old daughter. I managed to hide her in a duffel bag in the closet before one of them placed a smelly rag over my nose and mouth, and I blacked out.”

  “Objection.”

  “Overruled. Continue, Ms. Sullivan.”

  In subsequent questioning, Savannah described the kidnapping much as one might a movie, as much as she could remember. She quickly moved ahead to how she only remembered regaining consciousness strapped to an ottoman in the remote cabin at Gentry’s compound in San Bernardino County.

  “I thought he was going to kill me—and still believe that was his ultimate intention.”

  “Objection. Speculation. Move to strike.”

  “Sustained.” The judge asked the court reporter to remove her remark from the record.

  Savannah rubbed her wedding band to ground herself without letting the abuse of the past overwhelm her again.

  She went on to talk about her mental and physical anguish before and during the rescue and then waking up in the hospital. As if Sullivan knew the only thing she could say beyond that point had already been detailed by a medical expert, she said, “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  The judge called for a lunch recess. Damián forced her to eat, but she couldn’t remember an hour later what had been on her plate. When they returned to the courtroom, she sat and waited to be recalled to the stand to face the defense attorney’s cross-examination. This was the part she’d been dreading the most, because she couldn’t predict what would be asked of her.

  On the stand again, she realized her focal point was gone, so her gaze zeroed in on Damián. As if he’d said the words aloud, she heard these words in his voice, “You can do this.”

  Gentry’s attorney stood, buttoning his suit coat as he walked to the podium. Her heart pounded so loudly she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear the questions. The DA hoped the defense would slip up and open a door for them to pursue a line of questioning about all the horrible things Gentry had done to her, but until that happened, the DA merely wanted her to come across as a sympathetic witness to the jurors. Hopefully, she’d succeed at that, if not already then under the defense’s scrutiny.

  “No questions, Your Honor.”

  That was it? Hopes that the defense would slip up and open up the opportunity for her to really tel
l her story were dashed. Apparently, the bastard had hired a savvy attorney.

  “You’re excused, Mrs. Orlando,” the judge said.

  She stood and made her way on shaky legs toward the gallery. Gentry’s gaze was fixed on her belly as if wishing to cause her bodily harm. She put a protective hand over their baby, as if to shield him or her from the monster’s gaze, and picked up her pace.

  Damián stood to welcome her with open arms and a quick hug before guiding her right out of the courtroom. He whispered that Adam would stay behind to let them know what they might have missed. But Damián had seen she needed to get away.

  In the hallway, he turned to her. “You did great, bebé. How are you feeling?”

  “Exhausted. Exhilarated. Glad that part’s over, and dreading what’s to come.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, and she basked in his heartwarming, protective embrace. “I’m so proud of you, querida. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

  She didn’t feel particularly strong, although she’d done the best she could do. And yet, it was a hollow victory.

  Damián kept one arm around her lower back as he propelled her down the hallway to the ladies’ room. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  Gentry wouldn’t go down without a fight. The defense would present the rest of its case now. How could Gentry be defended for all the reprehensible things he’d done?

  When she came out of the restroom, Damián smiled at her. He took her hand, and they returned to the courtroom to find Abbott and Gentry having a heated discussion about something. The judge was nowhere to be seen. At their questioning glances, Adam told them, “I’m not sure what’s up, but they called for a fifteen-minute recess.”

  Adam leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, whispering, “You did an incredible job, hon.”

  The remainder of the afternoon was spent with Abbott calling in three witnesses to describe Gentry’s behavior on the Saturday the murders took place. All had been in negotiations with him on a business deal that afternoon. No one recalled him being distracted or upset. They’d clinched their deal, shared an early dinner, and had gone their separate ways.

  Hearing their perceptions of George Gentry the acute businessman didn’t surprise her. He had always projected himself in the best light possible, and business always came first. Savannah knew the murders had not been premeditated. So what this testimony could do to exonerate Gentry’s actions that night, she couldn’t see.

  But one of the three men kept staring her way several times, making her squirm in her seat. Was he one of the men who had abused her during her year as a sex slave? She’d blocked out all but the last few of those clients.

  Savannah nearly ran from the room to vomit several times during the man’s testimony and leaned closer to Damián for comfort.

  “You okay, bebé?”

  She nodded numbly as she processed today’s events so far. How could the jury learn anything about what happened behind closed doors in that house and at his hotel unless she was given a chance to tell her story? Of course, he wasn’t charged with those crimes.

  But the window on her being able to tell about them had slammed shut. The defense attorney hadn’t asked the questions that would have allowed her to tell the full story about this monster.

  She anticipated a conviction was likely, given they couldn’t refute the testimony of two eyewitnesses and the damning forensic evidence that, in her opinion, removed reasonable doubt. But she had so fantasized about facing Gentry down and telling the world what this truly despicable man had done to try and ruin her and any chance she had at a normal, happy life.

  Damián’s love had thwarted him in that respect.

  After the witness completed his testimony, the judge adjourned court until tomorrow morning. His gavel pounded, making her jump, and everyone around them rose to their feet at the bailiff’s order. Damián helped her to her feet. She nearly sagged against him when he pulled her into his arms. “It’s almost over, bebé.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes as her hopes for true and complete justice slowly withered away.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Adam said when she failed to make a move to leave.

  Savannah nodded, bending to pick up her purse before being led out between her two protectors. She’d have to content herself with knowing Gentry would pay with his freedom for murdering Maman and John and for his part in her kidnapping, unlawful imprisonment, attempted murder, and abuse earlier this year. That would have to be enough to satisfy her.

  That and knowing he truly didn’t beat her, because she had found happiness, first with Marisol and now with Damián and their new baby. She held her head a little higher as they descended the steps and headed to their SUV. In the end, Gentry hadn’t gained anything at all, and she had everything she ever wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next morning, she took her usual seat behind the DA’s table only to find Gentry and Abbott arguing quietly at the defense table before the judge entered the court. Were their options running out? Desperation setting in? Was Gentry trying to take control of the case and his attorney in the eleventh hour? He’d never been good about allowing anyone else to have power over him, apparently not even his defense attorney who was trying to keep him out of prison.

  “Do you have any other witnesses to call, Mr. Abbott?” the judge prompted.

  Abbott glanced at Gentry who jerked his forehead toward the judge, as if egging him on to do Gentry’s bidding.

  “Permission for counsel to approach the bench,” Abbott said, barely containing his reluctance.

  When the judge beckoned the two attorneys forward, the prosecutor and defense attorney crossed the well to stand before the judge. Their voices were too low for her to make out anything, but the discussion went on for five or six minutes, leaving Savannah to wonder what was happening. Surely he wasn’t throwing in the towel and changing his plea to guilty.

  Finally, the judge announced, “The defense attorney has requested a short recess to consult with his client.” He pounded his gavel, and the DA motioned for Savannah to wait for her as she returned to her table to load up her briefcase.

  “Let’s talk outside,” Sullivan said as she approached them and led them to a small conference room. Seated around the table, she turned to the three and said, “The defendant wants to take the stand to testify on his own behalf—against his attorney’s counsel, of course. It’s a foolish decision on Gentry’s part, but Abbott’s been unable to dissuade him. The judge wants him to try again privately, but I have a hunch that Abbott thinks he’s going to commit a fraud against the court.”

  “A fraud?” Savannah asked.

  Sullivan nodded. “I suspect Abbott thinks Gentry will lie on the stand.”

  Well, that was a given, as far as Savannah’s experience with Gentry was concerned.

  “When we reconvene, before the jury returns, I’m sure Abbott will first try to withdraw from the case due to a conflict of interest. You won’t hear that conversation in front of the court, but this judge won’t take lightly throwing a trial this far in. If he doesn’t accept Abbott’s reason—or more likely his refusal to provide one—he’ll deny the request. Then Abbott will be forced to do his client’s bidding. If you hear Mr. Abbott say that the defendant is going to ‘testify in the narrative,’ then my hunch is right.”

  Savannah tilted her head in confusion at yet more legal jargon.

  Sullivan continued. “To testify in the narrative, Gentry would take the stand and tell his story without being questioned directly by his attorney, who does not want to be a party to the fraud. Mr. Abbott might ask introductory questions then let Gentry go in whatever direction he wishes from there. For all intents and purposes, this type of testimony is a clear indication to a judge and anyone familiar with the law that Abbott doesn’t expect Gentry to tell the truth. Of course, I will object when I see where this was going, and Abbott will ask to approach the bench. If I were the defense attorney, I would tell the c
ourt that it was my only recourse because I’d been prohibited from withdrawing from the case and was proceeding in the only way possible. Defense attorney ethics only require that he provide a vigorous defense, not be a party to a fraud.”

  How any ethical attorney could represent that scum was beyond her, but she supposed he had a legal right to some kind of defense under the Constitution and state law.

  “The jury, which won’t be privy to all of this wrangling,” Sullivan said, “will ultimately decide who’s telling the truth.”

  “So Gentry’s going to be allowed to get on the stand under oath and spout a bunch of lies, and there’s nothing you can do about it?” Savannah asked. The thought of listening to Gentry twisting reality into some wonderful fairy tale made Savannah’s stomach turn. A narcissist like Gentry would definitely puff himself up by telling a pack of lies.

  What a travesty of justice.

  “On the contrary.” Then Sullivan smiled, confusing Savannah even more. “This is nothing short of a win for us, Savannah. I’m not sure what specifically Mr. Abbott anticipates Gentry will lie about, but that’s where you’ll come in.”

  “Me?”

  She nodded. “The judge will allow me to call any witnesses who can rebut what Gentry has lied about in order to set the record straight. At the very least, I would call you to the stand and question you about specifics of his narrative that you can refute.”

  “Savannah would have to go back on the stand?” Damián asked, pulling her closer in a protective gesture.

  “Yes, but…” Sullivan continued to smile as she shifted her gaze back to Savannah, “…this would give us the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. If your father brings up anything about his relationship with you that contradicts your knowledge and recollections, I’ll call you back to the stand.”

  Savannah remained silent a moment, trying to digest what all this meant. “You mean I’ll be able to tell the jury about every despicable thing he’s done to me since I was eight, not just what he’s been charged with?”