Sleep Savannah Sleep

by Alistair Cross

  “And did you?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Why not?” asked Gregorio. “You’re a single man. She was a very attractive woman.”

  “It wouldn’t be professional. Not only that, I, uh … I’m not really ready for that kind of thing.”

  “Because of the recent loss of your wife?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s commendable, Mr. Crandall. Did you see Ms. Sturgess after that?”

  “Once. At the carnival. She approached the group I was talking with and she showed us her engagement ring.”

  “Did she appear to be holding a grudge against you?”

  “No. Things were fine between us. It was as if nothing had happened at all.”

  “And you never saw her or spoke to her again?”

  “No, sir.”

  Gregorio smiled at him. “And finally, Mr. Crandall, where did you obtain the information that led to the discovery of the victim’s body?”

  Jason’s cheeks went hot. “After she disappeared, I began having dreams in which I saw Savannah - as well as Tabitha Cooper’s gravesite. After several days, I began to believe Savannah Sturgess was, uh, trying to communicate with me. That’s when I went to Sheriff Redding’s office and told him what was happening.”

  “And you’re swearing before this court, under oath, that you did not obtain the information by any means other than these dreams?”

  “Yes, sir. I am.”

  Gregorio smiled at him. “No further questions, Your Honor.” He returned to his seat.

  “Ms. Winters?” said Judge Fitch.

  The other attorney leaned in and said something to Travis Delgado, who still wore the neck brace and nose bandage. Then she stood, a soulless smile on her lips as she made her way toward the stand. Today, her suit was black, form-fitting to accentuate breasts so pointed they looked almost dangerous. Jason’s heart beat painfully as she neared.

  “Savannah Sturgess isn’t the only client you’ve seen in Shadow Springs, is she, Mr. Crandall?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Is it true that my client’s wife, Marlee Delgado, came to you for a massage?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And is it also true that when Travis Delgado expressed discomfort that you and his wife were seeing each other in this capacity, he asked you to stop, and yet you continued seeing her?”

  “No. Well, yes, I saw her again, but not to massage her.”

  “Where did you see her, Mr. Crandall?”

  Jason shifted. “She came by to apologize for her husband’s behavior toward me. It was very brief and we never really spoke again after that.”

  “Is it true, Mr. Crandall, that you assaulted my client on his front porch on the day of June thirteenth?”

  Jason swallowed. “Well, yes I did, but he’d abducted my daughter from school and-”

  “Abducted her?” Winters raised a thinly-arched brow. “I think you mean to say that he saw her walking home alone and gave her a ride to your house.”

  “No, that’s not what happened.” Anger edged into his blood.

  Gregorio stood. “Objection, Your Honor. Prosecution is leading the witness.”

  “Objection sustained,” said Fitch.

  Winters gave a long-suffering sigh then turned her cold eyes back to Jason. “Isn’t it true that Mr. Delgado dropped your daughter off at home?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “And that she was unharmed, arriving home directly after he picked her up?”

  “Well, yes, but-”

  Gregorio stood. “Objection, Your Honor. What does this have to do with the murder of Savannah Sturgess?”

  Winters smiled at the judge. “I’m trying to confirm that Mr. Crandall and my client have a contentious history, Your Honor - a history that might have motivated Mr. Crandall to accuse my client of murder.”

  “Objection,” called Gregorio. “My client made no such accusation!”

  Fitch banged his gavel. “Objection sustained. This trial is not about the legality of Mr. Delgado picking up Mr. Crandall’s daughter. Move on, Ms. Winters.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” She locked her hands behind her back like a general keeping her troops in suspense - then began to stalk slowly. “Do you fancy yourself a psychic, Mr. Crandall?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “Oh. I guess I must have been misled. When a witness’ only evidence in a homicide is visions and dreams, I would assume that man must be a psychic - just as Sheriff Redding did.” She looked thoughtful. “So, then, what do you consider yourself, Mr. Crandall, if not a psychic?”

  Humiliation and anger warred within him. “I consider myself a massage therapist, Ms. Winters.”

  “A massage therapist who also happens to have psychic visions.”

  “Objection,” called Gregorio. “My client has already established that he’s not a psychic.”

  “Objection overruled,” said Fitch. “I think the court needs to hear the nature of this man’s source of information.”

  Gregorio, clearly peeved, sat down.

  Winters grinned. “Mr. Crandall, I’d like you tell the court the exact nature of the visions and dreams that prompted you to go to the sheriff’s office.”

  For what felt like the hundredth time, Jason repeated the images he’d seen, including as much detail as he could remember. When he was finished, he felt exhausted and unnerved.

  Jacqueline Winters took a deep breath. “Wow. I don’t know about anyone else, but I didn’t hear anything in there that would have motivated me to suspect foul play. I think it’s more likely that you ate a few bad burritos before bedtime.”

  A chuckle rippled through the room. Gregorio stood to object, but Fitch was already banging his gavel. “Stick to the point, Ms. Winters.”

  Jason burned with embarrassment.

  “Mr. Crandall,” said Winters. “Have you ever experienced any of these … visions or dreams prior to the disappearance of Savannah Sturgess?”

  “No, ma’am, I hadn’t.”

  “So, why do you suppose they suddenly began after Ms. Sturgess’ disappearance?”

  “I don’t know. As I said, my only guess is that Savannah has been trying to communicate with me.”

  “So you believe you’re being visited by a ghost?”

  Jason hesitated. “Yes. That’s what I believe. I don’t know how else to explain-”

  “Mr. Crandall, tell me something. Why do you think the-” she cleared her throat, “-ghost of Savannah Sturgess came to you, of all people? Why not a law enforcement officer? Or her parents? Or her fiancé? Or better yet, her killer?”

  Jason hesitated. “I … I don’t know.”

  A brow shot up. “You don’t know?” She stepped closer, her dark eyes piercing and probing. “My client is on trial for a very serious offense, Mr. Crandall, and that’s the best you can do? You don’t know?”

  Jason cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am. That’s the best I can do.”

  She shook her head, an incredulous smile on her lips.

  “Look, I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t know why it’s happening. I just know that it is.”

  “Yes. We’ve established that much. You don’t know.” She sighed and turned to face the jury. “Well, I certainly hope I never show up in one of your dreams, Mr. Crandall.”

  “You and me both.” Jason’s words were out before he’d thought them through. Quiet chuckles spread through the gallery.

  Fitch’s gavel echoed. “That’s enough.” He glared at Jason. “Ms. Winters, move on.”

  Jason stared down at his hands, humiliated and beaten down. For the next fifteen minutes, Jacqueline Winters probed, prodded, and altogether shredded him, trying to paint a picture of an emotionally unstable grieving widower who simply had too much time on his hands and enjoyed being center stage in a high-profile murder case. But Jason didn’t care anymore. He’d resigned himself to the indignity, answering questions with simple yeses and nos, just wanting to get thro
ugh it.

  By the time it was over, he felt bullied, ridiculed, and twenty years older, but he never changed his story, and he never lost his temper. When he was dismissed, he stood on rubbery legs and made his way back toward the benches, catching an arrogant, self-satisfied smile from Travis Delgado.

  In the audience, Hallie Bessner’s face was white, Marlee Delgado couldn’t meet his eyes, and Flynn Garvey and Scott Sturgess looked as though they’d just witnessed a public hanging.

  Jason made his way to his seat, his limbs trembling so violently that he thought he might collapse right there. But he made it and sat down, hating Jacqueline Winters for humiliating him, hating Ed Gregorio for allowing it to happen, and hating Warren J. Fitch for not smacking that pompous ice queen upside her smug, over-bleached head with his gavel.

  But most of all, Jason hated Savannah Sturgess.

  Jacqueline Winters gave Travis Delgado a soft, friendly smile.

  He sat in the witness stand, so large he reminded Jason of a man on a tricycle. He looked humble and agreeable. Apparently, Winters had trained him to lose the air of superiority that usually surrounded him like a cloud of bad aftershave.

  Winters now held her hands in front of her. “I see no reason to waste any more of the court’s precious time, Mr. Delgado. Did you or did you not kill Savannah Sturgess?”

  He leaned into the mic. “I did not.”

  Winters nodded. “How would you describe your relationship with the victim?”

  “Savannah Sturgess and I were having sex.” He was as cool as a March afternoon.

  Jason glanced at Marlee Delgado. Her cheeks burned red and she stared at her lap.

  “Was your relationship with her a strictly sexual one?”

  “Yes.”

  “You never engaged her at social gatherings, or spent time with her in any other capacity?”

  “No.”

  Winters nodded. “And how would you describe the nature of your sexual activity with the victim?”

  Delgado gave a tight, heartless smile. “Savannah liked it rough.”

  “Rough in what way?”

  “Spanking, biting, name calling.” He paused, leaning closer to the mic. “And scratching.”

  In the gallery, Scott Sturgess took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Flynn Garvey bit his lip, his eyes welling with tears.

  Jacqueline Winters stepped to her desk, withdrew a photo from a folder, and held it up for the jury. It showed Travis Delgado’s bare back. Several scratch marks ran lengthwise down it.

  Jason recalled the dream in which he’d seen Savannah’s blue nails dragging down a muscular back.

  “I’d like to introduce into evidence this photograph of my client, which was taken after the incident.” She turned to Delgado. “How did you acquire these scratches, Mr. Delgado?”

  “I got those during sex with Savannah Sturgess, ma’am.”

  “Which explains how your DNA ended up beneath the victim’s fingernails.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your Honor, I’d like to also present the Medical Examiner’s report, which states that the scratches on my client’s back are consistent with my client’s claims.” She extracted the report and walked both items to Judge Fitch. He looked at them, nodded, and handed them back.

  Winters put the items away, then placed both hands on her desk. “When was the last time you saw Savannah Sturgess, Mr. Delgado?”

  “The night before she was reported missing.”

  “Can you describe to the court the nature of your meeting with her that night?”

  “She was at the carnival and she texted me and asked if I’d meet her at the motel afterward.”

  “Which motel?”

  “The Sandman Motel.”

  “At what time?” Winters began shuffling through her yellow envelope.

  “I told my wife I was going out and met Savannah at the motel just before midnight.”

  Winters pulled out a sheet of paper. “Your Honor, I’d like to present to the jury a copy of the receipt that shows my client and the victim were at the motel at the time my client claims.” She handed it to a juror who looked at it and passed it on to his neighbor.

  “How long had you been having an affair with the victim, Mr. Delgado?”

  He shrugged. “Off and on for a few years.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “I guess it started shortly after she got out of high school. We’d see each other for a while and then I’d feel guilty and break it off. We sometimes went months without seeing each other.”

  “And when did you begin the most recent affair with her?”

  “About a month before she went missing.”

  “And how long before that had it been since you’d had sex with her?”

  “Six or seven months.”

  “And did the two of you ever fight?”

  Delgado shook his head - a little too easily considering the alleged neck injury. “No. We never fought.”

  “Did you admire Savannah Sturgess, Mr. Delgado?”

  “Yes. I liked her a lot.”

  “You had no reason to harm her?”

  “Never. Like I said, we got along.”

  “And you’re swearing before this court that the scratches on your back were obtained during a sexual encounter with the victim - an encounter to which both you and Savannah Sturgess had consented?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m swearing that.”

  Winters faced the jury. “Consensual sex, no matter how unconventional, is not illegal.” She was silent for several seconds. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Judge Fitch nodded at Ed Gregorio, who stood and approached the stand.

  “Where were you on the night of the murder, Mr. Delgado?”

  “I was fishing at Shadow Creek.”

  “With whom?”

  “I was by myself. I like to go night fishing sometimes after work.”

  “I see. Until what time?”

  “It was after three when I got home. My wife, Marlee, has verified that.”

  “So, you were fishing. Until after three in the morning. By yourself. And there’s no one to corroborate your story?”

  Delgado shook his head. “No, but I went straight home. As I said, my wife can confirm-”

  “First, I’m not sure how comfortable the court is with testimony from someone who would undoubtedly say whatever you instructed her to say for fear of incurring one of your violent rages, and second, that you were home after three in the morning is irrelevant. There was plenty of time for you to kill Savannah Sturgess and hide the body before you got home, Mr. Delgado. Surely, you can do the math.”

  Winters shot to her feet. “Objection! This is all speculation, Your Honor.”

  “Objection sustained,” said Fitch. “Get to the facts, Mr. Gregorio.”

  Gregorio nodded, his face betraying no emotion. “But you do have a record of violence, isn’t that right, Mr. Delgado?”

  For the first time, Travis looked uneasy.

  “Will you please answer the question, Mr. Delgado?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, you’ll answer the question, or yes, you have a criminal record of violence?”

  “Yes, I have a criminal record, which includes charges of violence.”

  “And this violence goes beyond your run-of-the-mill beatings and outbursts, doesn’t it?”

  Delgado blinked at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Is it true that on several occasions in the past four years, Social Services has paid visits to your home, having reason to believe you were physically and sexually abusing your twelve-year-old step-daughter, Rachel?”

  There were gasps. Several jury members shook their heads.

  “Objection!” Winters stood. “These claims have never been substantiated, and furthermore, what does this have to do with the charges against my client?”

  Gregorio turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I’m trying to determine a history of violence
as well as demonstrate to the court the nature of Mr. Delgado’s character, both of which are very relevant to this case.”

  “That’s fine, Mr. Gregorio, but please abstain from comments that aren’t provable.” He looked up. “The jury will disregard Mr. Gregorio’s statements concerning his stepdaughter.” But the seed had been planted in the jury’s mind, and this, Jason knew, had been Gregorio’s intention. From now on, Travis Delgado would be seen as a pedophile.

  Gregorio walked toward his desk and pulled out a manila envelope of his own. He looked up at Delgado. “But there are several legal documents that do prove you’ve been charged, and in several cases arrested for …” he paused, thumbing through the pages. “Let’s see … spousal abuse, public intoxication, violence against a minor, and ... assault with a deadly weapon.” He stared at Delgado. “And these are just the incidents that relate to this case. It’s a very long list, Mr. Delgado.”

  “Objection! Your Honor, at the time of these arrests, my client was battling alcohol dependency for which he’s currently seeking treatment.”

  “Objection overruled. Sit down, Ms. Winters.”

  Jacqueline Winters’ jaw flexed, but she sat.

  “In light of all this, Mr. Delgado,” Gregorio continued, “would you mind explaining to me why you think the court should not deem it possible, if not highly probable, that you physically or sexually assaulted Ms. Sturgess in the past?”

  “I never hit Savannah.” Delgado spoke through clenched teeth. “Not even when she asked me to.”

  The jury stirred.

  Gregorio looked at him for several seconds, his disgust apparent. “Why not? Surely you became aware at some point that you weren’t her only lover, and if the antics of an eight and nine-year-old little girl are deserving of your wrath, what stopped you from giving Savannah Sturgess the same treatment? Is it because you - how did Ms. Winters put it? - admired her so much?”

  Winters jumped to her feet to object, but Fitch’s gavel rapped hard, cutting her off. “One more comment like that, Mr. Gregorio,” said the judge, “and you’ll be held in contempt of court.”

  “I apologize to the court, Your Honor,” said Gregorio.

  But his tactics were working: Delgado was seething and red-faced, his eyes boring into the attorney, his upper lip coated in sweat.