Peccatum in Carne: Sins of the Flesh (The Three Sins of Mallory Moore Book 1)

by Coco Mingolelli

  Elisabeth glowered at the display, and stood up to wrap an arm around Dawn. "Ikke trygt, ikke trygt," she taunted. "The girl comes all this way to say that she loves you, and that's all you can say? Besides! Where is Dr. Sheehan now, Mallie? Who is keeping you safe from yourself today?"

  She knew that the doctor had gone to pick up Dawn for her final pre-trial interviews, and that's precisely why Elisabeth had spirited her from the cottage this morning – like ships in the night, and all that.

  Her mocking had its intended effect, though. Mallory turned away to hobble towards another room.

  "Go home!" she shouted, refusing to turn back around.

  "But – " Dawn entreated, taking a few steps towards Mallory. Elisabeth grabbed at her wrist, and tugged her back.

  "I said go! Now!" Mallory wept audibly from the next room.

  Elisabeth's hand snaked down to clasp Dawn's firmly, and squeezed. "Come on then, lille. Let's leave her as she wishes.” She was understandably upset by her friend's actions, but even more so at what it was doing to Dawn.

  Wrenching her hand away, Dawn then wiped an errant tear from her cheek. "Never," she insisted, walking every so cautiously towards Mallory.

  Mallory still refused to turn around, and leaned against a door for support, her leg quivering in pain.

  "I'll only go for now, because I've said what I came to say. I will never, ever leave you," Dawn whispered, resting her hand on the smooth hair draped over Mallory's right shoulder. "I love you, and nothing will ever change that. We'll see each other again soon.”

  When the shoulder beneath her hand began to shake, Dawn spun on her heel, scrambling through the living room and out of the house. She knew that Elisabeth would follow, and wasn't surprised when she heard the door slam shut behind her.

  Outside, the day continued on like any other, folks strolling the sidewalks past Dawn and Elisabeth.

  The people were blithely unaware of why they cried, and hugged each other.

  “Don't cry, ladies. It's such a lovely Sunday!” a vicar called at them, and tipped his hat.

  _____________________________________

  The steps of Teesside Combined Crown Court Centre was a shock of noise. Reporters and spectators alike took photos and recorded the goings on of the early morning session on Wednesday. Inside, the gleaming, polished wood walls and a shining floor gave away that the court house had been cleaned in anticipation of today.

  It did not make Mallory feel welcome, or honored. Rather, she felt in the middle of a three ring circus, and glared openly at those Margaret guided her past. They entered the building from the rear doors, flanked by constables.

  "It's alright, it's alright," the doctor repeated in a low murmur, hoping Mallory would focus on it rather than the cacophony around them.

  Instead of waiting in the witness rooms all morning as usual, Margaret had arranged for Mallory to wait in an adjacent building, away from the noise and shouting questions. Now that opening arguments were set to begin, it was necessary to move.

  She was witness number one in the Crown Prosecution's long list, set to testify immediately after the defense's opening arguments. 'For effect,' the Crown's barrister had gleefully planned.

  Dawn's visit played in a loop in Mallory's mind. She sought to distract herself, and find the strength to keep shuffling along the hallways.

  Once Dawn and Elisabeth left Dr. Sheehan's home, she had sought the comfort of the bed upstairs. It was where she had stayed until Margaret arrived back forty minutes later, muttering about cheeky young women who liked to play games until she rested her gaze upon Mallory clutching her pillows for dear life.

  "She came by here, didn't she?" Margaret asked, worry creasing the wrinkles around her eyes.

  Mallory buried her face into a soft pillow. "I love her. I want to love her, but I can't-"

  A weight settled itself beside her, and a kind hand laid on the top of her head. "You can," the doctor's motherly voice overcame the professional. "You can, and you will."

  "Mallory Moore!" a bailiff shouted.

  She had been leaning against Dr. Sheehan's shoulder, seated in a small room she did not recognize. Mallory sat up to look to the wall clock in a stupor.

  Ever calm, Margaret laced an arm through hers, and assisted Mallory to stand, passing the cane into her waiting hand.

  "Today is Wednesday, September the 1st," she chatted amiably, her tone to throw off any interlopers from thinking what she said was of any import. "You're about to walk into that courtroom, brave and strong. Your name is Mallory Moore, and you are afraid of no man in that room."

  "I am not afraid," Mallory agreed. If Steven Rose tried anything inside the courtroom, nobody could blame her for responding in kind – could they? The idea was preposterous. He couldn't injure her from his seat.

  They moved along the long hallway towards the courtroom, and she was stunned to see it was completely empty now, save three people walking towards where she had come from.

  She squinted against the sunlight that framed the group from the windows at the front of the courthouse atrium. Mallory could make out that it was two constables flanking a petite woman, the silhouette of whom she would know anywhere. Dawn.

  They moved closer as she and Margaret advanced, and Dawn's blue eyes stared deeply into hers as they passed. She looked terrified, and nervous.

  'Amare,' Mallory mouthed silently. 'I love you, too.'

  The look of glorious delight filling Dawn's eyes at that moment would have been gift enough for Mallory to walk merrily to her death.

  Beside her, Margaret inclined her head as they continued on. "She'll be just fine, now," she beamed, her double entendre not lost.

  Two aides opened Courtroom A's enormous doors, and stood aside. As the Crown prosecutor stood to call her to the witness stand, hundreds of faces turned to gawk.

  She did not meet their eyes, but walked straight on, her chin held high and proud.

  'Yes, we will,' she vowed.

  Chapter 21: Veni, Vidi, Volo in Domum Redire

  (I Came, I Saw, I Want to Go Home)

  As Mallory walked down the aisle of Courtroom A and towards her destination of the witness box, her mind focused on anything it could grasp besides her surroundings. She felt the wandering eyes of the assembled press, legal teams, judge, and jury travel her body – from her clench-jawed face, down to her rigid shoulders and beyond.

  The cane she was forced to use for balance was heavy in her hand, and though it robbed her of some dignity, the weight was almost comforting. It could be a useful weapon, not that she expected to need it here.

  The stench of fear pervaded her nose, and she wondered for a moment if it was from herself, the gallery full of people, or both.

  Words from a former teacher, for lack of a better term, came to mind. The man had seen straight through her fears all those years ago in Washington D.C., and had taught her more about the human psyche than any psychology course or shrink ever could.

  "I know you. There's nothing you fear more than to be reflected in someone's eyes," he had said, sidling up to her at the bar.

  Strangely, he laid his hands palm up on the bar top – as if to show her he meant no harm. "It doesn't matter what they see; rage, darkness, malice, sex. They'll tell you that you asked for it, and that's bullshit. It cost you dearly."

  Mallory remembered scowling at him, for his nerve in undressing her so quickly with mere words. It had been weeks since Elisabeth had caught her at The Crux, and while she had acquiesced to her room mate's requests to go to class and not drink at home, Mallory could no longer stay away from the place where no one seemed to judge her.

  Her teacher ignored the disrespect – a freebie, as it were, for he never tolerated it thereafter – and pushed on. "You don't have to be afraid of me, yanno. You and I, we both worry that they'll scream at the monsters hidden deep within our heart; either that, or stupidly crawl inside that same heart and wait to be devoured. "

  She had been educated in how
to rebuff unwanted attention by feigning ignorance – to a point. If one returned fire with ice, desire could be doused quickly. Conversely, if she were to respond with snarling glares of her own, it would only serve to frighten – to intimidate, and not in a good way.

  Fear was a useful tool, but had to be used judiciously. Too much fear instilled into those around you cost more than it was worth.

  "But sometimes, Mallie..." her teacher explained months later, "it's best to show them a bit of the monster."

  A twisted burning danced across her skin, and Mallory knew it to be Steven Rose's deeply set blue eyes, zeroing in on her.

  He must have been seated to her left as she passed the Defense table, but she refused to turn the stare – not yet. Mallory expected Steven to look monstrous: vile, incorrigible, sinister, and downright evil. She hoped he wasn't expecting that she was ready to be monstrous, too.

  She could keep her face cold and impassive, permitting the legal teams to pick her apart piece by piece while sitting in the witness box. But, she wouldn't allow them the satisfaction of such a pliant target.

  Nausea threatened to force her limited breakfast into reappearing. It only solidified her decision as she stepped into the box, and sat down.

  Meeting Steven Rose's smug gaze tit for tat, Mallory smiled broadly. Her eyes told a different story; brimming with avowed hatred. The defense barrister looked as if he might lose his breakfast, as well. Either that, or piss himself.

  'Excellent,' she mused, turning towards the bailiff who approached her with a Bible.

  She would give them fire today. And then, she would go home.

  The bailiff slid the good book onto the edge of the witness box, and motioned for Mallory to place her hand atop it.

  "I do solemnly, sincerely, and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," she vowed. Her voice did not waver, and for that she was thankful.

  The jurors present – seven women and five men of varying races and religions, by their appearances alone – looked on in rapt curiosity as the graying, fifty-something male judge explained to Mallory what would happen next, as if she were a neonate. Surely anyone alive had watched a court drama or two on the telly, but she sat through the unnecessary drivel as politely as she could.

  When the judge had finished with his miniature lesson, he welcomed the Prosecution to question her in their direct examination. It was the same vicious shark of a woman that had tortured Mallory for weeks on end to prepare her for today's testimony, and her glowing green eyes followed the priggish pacing of the barrister as she wandered the bench galley.

  The prosecutor was used to drawing attention in this way, as Mallory noticed the jurors' eyes following her. If she didn't so despise Ms. Emily Baxter, Esq., she might have admired the show of skill.

  Emily's teeth flashed white as she gave a polite smile towards Mallory, who in turn smiled back. Both comprehended that they were players on a stage at the moment, and acted as if they could tolerate the others presence.

  "Good morning, Miss Moore," the Crown's barrister greeted cordially. "As the judge told you, and I'm sure you recall from meeting with me before – I will be asking you questions relevant to the case against the person that the Crown believes to be responsible for a number of crimes against yourself and your family. Do you understand this?"

  Truly, if Ms. Baxter's coddling was any more obvious, Mallory might have responded crisply in offense. But, this was the woman that the courts had assigned to present the case against Steven Rose, so she needed to behave, at least to the jurors' eyes.

  She utilized the tone she might use on a Year 8 student, newly moved away to boarding school and crying for their mother. "Why of course, Ms. Baxter," Mallory simpered, and tilted her head just so.

  When the prosecutor winced for a millisecond before her face toughened, Mallory knew she had struck a chord. Two could play at this game.

  Emily cleared her throat, and faced the witness stand. "Could you please state your name for the court?"

  Looking down at her nails, Mallory adopted an air of boredom, though she was clearly deviating from the script that Ms. Baxter had drilled into her for weeks. "Which one?"

  The prosecutor laughed airily, as if she found the “joke” amusing. The jurors laughed as well, albeit nervously, and Mallory smirked. While it might have appeared that she was subverting the Crown's case, her intentions were quite the opposite. She wanted to dismantle the Defense's line of questioning before the slick man seated next to Steven Rose had even the opportunity to speak.

  "All of them, if you please," the barrister lobbed back, pursing her lips as she began to realize how her day would unfold.

  Shifting in her seat to relieve some of the aching in her still tender thigh, Mallory sighed as if the question were arduous to answer. "While most have known me as Mallory Moore since the year 2004, I was born Lilith Mallory LaFey. School mates and close friends have been known to call me Mallie," she responded cautiously, wanting to only say it once.

  "Mallie..." Ms. Baxter nodded her acknowledgment of the leading answer. "Would some of the medical professionals in the Crown's evidence call you by that name, as well?"

  For all of her nastiness in preparations, Emily Baxter was smart. Mallory had to grant that, following the train of thought fluidly. Emily must know that Mallory was trying to avoid the awful tape that the Defense might use to discredit her. If they could place doubt in the jurors' minds as to why she'd insisted on being called Mallie in it, they might not think her quite so touched in the head as the Defense wanted to present.

  "I suppose so, yes," Mallory replied.

  Crossing the bench galley in quick strides, Ms. Baxter pointed a manicured finger towards the Defense table. "And do you recognize this man, Miss Moore?"

  Mallory swallowed the bile that had crept up in anticipation of that question and nodded. When Steven smiled nonchalantly and gave a little wave, she looked back to the prosecutor.

  "Yes, I do. That is Steven Rose."

  "Who is Steven Rose to you?" the prosecutor followed quickly.

  "Uh – " Mallory looked down at her hands, which had clenched shut so tightly the nails dug into her palms. For a heartbeat, it was all she could do not to half-hobble, half-sprint out of the witness box, and out of the courthouse.

  After she took a few cleansing breaths, Mallory settled into the part of her mind where there was nothing but cold, sharp edges – that desolate wasteland she'd existed in for so many years. It was painful to do so, but the protection Mallory felt was more satisfactory than acting like a coward.

  She found the strength to look up once more, and answered the falsely innocuous inquiry. "He was my parents' friend, long ago. Most recently, I suppose you could describe him as my girlfriend's father. But-" her voice took on a cutting quality, " – most importantly, he is the man I know to have murdered my parents."

  Ms. Baxter stiffened. Mallory had been instructed not to touch on her relationship with Dawn until the Defense did so, so that the prosecutor could redirect after the cross examination. Also left out was what else Steven had done that night, and she purposefully left it hanging. Why the prosecution couldn't simply prove that with the stack of physical evidence they had, along with photographs and forensics, Mallory could not understand.

  "Is that all that you remember of him, Miss Moore?" Emily lead on, and the defense barrister looked ready to strike in objection. "In our previous conversations, you've told me more than that."

  "No, that is not all that I remember of him," Mallory snapped, her temper beginning to show. She allowed it, wanting both Ms. Baxter and those assembled to know that she would not be trifled with, least of all today. "I remember far more.”

  _____________________________________

  When the jurors' expressions ranged from mild surprise to shock that Ms. Baxter might be badgering her own key witness from the start, the prosecutor knew that she had to take an alternative approach
.

  "I'm sorry, Miss Moore," she apologized. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, so we can revisit that question until a little bit later. For now, why don't we talk about you?"

  Looking as though she felt the victor of this little bit of battle, Mallory acquiesced. She and Ms. Baxter went back and forth for nearly thirty minutes – revisiting her years at St. Augusta's as a teenager, touching upon some of the mistreatment she had experienced in the group home for jury sympathy, and moving on to Washington D.C.

  Emily easily maneuvered her prepared testimony questions around the road blocks that Mallory sought to place early on. When she began to ask about Mallory's 'extracurricular activities' in Washington with a small chuckle and a smile, rather than by judging, it took the woman sitting in the witness box a moment to realize that she had wordlessly agreed with laying it all out on the table, so to speak.