Chapter 28

As soon as Claire left the courtroom, the judge turned to the jury.

"I'm not going to sequester you, because you have not started your deliberations. You may all go home to your families, but you are not to discuss anything you've heard in this case with anyone, under any circumstances. Is that perfectly clear?"

Most of the jury nodded.

"Court will resume at nine-thirty tomorrow morning," he said, and banged his gavel hard on the block.

The gravity of the situation had penetrated all the jurors' minds. Of them all, only Judy Tipton violated the judge's order. She told Francine everything, and Francine, while they made love, told her she had to vote "Not guilty."

"I call Lacey Jean Fetterman," intoned Matthew.

It was so still in the courtroom as she rose and walked toward the witness box that the creaking of the boards under her feet could be heard clearly.

She was sworn in, and the judge took a moment to remind her that despite her apparent willingness to testify, her fifth amendment rights under the constitution still applied. She said she understood and sat calmly waiting for Matthew to begin.

"Why did your husband divorce you?" was his first question.

"I made a statement to a detective after I was raped. I had been told it was important to put in the statement that I'd had an orgasm during the rape. I did that, and my husband got a copy of it. He said I wanted the rape to happen. He called me the same things the rapist had and filed for divorce."

"Prior to this were you having any marital problems?"

"No. Everything was great. We were talking about starting a family."

"Why were you at the intersection of Seventh and Walnut, at four P.M. on Thursday, the seventh of June, this year?"

"I was taking a flash drive with important photographs on it to the museum where I volunteer. The archaeology department needed them as soon as possible. They documented an important find at an archaeological dig downtown."

"And why were you doing volunteer work for the museum?"

"I had to do something to take my mind off of what had happened to me—the rape. I found that if I helped with the dig, I didn't think about the other so much."

"Did you think about it a lot?"

"I thought about it constantly. The only time I ever felt really safe was at the dig, and when I was playing racquetball with Bob."

"Bob," said Matthew. "You mean Officer Duncan?"

"Yes. We ran into each other at the gym one day. He explained some things to me about rapes. I think he was trying to make me feel better. Since we both loved racquetball, we played some games. It turned out we're evenly matched, so we played more games. It became a regular kind of thing. I felt safe there, because he was a policeman."

"How many locks do you have on your door at home?"

"Objection," said Roger, almost tiredly. "He's made his point. She was traumatized by the rape. We understand that. Can we just move on?"

The judge appeared to think about that, and Matthew spoke. "We can move on," he said. "While you were at the afore mentioned intersection, on the afore mentioned date, what happened?"

"I was stuck in traffic. It was all snarled up and we weren't moving. I was about to light a cigarette when another car hit mine. It came from behind and really only glanced off of my car, but then it ran into some other cars ahead of me and flipped over on the sidewalk."

"And what did you do?"

"I didn't know what to do," said Lacey. "I pushed my door open. People were screaming. I went to one car. The people in it said they were OK. There was screaming coming from the car that had hit me and turned over. So I went there, to see if I could help."

"And what happened when you got to the car?"

"I had to get down on my hands and knees. The car was all bent up. He was screaming so horribly, but I couldn't see him at first. Everything was upside down. There was a child's car seat lying in my way, and I moved it. I smelled gasoline. It was dripping on the ground right beside me. And smoke. I smelled smoke. Then the man told me I had to help him. That's when I realized who he was."

"And who was he?"

"He was the man who raped me."

"How could you tell?"

"I recognized his voice. And when I moved the car seat I could see him."

"Did you recognize his face?"

"No. It was covered in blood. But he recognized me. He said, 'YOU!', like he couldn't believe it was me."

"What happened then?"

"I couldn't move. Everything he'd done to me rushed back into my head. He was screaming at me. He screamed some of the same things at me that he had said during the rape."

Tears that had filled her eyes spilled over and ran down her cheeks. She didn't try to wipe them away. It was as if she was paralyzed all over again. Her breathing was ragged. McDill was prepared and offered her a tissue, but her hands stayed in her lap. There was a look of horror on her face.

"What did you do then?" asked McDill, hating himself for asking the question. If he didn't, Schwartz would.

"I couldn't leave," she sobbed. "He wouldn't let me go. He called me a slut and I FELT like a slut all over again. The lighter was still in my hand. He screamed at me again, and I lit it and put it in the puddle of gas."

She broke down then and sobbed. She covered her face with her hands as the sobs wracked her body. It was quiet in the courtroom, except for the sounds she was making. Eventually, by what appeared to be force of will, she began to stop crying. Her hands wiped at her face. She hadn't worn makeup, because she'd known this would happen. She reached for the tissue in McDill's hand and dabbed at her eyes and cheeks with it. She straightened up. Her mouth quivered and her eyes were red, but otherwise she seemed to be in control of herself.

"What else do you remember?" asked McDill.

"After that ... nothing ... until I woke up in the hospital. I didn't remember any of what I just told you until two months ago."

"I only have one other question," said Matthew. "The police called this explosion an accident that resulted from a car chase of a man fleeing in a stolen car. They had closed the case. Were you aware of this when you confessed to killing Mr. Kinneson?"

"I was told that the man who had raped me had died. I found out how after I remembered setting the car on fire."

"If they had already closed the case as an accident, and were no longer interested in it, why did you confess to killing him?"

Lacey's lip wasn't quivering any more. She was in full control of herself again.

"Because what I did was wrong," she said.

Roger's mind whirled. He'd been so anxious to cross examine this woman. But her testimony had already spoken to all the questions he had for her. He'd expected her to hedge, and to say she was afraid for her life or some such nonsense. Instead, her confession in person was even better than her confession on tape. All he could think of to do was hammer home the salient points of the law. He went and picked up the plastic bag with the lighter in it.

"Is this your cigarette lighter?" he asked. He tried to hand it to her, so the jury would see it in her hand, but she didn't take it.

"Yes. The initials L.J.G. stand for my maiden name, Lacey Jean Griggs."

"Is this the lighter you used to start the fire that killed Gilbert Kinneson?"

"Yes."

"Was Mr. Kinneson armed with a weapon when you started that fire?"

"No."

"So ... what you're saying, Mrs. Fetterman, is that you recognized Gilbert Kinneson, who was helpless and in pain, bleeding freely from an unfortunate accident, and instead of helping him ... you killed him."

"Objection!" shouted McDill.

"Basis?" asked the judge.

"The prosecutor has characterized the accident that disabled Mr. Kinneson as 'unfortunate, ' when in fact he was fleeing the scene of ANOTHER rape in the victim's stolen car!"

"Overruled," snapped the judge. He turned to the jury. "What you have just witnessed is the dismal attempt of two attorneys to sway the jury using inflammatory language. I want you to ignore that childish behavior." He turned back to the attorneys. "And if either of you pull that crap in my court again, I'll throw you in jail for contempt. Is that clear?"

"Yes, your honor," said McDill, sitting down.

Roger simply stood, looking at Lacey. When she didn't say anything, he prompted her.

"The judge overruled your attorney's objection. Please answer the question."

Lacey was crying again, but this time she wiped ineffectually at her cheeks.

"Yes," she said tightly.

"No further questions," said Schwartz. He held out the bag with the lighter in it, as if he was afraid it might contaminate him, and slowly returned it to the evidence table.

Judge Gunderson looked at McDill, who was slumping in his chair, looking dejected.

"Counselor?" he asked.

"I have no further witnesses," said Matthew. "The defense rests."

The judge looked at Schwartz. "Deliver your closing argument."

Roger got up and smiled, going to stand in front of the jury.

"The facts are clear. The accused put flame to a pool of gasoline and burned another human being to death. She did it intentionally, and she knew what she was doing when she lit that lighter. She had no right to kill him, but she decided to do so anyway.

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