Nicole let the silence linger, watching the jurors’ eyes shift down to their notepads.Good.Let them picture it.Let them feel the vulnerability of a woman shielding her unborn child.
“Was a murder weapon recovered at the scene?”
“No, ma’am.The scene was clean.However, under forensic lighting, we located fibers and two strands of hair.”
“Whose hair did you find?”
“One strand matched the victim.The other matched Mr.Reddick.”
A sharp rustle went through the jury box, one juror biting her lip, another jotting down furiously.Nicole kept her expression neutral.Inside, she allowed herself one small flicker of satisfaction.
“Did you examine the victim’s phone?”
“Yes.We recovered several text messages between Mr.Reddick and the victim regarding her pregnancy.”
“The prosecution moves to admit Exhibit One,” Nicole said, lifting the transcript.
The judge nodded, and the texts flashed on the courtroom screen.Nicole’s gaze stayed on the jury, watching their faces as the words scrolled:
Reddick:We used condoms.That baby can’t be mine.
Laurent:Do you think I’m sleeping with anyone else?
Reddick:Well, it’s not my baby.
Laurent:Condoms break.You remember the night one tore.This baby is yours, and I’m upset you’d doubt me.
Reddick:This isn’t a good time to have a baby.Let’s consider an abortion.
Laurent:I’m not getting an abortion.If you don’t want me and the baby, that’s fine.
Nicole stayed still, letting the words hang in the air.Better the jury sees his direct words than hear them from me.
“After reviewing those texts and finding the hair at the scene, what was your next step?”
“We obtained a warrant to search Mr.Reddick’s apartment.”
“What did you find?”
“We recovered a firearm from his closet.”
Later, she had a firearms expert who would give testimony on the gun.
“Were Mr.Reddick’s prints on the gun?”
“No.It had been wiped, but there was no question—it was the weapon.”
Nicole then guided him through the details: forensic report requests, gunshot residue, and DNA evidence consistent with Reddick’s.
A ripple of unease moved through the gallery.Nicole gave a curt nod.“Thank you, Detective.No further questions, Your Honor.”
She glanced across the aisle, catching Tripp’s steady gaze.Your move.“Your witness.”
Tripp rose slowly, buttoning his jacket, every movement deliberate.A few jurors leaned forward, curious, expectant.He approached the podium with calm authority.
“Detective, were there other messages between my client and Miss Laurent?”
“Yes.”
