Nicole’s pulse spiked, but outwardly she didn’t move.She had known the answer the moment she saw the report, and worried how the jury would react to that information.And justly so.
Judge Price’s gavel cracked like thunder.“Order!I will have order in this courtroom!”
Tripp was on his feet before she could ask her next question.“Objection, Your Honor.”His voice rang sharp across the room.“May we approach the bench?”
Judge Price’s brows lifted, but he gave a curt nod.“Counsel, approach.”
Nicole gathered her notes, then joined Tripp at the bench.
The low hum of the white-noise machine filled the courtroom as Nicole and Tripp stepped up to the bench.Judge Price leaned forward, eyes sharp.
“All right, counsel,” he said in a low growl.“What exactly is going on here?Why is this jury hearing that the murder weapon belongs to someone other than the defendant?”
Nicole spoke first, her voice cool but edged with steel.“It doesn’t matter whose name is on the paperwork.What matters is who kept the gun in that closet, who had the key, who had control.And that was Derrick Reddick.The state arrested him on that basis.”
Tripp braced his hands against the bench, meeting the judge’s gaze.“With respect, Your Honor, the state’s case hinges on tying this gun to my client — and we’ve just heard it’s not his.That fact goes directly to reasonable doubt.”
Judge Price shifted his gaze back to Nicole.“Ms.Reyes, why didn’t the police pursue Mrs.Reddick if the gun was hers?”
Nicole sighed and wondered if they had gone after the wrong person.“Because the totality of the evidence pointed to Derrick.He had a documented argument with the victim the night before.Witnesses placed him at her house.He had scratches on his hands consistent with a struggle.Add the firearm found in his possession, that’s more than probable cause for an arrest.”
Tripp cut in, his tone sharp.“But fingerprints don’t lie, Your Honor.Derrick’s prints weren’t on that gun.It was wiped clean.”
Nicole’s voice rose, tight with control.“A wiped weapon is consistent with consciousness of guilt.The most logical person to clean it would be the person in possession — Derrick Reddick.”
Tripp narrowed his eyes.“Or it proves the state has been looking at the wrong Reddick all along.”
The judge rapped his knuckles against the bench, the sound sharp even over the hum.
“Enough.This isn’t the time for speeches.The evidence about ownership and prints is admissible; the jury will hear it.What weight they give it is their job, not mine.”
Nicole inclined her head.“Understood, Your Honor.”
Tripp gave a clipped nod, but his eyes burned.“Then let the record reflect, Your Honor, that nothing we’ve heard proves my client ever pulled that trigger.”
Judge Price’s mouth twitched, almost a grimace.“The record will reflect it.Now get back to your tables and keep this trial on track.”
The white noise clicked off.The two of them stepped back, masks sliding into place as though nothing had happened.
But Nicole caught the flicker in Tripp’s eyes.She turned back toward the jury box, pulse still racing.
Behind her, Tripp exhaled slowly.He was defending his client with skill.But she couldn’t shake the question now buzzing in her own mind:
Was he also defending his mother?
From the corner of her eye, Nicole saw Evelyn Reddick in the gallery, seated as regally as if she were hosting a luncheon.Her pearls gleamed under the lights, her expression calm, controlled.
It was like staring at Tripp’s mother all over again.The same cold disdain.The same hunger for control.Different woman, same poison.And that’s when it hit her hard.Had Derrick really killed Bianca or had his mother?
Why did it feel like the woman had more to gain from Bianca’s death?
Nicole turned back to the stand.“Mr.Daniels, where did the police find the pistol?”
“In Derrick Reddick’s apartment.”
Nicole’s throat felt tight.“Was it secured?”
Daniels nodded.“In a locked case.”
