“I shut my eyes. I tried to think about something nice. Make pictures up in my head. Flowers. But it hurt, like cramping.”
“Did you tell her to stop?”
Sounding defeated, Nova said, “I didn’t tell her that. Didn’t want her to stop what she was doing. Because I couldn’t be pregnant. I couldn’t have a baby. I got all I can handle, taking care of the kids at home.”
A Black woman on the jury, about my age, shook her head with sorrow. Wiped her eyes. If I could’ve gotten away with it, I’d have joined her. Wished we could hang on to each other and cry it out.
“What else happened that night?”
“I stayed a while after she was done. She told me some things to do, said I’d need to come back and see her. I didn’t pay much attention. I couldn’t go back, not without Mama knowing. So I just went home. Crawled back through the window.”
“Did you get sick after that, Nova?”
I saw her steal a look at the defense table before she answered. “I kept on bleeding. And then I started feeling bad. But I didn’t tell nobody.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid people would find out what I done. All in the world I wanted was for nobody to know. So I just kept on going, like usual. Till that day I got sick. And they took me to the hospital.”
Eleanor Lindquist stepped back, away from the witness stand. “Nova, the person who aborted your baby at her clinic in Union Springs last March, is she in this courtroom today?”
Nova hung her head and whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Point her out for the jury.”
Nova did as she was told, but her hand shook when she pointed the finger at the defense table. “That’s Dr. Bria. Right there.”
Lindquist projected a note of triumph as she said, “Your Honor, may the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant.”
“It shall,” I said.
Nova turned to face me. Looking up at the bench with a plea in her eyes, she said, “Judge Mary, Dr. Bria was good to me. It’s not her fault I got sick. She helped me. She and Nurse Bass both.”
The DA was on his feet, shouting over the girl. “The witness is volunteering information outside of direct examination. I demand that the court instruct the jury to disregard.”
“Sit down,” I told him. When he remained on his feet, I said, “This is your co-counsel’s witness. She’s conducting direct examination. You stay in your chair.”
I turned to Lindquist, who was staring daggers at Nova Jones. “Ms. Lindquist, you may continue.”
“No further questions.”
I nodded at the defense table. “Mr. Meyers, you may inquire.”
CHAPTER
67
Benjamin Meyers was out of his chair, moving toward the witness stand. I kept a sharp eye on him. There are criminal defense attorneys who view vulnerable young witnesses like Nova Jones as fair game. They’ll use cross-examination as an opportunity to scare a girl, confuse her, drag her through the dirt.
Nobody got away with that in my courtroom, though. I didn’t tolerate it. And lawyers in my circuit in Alabama are aware of that. But Meyers was from out of state. Maybe he didn’t know how I roll.
Meyers stopped a few feet away from the stand. When he spoke to Nova, his voice was soft, respectful.
“Nova, I’m Ben Meyers. Dr. Bria’s lawyer. We’ve met before, some months back. Right?”
Nova sniffled. She wiped her nose with a wad of tissue she held. “I remember you.”
“When I talked to you and your mama at y’all’s house, I was told you went to a party and had sexual relations, that’s where you got pregnant. But that’s not what happened, is it?”
