“Coffee’s ready,” said Meyers. He pulled the carafe from the base and poured Bria a fresh cup. “Sugar? Cream?” he asked.
“Nothing,” said Bria. “I want to judge it on its own merits.”
She took a small sip, then another. She smiled. “You’re right, Benjamin Meyers. Youaredomestic.”
Meyers poured a fresh cup for himself. “So what do you think of Nova’s story, the one she gave to the cops? About how she got pregnant?”
Bria toyed with the handle of her mug. “I feel for that girl, you know that. I keep her in my heart, even with everything that’s happening. But—that story doesn’t ring true.”
“How come?” asked Meyers. “In her statement to the police, she said she didn’t know who got her pregnant. Says she was drinking at a high school party and passed out. That doesn’t sound credible to you?”
“I think what she described is a common occurrence. But it’s not what happened to Nova.”
Meyers carried his coffee mug over to the desk. “Based on what?”
Bria followed him and sat down. “Based on what she said that night, in my office. During the procedure.”
“I’m listening,” said Meyers.
“During the physical exam, I asked Nova some basic health questions, explained the procedure to her, made sure she understood what was going to happen, got her consent. At that point, she wasn’t volunteering much information. Pretty much just one-word answers.”
Meyers didn’t interrupt. Just gave an encouraging nod.
“The procedure I performed that night was an aspiration abortion, because Nova was less than fourteen weeks. She was just under the line. It took me about fifteen minutes, maybe a little longer.”
“Wait,” said Meyers. “You said she was talking during the procedure. Wasn’t she sedated?”
“No. It’s standard to perform that procedure without sedation or anesthetic. She was awake. A little uncomfortable, but not in pain.”
Bria closed her eyes. It was all coming back, she could see it like a reel playing in her head. Nova in the stirrups, gripping the sides of the examination table with both hands. Tears running down her face.
“She kept saying, ‘This ain’t my fault! You done this! I hate you, I hate you!’”
“Hatewho?” asked Meyers. “She never said a name?”
“No name. But she kept repeating that she should’ve fought back. I remember her saying: ‘I shoulda kicked the way the Dora Milaje do it. Just like inBlack Panther.Like a warrior.’”
Meyers shook his head, like he didn’t get it. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Bria pushed her chair away from the desk. Stood up, paced the small office. “She didn’t talk about it like a girl who had no memory of what occurred. To me, it sounded like she knew exactly who it was that assaulted her.”
“Bria, even if you’re right, and even if we had the name of the attacker, it wouldn’t make any difference for you. It doesn’t create a defense. There are no exceptions for abortion under Alabama law. Not even for age or rape or incest. You know that.”
“We need to talk to Cocheta Bass. She was the one Nova talked to first. Maybe she knows something I don’t.”
Meyers shook his head. “Cocheta Bass isn’t going to be any help to us.”
“Of course she will. Cocheta and I have been friends since I moved to Union Springs.”
Bria saw Meyers dip his chin toward his chest, like he didn’t want to meet her eyes. “Ben! What’s going on? What do you mean she won’t be any help?”
Meyers looked up. “Bria, she’s testifying against you. Cocheta is a witness for the State.”
In shock, Bria dropped back into her chair. She clutched the edges of the desk, felt the metal dig into her fingers. “No! She wouldn’t!”
“Reeves just notified me today. They offered her a deal for deferred prosecution on the mandated reporter charge in exchange for her testimony in the felony abortion case against you.”
Bria couldn’t speak. Cocheta had turned on her.
