“Almost three years.”
Clayton questioned Joshua at length about his educational background, his experience as a clinical psychologist, and his published works. Then he asked: “Doctor Abrams, could you describe to the jury the events of November eighth of this year?”
“I worked late that day. An unscheduled patient had come to my office needing to see me at the last minute, so I stayed to talk with them.”
“And what time did that patient arrive?”
“I sent a text to my husband at five fifty-seven p.m. telling him that I would be late getting home. My patient had arrived just a few minutes before that.”
“And what time did you leave the clinic?”
“I left at approximately six-thirty.”
“Let the record show,” Norman told the jury, “that security tapes obtained from the Rainier Clinic show that Doctor Abrams left the premises at six thirty-eight p.m.” He turned back to Joshua. “And did you go directly home after you left the clinic?”
“No. I drove to the Culbreth Theater. A friend of ours who works at the theater had left his jacket in my car. I stopped there to return it.”
“And where did you park?”
“I parked in the Culbreth Road Parking Garage, then walked across Culbreth Road to the sidewalk that runs next to the theater.”
“And what happened next?”
“I was walking toward the theater entrance when something was forced over my head from behind. I now know it was a black leather hood. I struck out, trying to fight off the assailant, and I managed to kick and elbow him while yelling at the top of my lungs. He grabbed the hood and a fistful of my hair from behind and dragged me backwards in a semi-circle. I was off balance and stumbling. I yelled for help, trying to fight him off, but he began to pound my face repeatedly with his fist. I fell onto something hard, a stone wall I believe, which—I found out later—broke my right arm and tore ligaments in my left knee. He punched me again, this time hitting me directly on my jawbone.” Joshua indicated the area on his face still marred by a faint bruise. “And that’s when I passed out.”
Joshua shot a quick glance at Colin and frowned. He had bowed his head, and his hands were clasped in front of him so tightly that his knuckles were white.Hearing all this must be horrible for him.
“And when you regained consciousness, where were you?” Clayton continued.
“I’m not entirely sure where I was. I now know that I was behind my abductor’s car. I couldn’t see anything. He had bound my hands while I was unconscious and when I screamed for help, he immediately stuffed a wet cloth into my mouth. Then he hoisted me into the trunk and slammed it shut.”
“And how long were you in the trunk?”
“I’m not sure. It’s hard to gauge time in a situation like that. I tried to focus on what I was hearing, what direction he turned, how much time had passed. But I was groggy and not able analyze what was happening.”
“And what happened when you arrived at your destination?”
“He dragged me out of the trunk and threw me to the ground. Then he grabbed my arm and dragged me into a building. At the time I had no idea where I was or what building I was in. I was bound, gagged, and still had the hood over my head.”
“And what were your feelings at that time, Doctor Abrams?”
“I was terrified. I wasn’t sure who had abducted me. I had recently been threatened by the husband of one of my patients and at that time thought it might be him. I knew my life was in danger no matterwhoheld me captive. I was badly injured, in a lot of pain, and unable to move. The rag in my mouth made it hard to even take in a breath. I felt as though I was suffocating.”
Norman Clayton moved a wheeled bulletin board across the floor until it sat in plain view of both Joshua and the jury members. “Doctor Abrams, I’m going to put several images on this board for the jury members to examine. Can you please describe what we’re seeing in these pictures?
Clayton pinned several eight by ten images on the board, all photographs of Joshua’s face and head wound, taken as he lay unconscious in the University Hospital trauma room on the night of the kidnapping.
Joshua sucked in a trembling breath and swallowed hard. Until this very moment he had not been aware that these images existed. Seeing them now nearly took his breath away. He shot a quick glance at Colin, but his husband had averted his eyes and was staring down at the top of the desk.
“Those are,” he faltered, then grasped the railing which surrounded the witness chair and choked out a halting breath. “Those are pictures of me taken after I was transported to the University Hospital emergency room on the night I was kidnapped.”
“Do these photos reflect a fair and accurate depiction of how your face and head looked the night the incident took place?”
“They do.”
“Can you describe the injuries you sustained the night you were kidnapped?”
“I received a grade 3 concussion, three cracked ribs, my right arm was broken, both eye sockets received multiple fractures, I have torn ligaments in my left knee,” Joshua paused and gestured to the images on the board. “And as you can see, my face was covered with bruises, lacerations, and swelling from being severely beaten.”
