"Let me in," he persisted, the doorknob jiggling gently.
"I locked it," she stated, flat. Not just the door, but her heart too, encased in ice.
"Please," he tried again, his presence a weight against the other side.
"Goodnight, Will," she said, finality lacing the farewell, the evening sun casting long shadows across the bed.
"Angela…."
"Goodnight," she repeated, stronger, a full stop to their day's tumultuous sentence.
The house settled around her, creaks and groans of a structure strained, mirroring the tension that clung to her like a second skin. Silence enveloped her, a temporary reprieve, but under the calm surface, her anger simmered, unresolved, threatening to boil over once more.
Chapter 24
The heavy doors swung open,a silent herald to my purposeful strides. The courtroom's solemn air wrapped around me, the weight of expectation pressing against my chest. I scanned the room—a sea of stern faces, a judge perched like an omniscient observer, and a jury cloaked in civic duty.
Will Jennings sat at the defense table, his polished exterior a stark contrast to the tension that rippled through his frame. Our eyes met. I approached, heels clicking on the courtroom floor, each step measured, resounding through the silence. As I drew nearer, a brief nod passed between us—a silent exchange of solidarity. He exhaled softly, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, acknowledging the unspoken vow hanging in the air.
"Let's get this over with," I whispered, more to myself than to him.
His gaze held mine for a moment longer. "Thank you, Eva Rae," he murmured almost imperceptibly.
I turned away from him, facing forward, ready for battle.
The prosecutor's voice sliced through the courtroom, clinical and detached. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Carol Rudolphsaw it all. She witnessed Will Jennings, in a fit of rage, push his wife Angela down the stairs—a fatal act."
A collective breath seemed to be held, the jury leaning in as if on cue, hanging onto every word that painted Will as a cold-blooded spouse slayer.
"Murder," the prosecutor pronounced with finality, "plain and simple."
I felt my pulse quicken, adrenaline surging as I prepared to dismantle their case brick by brick. My fingers brushed over the neatly stacked evidence at my side. The moment had come, and it was mine to seize.
"Your Honor," I said, standing. My voice didn't waver; it rang out, commanding the room. "I have compelling evidence that calls for immediate dismissal of this case."
The courtroom hushed. Even the air seemed to pause, waiting.
“Objection,” sounded from the prosecutor. “She’s not his lawyer.”
“Who are you?” the judge asked.
I held up my badge. “FBI Agent Eva Rae Thomas. I’ve been looking into this case for some time now.”
“Your honor, she can’t just”
The judge held up a hand to stop him, and he sat back down.
“I’ll allow it,” the judge said. “But it better be good.”
“It is, Your Honor,” I said.
I held up the plane tickets first—crisp, undeniable proof. "These are plane tickets for Carol Rudolphfor a flight to New York City, dated May 14th, three years ago." I let that sink in, then placed them decisively on the bench in front of me.
"Furthermore," I continued, confidence peaking as I switched on my laptop and turned it so they could see, "this is video surveillance from JFK Airport showing Ms. Rudolph on the day before Angela Jennings' supposed murder."
The footage, unyielding in its truth, flickered to life on the wall behind me, Carol Rudolph unmistakable among throngs of travelers.
"Why is this important?" I pivoted to face the jury, their eyes wide, fixated. "Because the entire case hinges on her testimony that she saw Will push his wife on the morning of May 15, three years ago."
