“And if he didn’t listen?”
“Then we’d have another conversation,” Gunner said. “A more persuasive one.”
“Are you threatening—”
“I’m not threatening shit,” Gunner interrupted, his tone ice-cold. “I’m telling you what we would’ve done if Simon or Sadie had asked. We protect our own. That’s what we do.”
Rosalind took a step back, and I could see the unease in her posture. “Mr. Jefferson, isn’t it true that your club has a reputation for violence?”
“We have a reputation for loyalty,” Gunner corrected, his eyes hard as flint.
“Didn’t your club have a mass casualty event at yourclubhouse last summer?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant,” I shouted.
“Your Honor, I am trying to establish the type of company Mr. Nelson keeps and the influence that might have on his state of mind.”
“Lady, if Simon or Sadie had allowed any fucking influence from my club, we wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
Gasps went out around the room, and my club brothers in the back stomped their feet. Judge Markham banged the gavel and stood up. “ORDER IN MY COURT!” he shouted.
The courtroom quieted. Several jurors stared at Gunner with wide eyes, and I could see the shift; some looked intimidated, others looked intrigued. Rosalind looked as if she wanted to be anywhere else.
“No further questions,” she said abruptly, turning on her heel and returning to her seat.
Judge Markham looked at me. “Redirect, Mr. Gallagher?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Jefferson, you’re excused.”
Gunner stood, his massive frame unfolding from the witness chair. He walked past the defense table, and as he did, he placed one enormous hand on Simon’s shoulder for just a moment, a gesture of solidarity, of support.
Simon looked up at him, his eyes shining, and mouthed,Thank you.
Gunner nodded once, then returned to his seat in the gallery.
I glanced at the jury. Some of them looked uncomfortable; others looked thoughtful. Rosalind had tried to paint Gunner as a criminal, but all she’d done was show the jury that Simon had people who cared about him, people who would’ve helped if he’d asked. People who would have done what Simon did, without putting him and Sadie at risk.
And that was exactly what I needed them to see.
Chapter Thirty
Matlock
I stood, buttoning my jacket. “The defense calls Beatrice Allen to the stand as an expert witness.”
There was a murmur in the courtroom as Beatrice made her way forward. She was in her eighties, with her white hair pulled back in a bun and sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. She walked with the confidence of a woman who’d lived long enough not to care what anyone thought of her. And that was exactly what I needed.
Before she could be sworn in, Rosalind shot to her feet.
“Objection, Your Honor. Ms. Allen is not qualified to testify as an expert witness. She has no formal credentials, no advanced degrees, and is not a licensed psychologist, social worker, or any other recognized professional in the field of domestic violence or relationship dynamics.”
Judge Markham looked at me. “Mr. Gallagher?”
I stepped forward. “Your Honor, Federal Rule of Evidence 702 allows expert testimony if the witness has specialized knowledge that will help the jury understand the evidence. The rule doesn’t limit expertise to formal academic credentials or professional licenses. In Kumho Tire Co. v. Carmichael, the Supreme Court ruled that the definition of expert testimony should be expanded beyond scientific knowledge to include experience-based expertise, provided it’s reliable and relevant.”
I gestured toward Beatrice. “Ms. Allen has lived in Diamond Creek for eighty-two years. She’s observed countless relationships, witnessed patterns of behavior, and has become someone this community confides in, both as a longtime residentand as someone who worked in a profession where people talk. Her specialized knowledge isn’t academic; it’s experiential. She’s observed human behavior, relationship dynamics, and patterns of abuse in this specific community for longer than most of us have been alive.”
