Page 117 of Defend Me

“I was born here,” he says proudly. “My mother was a teacher at Magnolia Bay High School and my father worked at the old shoe factory before it closed down in the eighties. I moved to Florida a year ago to be closer to my daughter and grandchildren.”

“So you know the people of the town well,” I say.

“Very well. This community has always been a second family to me. That’s why I left Jake Stein the Crooked Screw—that’s the wine bar I used to own. Jake worked there for many years. He was like my own grandson.” He gives Jake a nod and a smile.

“Did you know the defendant, Noah Patterson?”

“I did indeed. A fine young man.”

“Mr. Sanderson, where were you on the morning of June twenty-second, the morning Marion Everton was murdered?”

“I was out on the bay in my boat,” he says. “Looking for a Lazuli Bunting. It’s a rare bird,” he explains to the jury. “Not seen in Long Island for years and years. I was hoping to catch a glimpse. I’m an avid birder.”

“And what method were you using to capture the sighting of this bird?”

“I had my video camera with me,” Mr. Sanderson says jovially. “I record all my birding excursions.”

I hold up the USB drive. “Your honor, I would like to enter this video recording into evidence.”

“Objection, your honor,” Wilbur says, leaping to his feet. “How do we know this video is authentic?”

“Mr. Sanderson himself is here to authenticate it,” I say. “But if you would like to have someone from your office examine it, we’ve made copies and are happy to turn over the original as well.”

I hand him another USB drive.

“I—well,” Wilbur stammers.

The judge shifts in his seat as the jury’s eyes ping back and forth among the three of us. There’s nothing more compelling than video and I can sense the judge knows that denying the entry of this evidence is a bridge too far, even for someone with his level of bias. It would get overturned on appeal and even lead to a censure. Not a good look for someone running for reelection.

“Objection overruled,” he says.

I hand the original drive to Grayson and he plugs it into his computer so that it projects onto the screen for the jury to see.

“Mr. Sanderson, is this the video you took the morning of June twenty-second?”

“It is,” he says confidently. “You can see the time and date stamp there at the bottom.”

I nod at Grayson. The video starts. When Noah appears on the screen, there’s a collective gasp from everyone in the courtroom. The judge bangs his gavel for silence.

“Mr. Sanderson,” I continue, my pulse kicking up a notch. There’s nothing like this feeling, the adrenaline of victory. “What does the timestamp say at this moment in the video?”

“Six twenty-two am,” he declares.

“And to your knowledge, at what time was my mother was shot?” I ask. I told him last night, and the time of death has already been presented to the jury by the coroner.

“I have been told it was at six twenty-four am.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say, then I turn to the judge. “Your honor, I move for an immediate dismissal of all charges. There is simply no possible way my client could have committed the crime of which he was accused. Unless he has somehow developed the ability to time travel, he could not have been in the Everton backyard at six twenty-four am to shoot my mother when he was on his own dock, a seven-minute drive away, only two minutes prior.”

I can feel the courtroom holding its breath. The judge is looking at the video in consternation. He glances at Wilbur, who is utterly nonplussed. I see Wilbur briefly look behind him and meet eyes with Sheriff Briggs. The sheriff’s face is slack with shock.

“Mr. Jenkins?” the judge says. “Have you any objection to raise?”

“I…I…” Wilbur struggles for a moment. He knows he’s beaten. He has no valid objections, so his choices are go to verdict—which he’ll lose—or attempt to salvage this situation on cross. Which he can’t. A video doesn’t lie.

He gives up. “No, your honor.”

Judge Warner seems to chew on this for a moment. I know he’s also weighing the options. But his choices are the same as Wilbur’s. And even if he were to somehow try and strongarm a guilty verdict, I’d win on appeal in a heartbeat, and he would lose all credibility. I hold my breath, my heart in my throat.

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