“Your honor!” Drake was on his feet again. “Are we really going to listen to this fairy tale, this ghost story, all day?”
The judge looked at Paulus, skeptical. “Are you going anywhere in the real world with this, counselor?”
Paulus glanced at me, sighed, then answered. “I could continue, but at this point the testimony would amount to hearsay on Mr. Jurgen’s part. I’m happy to leave it here. For now.” He sat down.
Rizzola cocked an eyebrow. “For now. Very well.” She turned to Drake. “Would you care to cross examine, Mr. Drake?”
I was more nervous than before. I looked for Rachel. She shrugged, but gave me a thumbs up for confidence. It didn’t help.
“Mr. Jurgen, do you need a short break?” the judge asked.
I shook my head. “I’m fine.” But my throat was scratchy. I’d been testifying for what felt like hours, even though it was probably just 20 minutes. “Uh, could I have some water?”
The bailiff brought me a bottle. I took a sip. Lemon flavor. “Thank you.”
Drake stood up. “Mr. Jurgen, how long have you been a private detective?”
I had to do some quick math in my head. “Close to eight years. I was a reporter before that. I did some investigative work for a law firm before starting my business.”
He nodded, looking down at an open file folder on the table in front of him. Then he looked up at me. “You have a reputation for, what? Unusual cases?”
“Sometimes.” I nodded. “Mostly it’s just background checks, surveillance, stuff like that.”
“But you have encountered—or you claim to encounter—the supernatural.”
I restrained a frown. “I don’t use that on my website, or anywhere else. But I guess it’s out there. People find me.”
“So, you’ve seen . . .” He paused for effect. “Ghosts?”
Here it comes. “I have seen ghosts. Talked to dead people.”
“Demons?”
“Yeah. Several exorcisms.”
“Zombies?”
I could sense the jury becoming more interested. “A few.”
“Vampires?”
I hesitated. The Chicago police have a whole squad for vampire affairs, but they don’t like me talking about it. “I’m actually not allowed to discuss vampires. I signed a nondisclosure agreement.”
Drake cocked his head. “With who?”
“That’s covered by the nondisclosure agreement.”
“Huh.” He was skeptical. Most people are. “So you’re saying you have a lot of experience with the paranormal.”
“I’m under oath. So, yes.”
I saw Rachel smile.
He turned to the jury, but spoke to me. “And you expect the court to believe that you’ve seen ghosts? Demons? Vampires, even if you can’t talk about them?”
At least he hadn’t brought up the giant killer chickens. “Like I said, I was a reporter. I report the facts, the truth. Whether anyone accepts it is up to them.”
“And the ‘fact’ is that you saw the ghost of this, this Clark Weston, in the defendant’s apartment?” He lifted his eyebrows for a theatrical effect.
“It was her sister’s apartment, actually. But, yes.”
“Do you have any proof to offer?”
I dug into my pocket. “I took a picture.”
Drake snorted, but I got out my phone, held it up, and showed him the single image I’d snapped of Clark in Clarissa’s living room. For a ghost, he took a decent photo. I’d half-expected him not to show up, like a vampire in a mirror.
“I can pass it around to the jury, if you want,” I offered. “I just have to ask that nobody scroll through the other pictures.” I’d already deleted the pictures Rachel didn’t want anyone to see, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
Drake peered at the phone. “Mr. Jurgen, we’ve all seen pictures. Photoshop can do some amazing things. I don’t think we need to waste the jury’s time with—”
“Objection, your honor.” Paulus’s tone was mild. “It’s not up to Mr. Drake to determine what the jury sees.”
“No,” the judge said. “It’s up to me. You may display the picture on redirect or in your closing if you want, Mr. Paulus. For now, the witness may keep his phone in his pocket.”
“There’s only the one picture?” Drake asked.
“He wasn’t there long.”
“Of course.” He smirked. “One picture, and your word.”
“Under oath,” I said.
“Under oath.”
I waited for more questions, but the prosecutor turned back to his desk. “That’s all, your honor.”
The judge looked at Paulus, who shook his head. “The witness is excused.”
Relief. I stood up, made my way out of the witness box, and joined Rachel in the gallery, I probably wasn’t supposed to stay—lawyers don’t like witnesses to hear other testimony in case it affects their own—but no one objected.
“How’d I do?” I sat down.
Rachel shrugged. “Okay. But I’m biased.”
The judge looked at Paulus. “Well, counselor?”
He looked over at his client. “I’d like to call Jordyne Sail now.”
She told the story. Coming home, being attacked by her husband, getting rescued. She cried. Wiped her eyes and went on until she finished.
The jury watched her closely. Sympathetic? Skeptical? I couldn’t tell.
Paulus let her get composed again. Then he said, “You realize, Ms. Sail, that your story is hard to believe.”
Jordyne stared at him. “It’s true.”
“You were meeting with—a ghost.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And Clark Weston’s ghost saved you? Hit your husband across the head—”
“He didn’t mean to kill him. He doesn’t—he can’t always control himself.” Jordyne glanced at the jury, then went back to Paulus. “He just wanted to help me.”
Paulus nodded. “Thank you.”
Drake didn’t bother to cross examine. He probably figured her own testimony was damaging enough. Jordyne went back to the table
“Well, counselor?” The judge crossed her arms. “Do you have another witness?”
I got nervous again. Paulus looked at Jordyne, squeezed her hand, and stood up. “One more witness, your honor.”
He turned to the gallery. Looked at me like an annoying gnat. Then he took a deep breath, leaned back, and said, “I call Clark Weston to the stand.”
A moment passed. Two.
Drake snorted. “Your honor, with all due respect for counsel’s commitment to this farce, I assume we won’t be waiting long for this ‘witness’ to ‘appear.’' He used sarcastic finger quotes. Then he frowned, as if thinking seriously. “Hmm. How would one serve a subpoena on a ghost, I wonder?”
Paulus looked at Jordyne. She shrugged, helpless. Scared. “Your honor, I beg the court’s indulgence—”
“I’ve been plenty indulgent with you, counsel.” Judge Rizzola’s voice was stern. “It’s time to move on.”
“A moment, please, your honor.” Paulus held up a hand. I could see his eyes flickering around the courtroom desperately. Joydyne’s eyes were closed, her hands clenched. Her lips moved silently. Clark, Clark . . .
The judge waited. Five seconds. Then she banged her gavel. “It’s been a moment, Mr. Paulus. Call a real witness, rest your case, ask for a recess, whatever—but stop wasting the court’s time.”
Paulus sighed. It had been a long shot. “Thank you, your honor. I only meant—”
Jordyne jabbed a finger at his arm. “Clark,” I heard her say softly. “Clark!”
“Excuse me?” The voice came from the back of the courtroom. Drake and Paulus turned. The judge looked past the gallery. I peered over the heads of the people me, some of them turning too.
Clark Weston was standing in front of the doors as if he’d just heard his name.
Paulus’s eyes widened. Jordyne smiled.
The gallery was only half full, maybe less. One woman gasped. A man dropped his jaw, then shut his mouth and checked his eyeglasses. A young woman went back to gazing at her phone. A reporter frantically jabbed at her laptop. Clarissa, two rows behind Rachel and me, just stared.
Rachel nudged me with her elbow. I looked at her.
She shook her head.
What? I leaned forward, but she pressed a finger to her lips and shook her head again. “It’s—” She stopped. “Later.”
Rachel’s psychic. I trust her feelings. I wanted to ask her what was going on, but she wasn’t going to talk now if she didn’t want to. And getting into an argument would only make things worse.
Drake turned back to the judge. “Your honor—”
“Very funny.” Rizzola banged her gavel again. ”Remove yourself from this courtroom, sir, or I’ll have you held in contempt!”
“No!” Jordyne squealed. “Clark, don’t—”
But Clark vanished. Not through the door. Just disappeared in the air.
A low buzz ran through the courtroom. The reporter paused in her clicking. The young woman lifted her phone, as if trying to take a picture of the empty space where Clark had been. Even Rizzola looked puzzled.
She quickly recovered, motioning to the two opposing lawyers. “Come forward.”
As they approached the bench, I turned to Rachel. “What’s going on?”
“Later,” she whispered again.
Judge Rizzola stood up. “We will be taking a recess. I’ll see both attorneys in chambers, along with the defendant, per counsel’s extremely unorthodox request.” She zeroed in on me. “Mr. Jurgen, you’re in there too. No dawdling.”
I stood up. I’d been expecting this, but not hoping for it. “Wish me luck.”
“Should I come?” She stood too, as Drake whispered to his assistant and Paulus talked quietly to Jordyne Sail.
I wanted her for support, but I shook my head. “No point in you getting into trouble.”
She rolled her eyes. “Brilliant. Whatever.” But she squeezed my hand. “Don’t say anything stupid in there.”
“Who, me?” I grinned and dodged her punch.
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