Boston's Man-Eater

XLVI

Ryan took the lead, and purposefully cleared his throat.

"Often times, we find ourselves stuck in the midst of unfortunate events simply because the timing proved to be unfavorable. Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, under the law that my client is presumed innocent until proven guilty, my case is one that shows evidence to prove that the defendant had no connection or relation with the murders and was just found to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Here I will demonstrate and give you witnesses and hearings from people who seek to pave way to true justice, and show that my client is an honest woman who should not plead guilty."

An absolute silence fell upon them—fell upon us. I could hear my blood work through the vessels from a distance.

The camera pointed back to Prudence and the clerk perched up the bench. The former leaned into the microphone.

"The prosecution may call its first witness."

Oh, how my heart was threatening to burst out of my chest.

"The People call upon the defendant's roommate," Benson's voice boomed in the court house.

When the Bailiff took the timid Hispanic woman to the witness stand, hushed whispers emerged, and Prudence banged her gavel against the desk.

"Order in the court house," she instructed authoritatively, and the previous silence blanketed them.

"Please stand and raise your hand," the clerk said, and she quickly shot up from the seat with her hand rigidly sticking in the air.

Jeez.

"You do solemnly state that the testimony you may give in the cause now pending before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"I do," she replied shakily.

"Please state your first and last name."

"Alejandra Ramírez," she said as the transcriber furiously typed away.

"You may be seated."

"Please spell your first and last name for the record," he called, and she did with an uncertainty that made me pity her.

I understood the kind of pressures and stresses that came with it, and I don't think I would've wanted to be in her place either.

Benson stood up and approached the witness stand as her calculating eyes stared at him.

"Alejandra, where do you stay?"

"At my apartment in Olive Lane with Madison."

"Were you home on the night of September 30th?"

"Yes, I was."

"Was Madison at home on the night of September 30th?"

"No, she didn't sleep at home that night."

"Did she tell you where she was going?"

"By the time I came home from work that evening, she had already left."

"And when she returned, did you notice anything peculiar?"

"She just seemed depressed and wanted some isolation."

"What about her outfit?" He questioned and she gazed at her hands with pain.

God, no.

"She had a red dress and shoes on," she mumbled and gasps filled the room and our boardroom as well.