Page 98 of Matlock
“He was abusin’ her,” Beatrice said without hesitation. “Controllin’ her, isolatin’ her, hurtin’ her. And it was gettin’ worse. That girl changed; she stopped smilin’.” Beatrice locked her eyes on Sadie. “Girl always had the prettiest smile of anyone in town. Pure sugar that girl was.” She cut back to me. “She stopped talkin’ to people, though. Started coverin’ up more. That’s what abusers do. They break you down piece by piece until you don’t even recognize yourself no more.”
“Thank you, Ms. Allen. No further questions.”
Rosalind stood, her expression tight. She approached Beatrice with barely concealed irritation.
“Ms. Allen, you’re not a licensed psychologist, are you?”
“No, dear,” Beatrice said sweetly. “But I’ve got eyes and a brain, which is more than I can say for some people.”
A few people in the gallery laughed, and Rosalind’s face flushed.
“You have no formal training in identifying domestic violence, correct?”
“I’ve got eighty-two years of trainin’,” Beatrice said, her tone turning sharp. “I’ve watched women in this town suffer for years at the hands of men who claimed to love them. I’ve seen the bruises, heard the excuses, attended the funerals. If you think a piece of paper makes someone more qualified to recognize abuse than lived experience, then you’re even more foolish than you look.”
Rosalind’s jaw tightened. “Ms. Allen, you testified that you saw a bruise on Sadie Nelson’s wrist. But she told you it was from something else, didn’t she?”
“She made an excuse,” Beatrice said. “That’s what women do. They protect their abusers because they’ve been made to believe it’s their fault.”
“But you’re speculating about what she was thinking, aren’t you? You’re making assumptions based on limited observation.”
Beatrice fixed Rosalind with a look that could have frozen Hell. “Young lady, I’ve lived in this town for eighty-two years. I’ve seen more relationships, more abuse, more tragedy than you’ve had hot meals. When I say that man was dangerous, I ain’t speculatin’. I’m tellin’ you what I know. And if you had half the sense God gave a goose, you’d listen.”
Rosalind’s face went red. “Ms. Allen, isn’t it true that you’re simply biased in favor of Simon Nelson because he’s your hairdresser?”
“Oh, honey,” Beatrice said with a pitying smile. “I’ve had a lot of hairdressers over the years. Some good, some terrible. But Simon is a good man who was tryin’ to protect his sister from a monster. Iffin’ you can’t see that, then I feel sorry for you. I truly do.”
“You’re not answering my question—”
“I answered it just fine,” Beatrice interrupted. “You just didn’t like the answer. That’s not my problem, dear. That’s yours.”
Rosalind opened her mouth, then closed it again. She tried a few more questions, but Beatrice deflected each one with the kind of sharp, no-nonsense responses that made Rosalind look foolish for even asking.
“No further questions,” Rosalind finally said, her voice clipped.
Beatrice stood, smoothed her dress, and walked back to her seat in the gallery with her head held high.
By the time Rosalind sat down, she looked like she wanted to throw something.
I stood, feeling the momentum building. “The defense calls Savannah Reed to the stand.”
There was a pause, a moment of confusion in the courtroom. Rosalind stood immediately.
“Objection!” she shouted. “Your Honor, Savannah Reed was not on the defense’s witness list.”
I kept my expression neutral, controlled. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. The calculated risk that would eitherbreak Rosalind’s case wide open or blow the whole thing up in my face.
I stood smoothly, buttoning my jacket. “Your Honor, Ms. Reed was only located this morning. I received confirmation of her willingness to testify less than two hours ago. Given the significance of her testimony, I’m requesting the court’s permission to call her as a witness.”
Judge Markham’s eyes met mine for a fraction of a second. I could see the calculation there. He knew what I was doing. He looked at Rosalind, then back at me. “Approach.”
I walked to the bench with measured confidence, Rosalind beside me, her jaw tight with barely controlled fury.
“Your Honor,” Rosalind hissed, keeping her voice low. “This is highly irregular. The defense had ample time to locate witnesses—”
“Ms. Reed was in a different county,” I interrupted calmly. “My investigator only tracked her down yesterday evening. She was hesitant to come forward, given her history with the victim, but she has agreed to testify. This testimony is crucial to establishing the pattern of abuse that—”
“Pattern of abuse that the defense has been trying to manufacture since day one,” Rosalind cut in. “Your Honor, this is prejudicial and—”
