Page 99 of Matlock
Judge Markham held up a hand. “Mr. Gallagher, you’re asking me to allow testimony from a witness the prosecution has had no opportunity to prepare for.”
“I understand that, Your Honor. But Ms. Reed’s testimony directly corroborates the defense’s theory of the case. Alan Sanders had a documented history of escalating violence against women. The prosecution has painted my client as a jealous, violent man. Ms. Reed’s testimony will show the jury who the real violent predator was.”
Rosalind’s hands clenched. “Your Honor, if you allow this—”
“I’ll allow it,” Judge Markham said, his voice firm. “But, Ms. Winthrop, you’ll have full latitude on cross-examination. Mr.Gallagher, if this witness doesn’t deliver what you’re promising, I’ll consider sanctions.”
“Understood, Your Honor.”
I turned and walked back to the defense table, keeping my expression neutral even as satisfaction coursed through me. I didn’t look at Simon, but I could feel his eyes on me, could sense his relief.
“Gregory,” Judge Markham said to the bailiff, “please bring the witness in.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Simon
The courtroom doors opened, and Savannah Reed entered. She was in her early thirties, with dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and a nervous expression. She wore a simple blouse and slacks, and she walked to the witness stand with visible anxiety.
And she looked an awful lot like my sister.
My chest tightened. This was real. This was another woman Alan had hurt.
She was sworn in and took her seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Tony stood, giving her a reassuring nod. “Ms. Reed, can you please state your name and place of residence for the record?”
“Savannah Reed. I live in Lincoln, Nebraska.”
“Ms. Reed, did you know Alan Sanders?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I dated him for eleven months.”
I watched the jury. Several of them leaned forward. One woman in the back row glanced at me, then back at Savannah. My stomach twisted. Were they connecting the dots? Did they understand what this meant?
They’re seeing the pattern. They have to see it.
“When was this?”
“About two years ago. We met in a different county; he was working construction there.”
“Can you describe your relationship with Alan Sanders?”
Savannah took a breath, her hands tightening. “At first, it was good. He was thoughtful and engaging. He made me feel important, like he actually cared about how I felt. But after a few months, he changed. The compliments disappeared,replaced with constant disapproval of every aspect of my life. He’d get angry if I didn’t answer his calls immediately. He treated ordinary conversations like betrayals. If I smiled at the mailman and said thank you for delivering a package, Alan would berate me, call me a slut and a whore.”
I glanced at Sadie in the gallery. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed on Savannah. I watched as my sister recognized herself in this woman’s story. It was the same pattern of isolation, control, and suffocating jealousy she had experienced. Sadie’s hands gripped the edge of the bench so hard her knuckles turned white.
This was what she’d endured. This was what I’d known she was enduring, and I hadn’t been able to stop it.
“Did the relationship ever become violent?”
“Yes,” Savannah said, her voice breaking slightly. “He hit me. More than once. He’d apologize afterward, say he loved me, buy me presents and promise it would never happen again. But it always did.”
The courtroom was silent. I could feel the weight of her words settling over the jury. The woman in the front row had tears in her eyes.
This is it. This is what they needed to hear. This is what Sadie went through.
“Ms. Reed, did there come a time when the abuse escalated?”
