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“So at that point you were still tucked in your hiding place when the shooter ran from the house. But from that spot, you could see the front door through the upstairs railing. You noticed something after the shooter left your house, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“What did you notice?”
“My dad’s gun.”
“Where was the gun?”
“In the foyer downstairs.”
“The shooter had dropped it before he left the house, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
Garrett walked back to the prosecution’s table, opened the gun case that rested on the floor, and lifted the shotgun that had been used to kill Alexandra’s family.
“Is this the gun?”
“Yes.”
“And it belonged to your father?”
“Yes.”
“You know this gun well, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you know how to use it?”
“Yes.”
“How did you learn to shoot a twelve-gauge shotgun?”
“My dad taught me when he took me pheasant hunting on Saturday mornings.”
“What did you do after you noticed that the shooter had left the gun?”
“I slid out from behind the grandfather clock and ran down the stairs to retrieve the gun.”
“You told me something that I found amazingly interesting, and I want you to share it with the court now. Why was it so important for you to get the gun? Some might think it more natural to run to your parents’ room to check on them.”
“There were only three shots,” Alexandra said. “My dad’s twelve-gauge shotgun holds two cartridges. I heard the first two shots—those were the ones that woke me up. Then”—Her voice cracked momentarily. Alexandra swallowed hard and righted herself—“I heard a third shot when my brother was killed. I knew the gun had been reloaded in order to shoot my brother, which meant there was still a live cartridge in the chamber.”
“So you retrieved the gun for protection?”
“Yes. I grabbed the gun just in case the shooter came back.”
“Knowing that there was still a single shot remaining.”
“Yes.”
“Smart girl,” Garrett said. “After you grabbed the shotgun from the foyer, what did you do?”
“I ran up to my parents’ room.”
“And what did you do next?”
