AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Then it was over. Benjamin stood, pulling her to her feet. The loss of his touch and sudden position change made her dizzy. He held her hand for a moment, squeezed her fingers, then released her and walked to the door leading out of the suite. He pressed his hand high up on the doorjamb and leaned into his arm. Jewell watched him, waiting for him to turn and gift her with the smile that always made her knees weak.
He did turn, but there was no smile. Benjamin took in a long, slow breath that pushed up his shoulders and expanded his chest.
"I contacted Travis at home. I tried to give my notice, but he refused to accept it. So, I'm taking a leave of absence. I don't know how long."
"Where are you going?" she whispered, her throat so tight the sound barely escaped.
"Nowhere. I'm staying here in Hartford for the trial. I'm going to bring Victoria back to Boston when the trial is over. If she'll come me now that?—"
"Benjamin, please don't do this."
"I have to. I don't know how else to say it."
She took a step toward him, but he stepped back and opened the door. Benjamin held her stare for several seconds, and the tears flowed down Jewell's cheeks. He pressed his eyes closed and placed his hand over his heart, then brought his other arm across in a far more intimate sign for love, signed “forever,” and then he was gone, closing the door behind him.
A harsh burst of air ripped into Jewell's lungs and she stumbled back to fall into the chair behind her. She sucked in her breath, trying to stop the dizzy whirl of the room around her as a sob racked her body. Jewell buried her face in her hands and cried.
When she'd cried herself dry, she drew in a shaky breath and rose to her feet. She'd come to Hartford for a reason, and she'd be damned if she'd do anything less. With her heart aching in her chest, she retrieved her coat and suitcase and left the suite. Hopefully, the hotel had an empty room that wouldn't cost her a week's salary.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Despite the nasty storm that had half buried Hartford the night before, local media had camped out on the front steps of the Hartford appellate courthouse. Beyond Hartford, the attempted murder trial of local attorney Jon Roth was nothing more than a blip on the news radar. But, in Hartford, he was big news. Local television and newspaper reporters swarmed around both defense and prosecution legal teams as they climbed the stairs, the defense attorneys flanking Jon Roth on all sides.
Jewell stood at the top of the steps, off to the side watching the circus unfold. Since she hadn't been present at the trial before now, and no one knew her as having any connection to the case, no one blinked twice when she walked past the media horde. She stood now, watching, her heart in her throat.
Jon Roth entered the courthouse with his team, neither him nor his lawyers making any comment to the shouted questions and accusations. As they cleared the courthouse doors, the prosecution started up the stairs. Barbara Roth and Ben Prescott walked a step behind the prosecution for the State, holding hands.
Benjamin arrived minutes later, once everyone else had disappeared outside. It didn't matter that he hadn't arrived with Barbara and Prescott, the media still swarmed on him. Jewell had to force herself to stay in the shadows watching him wave off the persistent horde. Some clearly understood his need to see a face to read lips, because they purposefully stepped in his path and shoved themselves into his direct line of vision. He never spoke, never responded, and just stepped around them to the main door.
Finally, he broke away and went inside.
Jewell waited until the chaos on the steps subsided, and the media that wasn't allowed inside the courthouse disbursed, heading back to cars and various news vans parked along the curb. Drawing in a final, cold breath she stepped out of the shade from the massive pillars bracketing the stairs and headed for the door. She slipped into the courtroom with two other people she recognized as reporters from the steps, and found a seat on the prosecution side near the back. Benjamin sat two rows in front of her and slightly to her left so she could see his profile but he would probably have to turn in his seat before he noticed she was there.
He sat hunched forward, his head down and his hands laced together in front of him. Exhaustion sat on his shoulders as palpable and visible as a stone wedged between his shoulder blades. Jewell swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. Moments later, all in attendance were called to order and day three of the trial began. A young girl, probably a college student working toward her practical credits, took her position to the side of the judge's podium within Benjamin's line of sight. As the room was called to order, the girl signed each word. Her motions were jaunty and she lacked finesse, probably having never communicated an entire conversation in Ameslan, let alone an entire trial.
District Attorney Audrey Whitman for the prosecution stood to address the judge, a staunch, late middle-aged man with more hair on his chin than on his head. Jewell gasped softly when D.A. Whitman called Benjamin to the stand as the final witness for the prosecution.
He stood, but an apparent stiffness made his motions slow. With a sharp tug at the leg of his trousers, he straightened his tie and sidestepped out of the row of seats, heading to the stand. The translator shifted her stance so her back was more to the courtroom, but within view of both Benjamin and the D.A. The short, stocky woman dressed in a navy skirt suit in charge of prosecuting Jon Roth walked toward Benjamin, stopping a few feet from the witness stand.
"Could you please state your name for the records?" she asked.
His features twisted before he even spoke, and he said the words as if they tasted foul in his mouth. "Benjamin Prescott Roth."
"Mr. Roth, could you please explain your relationship to the defendant?"
Jewell clenched her hands in her lap to keep from twisting them together.
"Until recently, I believed him to be my father."
The defense attorney, a pathetically thin man with a glistening pate she'd heard introduced as Attorney Pattinson, shot to his feet. "Objection, Your Honor, as to relevance."
"Your Honor, Benjamin Roth has been mentioned frequently in the course of this trial, though the defense has been very careful not to use his actual name, as if that might somehow allow the jury to harbor the opinion that he is somehow the helpless, useless burden to which Jon Roth has acted as benefactor. If the defense feels he is relevant enough to mention prior to now, he certainly should be given the chance to speak for himself."
"Benjamin Roth was not present at the incident and cannot speak?—"
"And yet, you keep bringing him up in your own defense. He can speak to the character of the defendant, Your Honor," the D.A. finished.
Benjamin's attention shifted rapidly between the two attorneys and the translator. With each word, each jaunty sign, his features pinched harder.
