Family Court
January 22

Alex Eames knew that it would've been better for everyone if Paul Whitlock done the smart thing and just given up. Then the pain and hassle and expense of the custody dispute would've been avoided.

But no. Alex had a feeling from the start the man wouldn't — couldn't — let it go, even with the risk of what would be revealed in public. He was arrogant and stubborn and he had to win. And, of course, he loved his son in his own way.

So really, it was a done deal that she'd be here, now, in this witness box. And though she knew she should be regretting all this, the reopening of the wounds for everyone now and for Whitlock's son in the future, she couldn't help the warm glow of anticipation, the excitement of finally getting those words out in public, on the record.

Best of all, the bastard would be right there, listening to it all when she did it.

Indeed, Whitlock's attorney's face had been pinched the entire afternoon. Whitlock himself just stared at her, his face deceptively blank, as Eames was questioned by the lawyer retained by his ex-wife's mother.

"And what conclusions did you draw from this evidence, Detective Eames?"

It had actually been Bobby who drew the conclusions, of course, but the lawyer said that Alex might be "a better face" to put on the facts. Bobby, in his own inimitable way, had shrugged and said, "that's fair."

"We concluded that Mr. Whitlock had known in advance of his wife's intent to commit suicide, and deliberately decided not to do anything to stop her or help her."

"You and Detective Goren confronted Mr. Whitlock with this conclusion?"

"Yes, we did."

Here it comes. Whitlock's face didn't budge an inch, but even from this distance, Eames could see his stark white knuckles on his clenched fists.

The lawyer turned halfway towards Whitlock's table. "And how did Mr. Whitlock respond?"

Alex Eames stared directly into Whitlock's eyes. Then she replied, in a loud, clear, firm voice:

"He said, 'I did. So what?'"

She nearly spat out the last two words. There was a ripple of buzzing from the few people in the gallery; Bobby Goren was among them, a small smirk on his face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the judge raise an eyebrow. Whitlock's attorney rubbed his eyes with one hand. Whitlock himself ground his teeth, staring daggers at her. She welcomed it, the rush of satisfaction flowing through her like warm coffee.

God, if she could capture moments like snapshots... This would definitely be going in her scrapbook.