To those of you who I responded to late, I am so terribly sorry! I've had a rather overwhelming week and things definitely slipped because of it. But I will try my best to get back to you more promptly next time! I know I don't like to wait for snippets…

Now, onward!

VI

Christine didn't know what to think about the mysterious rose on her doorstep. At first she felt little as she picked up the luscious bloom, only a lingering sense of confusion. It was not the kind so often displayed in the market, but was full and fragrant, the deeply hued petals warm and enticing.

Not wanting to be late for court she quickly deposited it in a water filled cup and left it on her small dining table.

No one had ever given her flowers before and she could not afford such a luxury, so she did not have a vase to offer her new rose. It leaned against the glass heavily but at least it would stunt its withering—or at least, she hoped it would.

It was probably meant for a neighbor as a token for a first date that had gone very well, and the newly besotted beau had merely mixed up the apartments.

She tried not to sigh wistfully at the notion.

But as she entered the now well-known courthouse and the guard who had been so friendly with her before smiled at her almost knowingly, she started to feel a moment's trepidation.

What if it was meant for her?

Rarely did people know where she lived. It was in her personnel folder at work so someone could have looked it up there if they really wanted to know her whereabouts, but she trusted Ewan completely and it seemed highly unlikely that Carlotta would care enough about an employee to even exert the effort of looking.

Which meant that if someone had wanted to gift her with the lovely rose, they had followed her.

The guard's previous warning about how alone she appeared flittered through her mind. Would someone really want to harm her?

She was nothing special—was beyond most people's notice.

Christine couldn't help but hug herself a little more tightly as she waited on her usual step for the court's doors to open and the trial to commence.

No, it was much nicer to think that the rose was simply a mistake. She wasn't close enough to any of her neighbors to ask such personal questions as to their dating history to see if it should be restored to them—and in reality, a few of the occupants in the surrounding apartments frightened her.

And while perhaps it would be prudent to dispose of the flower as soon as she went home in case it was given with any nefarious purposes, she couldn't bring herself to consider actually doing it. Regardless of the intent of the giver, the rose itself hadn't done any harm… It even had been stripped of its thorns to specifically ensure it would not cause any unintended damage.

Christine tried to ignore the other jurors milling about and making small talk. Things about the inconvenience of driving to the in-law's for family dinner and a child's birthday party that cost far too much and would promptly be forgotten the following week seemed so wonderfully normal—and it only furthered how overwhelmed she felt.

How she envied it all.

Before long however the bailiff appeared and ushered them to their respective seats. So caught up was she still in her own thoughts that she clipped the corner of the balustrade that contained the jury box and she ungracefully sprawled across the empty chairs.

Richard had shuffled in first as first chair and after staring at her blankly for a moment he lurched forward and offered her his arm. "Christine, are you alright? That was quite a tumble!"

Christine was sure her cheeks were crimson and she was grateful that no one else had yet been seated lest she have experienced the added mortification of ending up in someone's lap.

A bailiff quickly approached also, the younger of the two she had seen. "You alright there, Miss? Do you need some help?"

She didn't think her face could grow any redder, but at his obvious concern and rather bewitching eyes her embarrassment found a way to increase. "I-I'm fine. Thank you. Just a bit clumsy, that's all."

She allowed Richard to help her back to her feet and she carefully made her way to her chair, hoping that no one else would inquire after her and that the judge would enter soon so everyone's attention would be diverted to something of actual importance.

But soon that familiar prickle settled on her and she couldn't help but glance up at Erik, wondering how he would react to her mishap.

Surely a murderer would derive some kind of pleasure at another's embarrassment or potential injury. Perhaps not all were sadistic, but if someone could so callously take the life of another, then it stood to reason that they lacked empathy in other areas.

But his eyes were the picture of concern even as he peeked at her from beneath long lashes, his hand still trying to cover as much of his face as he could.

She smiled at him ruefully and gave a tiny shrug, hoping he would understand that she was not hurt beyond her slightly bruised pride and a protesting shin.

Suddenly his free hand that had been gripped tightly into a fist upon the desktop opened and he placed it over his heart before he gave her a barely perceptible bow, another of his bashful smiles in place as he regarded her from the defense table.

And she couldn't deny that her heart melted just a little at his action.

Maybe it wasn't prudent to engage with a defendant during a trial, but it was not as though she had ever spoken with him. And Christine thought these little glimpses into his mind were important—that it provided as much evidence to his character as any witness' testimony.

"He sure looks at you a lot."

Christine's attention snapped away from Erik's as she glanced guiltily to Richard. "What?"

"The defendant. Don't think I haven't noticed him lookin' at you. Gives me the creeps. If he carries on anymore I'm going to inform the bailiff. You would too if you're smart."

Christine frowned and was saved from having to respond by the judge's entrance. He seemed to be in a slightly better mood today and he allowed the bailiff to call out the formalities he had denied for almost a week.

She hoped this meant that things had improved for him at home.

"Good morning, everyone. It appears that our fast pace the last few days means we're ahead of schedule! I am given to understand that the prosecution has expended its witnesses and evidence, is that correct, Mr. Sorelli?"

He stood with an almost apologetic smile on his face, and Christine hoped whatever he was about to say did not damper the judge's brightened disposition. "My apologies, your honor, but the State now believes that it is important to hear from the wife of the victim."

The judge's displeasure was palpable. "Why the sudden need to bother a new widow?"

Mr. Sorelli grimaced but Christine thought it a valid question. During the trial against the man who killed her papa it had been suggested that she testify about her father's character, but ultimately she had proved unfit.

Evidently it was important to be willing to speak when called as a witness.

"The jury deserves to hear more about the victim of this terrible crime, your honor. Who can provide a better picture of the man's state of mind than his own wife?"

The judge made a muttered sound that his microphone did not quite pick up, but ultimately relented.

"The State calls Ms. Jennifer Poligny to the stand."

Christine had been hoping to hear from Mr. Poligny's business partner as he seemed to be the one who would know most about the extortion they were supposed to be assessing.

But instead a smartly dressed woman took the stand, her pale hair pulled back in a becoming twist, her lips a bright crimson.

She was most certainly younger than the deceased—that was extremely obvious.

"Firstly, Ms. Poligny, I would like to extend the State's sincerest apologies for your loss."

The woman nodded her head graciously before rifling in her very expensive looking handbag and pulling out a lace trimmed handkerchief that she clutched tightly in her perfectly manicured hand.

"Thank you."

"I understand that this is a very difficult time for you and I hope giving your testimony will not prove too taxing."

The judge made an audible sigh and the prosecutor grimaced—the unspoken message to hurry things along readily apparent to all parties.

"You were the one to discover your husband's body, were you not?"

She nodded. "It was the worst experience of my life. Edgar was a wonderful husband and to see him… slumped over like that. He never would have taken his own life! Never!"

She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief but from Christine's vantage point in the jury box it was clear that there were no actual tears that would have required the action.

She had expected an older woman, with signs of actual pain at her husband's passing and although she felt bad at her seeming lack of compassion for the woman's plight, her emotions appeared so forced and not at all genuine that she could not help but be suspicious of her.

"What did you do next?"

She sniffed loudly. "I called an ambulance. I'm not a complete idiot and I could see he was dead but… no one ever tells you what to do when your husband is lying dead across his desk! Do you proceed with funeral arrangements? Call a lawyer? What if they had thought I had done something? To deal with such things when already overwhelmed with such grief was too much to even consider."

Christine doodled a rather rudimentary castle in the margin of her notepad, certain that this testimony was going to take all day if she felt the need to justify each of her thought processes.

"What was your husband's state of mind in the days leading to his death?"

Mr. Chagny rose quickly.

"Sit down, counselor. She's the man's wife and would presumably have known him quite well. I think it's safe for her to give an interpretation of his demeanor."

The defense attorney looked slightly put out but obeyed.

"He was… distraught. Almost frightened sometimes, especially when he received the last letter."

"Did he show you this letter?"

She plucked at a bit of lint on her navy suit. "He usually tried to keep such unpleasantness away from me. Didn't like to talk much about the business either." This she added in low, bitter tone and Christine stopped her drawing to make a note of it. Was she resentful that her husband didn't share more of his life with her?

"But I admit I was curious about what had him so upset, so a day or two before he died I went poking around his office and found it. It was different from the others… more ruthless. The others were more implicit in their threats while this one was very blatant."

"And what did this letter relate?"

Her hands twisted the handkerchief tightly. "If Edgar didn't give the man twenty thousand dollars by the end of the week, he was going to come to the house and hurt him."

The prosecutor glanced at the jury. "Let the record reflect that this letter has already been entered into evidence."

The judge waved his hand dismissively. "It is so reflected."

"Did your husband have that kind of money available? Is that why he was so nervous?"

Ms. Poligny shrugged. "I was not given access to the business accounts. He could have been broke for all I know; I still don't have access to it even after he died. Claude is the sole proprietor now."

The prosecutor's lips thinned; a peculiar reaction in Christine's mind. "Just answer my questions directly, Ms. Poligny."

She smiled wanly. "Sorry. I do not believe that he had access to that kind of money. At least, he wouldn't let me recover the living room furniture claiming that money was tight, so I presume things were actually dire."

She gave the jury a simpering smirk. "He didn't often say no to me."

Of course not. Not when she was easily twenty years his junior and was one of the most sophisticated women Christine had ever seen.

"After learning about this threat, did it ever occur to you to call the police?"

She shrugged. "Not really. When one's husband is wealthy and important there are a lot of disgruntled people—especially in the theatre. The arts do attract a certain type of person you know…" She glanced at the prosecutor meaningfully.

While Christine was disgruntled at her insinuation for the sake of her father, she could not pretend not to have some appreciation for a bit of truth. Creative types could often be flamboyant in personality, with delicate egos protected under layers of bravado and demands.

"Anyway, just last year he had to let one of the lead performers go. She threatened to cut his… well… you know off if she wasn't immediately reinstated. People just say things in the heat of the moment."

Mr. Sorelli nodded reassuringly. "I'm not accusing you of doing the wrong thing, Ms. Poligny. So you did not take the threat seriously, but did your husband? Did he speak to you about it?"

She grimaced. "It was the morning before he died… was killed. He came to me and said that he thought the madman meant it that time—that if he didn't continue to pay that he really would kill him. I guess he received a phone call while I was at yoga and it had shaken him up pretty badly."

"The State would like to enter the Poligny phone records into evidence, your honor. It clearly indicates that on the third of April a pay phone was used to contact their residence at 10:22 in the morning and lasted for less than a minute—plenty of time for a threatening message to be relayed."

"Objection, your honor! This might be evidence that a call was made but it does nothing to indicate the content of that call. It could have simply been a wrong number!"

The judge turned to the witness. "Ms. Poligny, when your husband mentioned this call, what did he say exactly was told to him?"

For the first time she actually looked genuinely disgruntled at the topic. "Edgar… said that a strange voice on the telephone asked if we had a gun." Her lips formed a tight line. "I didn't like it, not one bit, but after the house was robbed a few years back Edgar insisted on it—said it would protect me. As if I would ever use such a thing!"

Mr. Sorelli smiled at her encouragingly. "The telephone call?"

"Right. Well, apparently when Edgar told the man on the line that he did indeed have a gun and was trained in how to use it, the voice just laughed. Then it asked if he was sure where it was being kept."

"Where was the gun usually stored?"

Her brow wrinkled—or at least, Christine thought it attempted to but was impeded by any number of injectable substances. Then she immediately felt guilty for having such ungracious thoughts.

"He kept it in the top drawer of his dresser. Just in case, he said. Needless to say I stayed out of that particular drawer."

"And did he check after the call? Was the gun still there?"

She shook her head definitively. "No. That was when he began to panic. It was missing and when I tried to assure him that he likely misplaced it he… yelled at me. That I didn't understand; that everything was falling apart. My husband was frightened."

She was quiet for a moment before she sighed deeply. "I should have told him to call the police—to report the gun missing. That I didn't think his fears were ridiculous... not when… not when he's dead because of…"

Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, and although that niggling guilt continued to grow, Christine found herself looking carefully for signs of actual tears.

There were none.

"No further questions, your honor."

"Mr. Chagny, do you have questions for this witness?"

He rose steadily and Christine distracted herself from her discourteous thoughts by focusing on the lavender hued tie and grey shirt that gave him a rather sickly appearance. She almost smiled wondering if his sense of fashion came from a misguided inner sense or if some woman in his life exacted her revenge by picking out such unique combinations.

"Ms. Poligny, were you faithful to your husband?"

Her head rose sharply. "Excuse me?"

"Objection! Relevance?"

Mr. Chagny smoothed out his charcoal suit, seemingly unconcerned. "I think it highly relevant, your honor. Her faithfulness goes to their intimacy as a couple and her ability to accurately interpret her husband's reactions."

The judge gave a rather dubious look. "And you're certain this isn't a fishing expedition to cast suspicion on another suspect?"

The defense attorney's expression was the picture of innocence. "Hardly."

"Fine. But tread carefully, Mr. Chagny, she is a grieving widow."

He nodded in supplication before approaching the witness stand. "The same question, Ms. Poligny. Were you a faithful wife?"

Her face took on a pinched appearance. "Whatever arrangements I had with my husband are strictly our business, not this sham of a trial."

"Was," Mr. Chagny interjected forcefully. "Perhaps it was your business but now a man is dead and it is our responsibility to explore all avenues. But perhaps I shall phrase it another way. What is your relationship with an Emil Gutiérrez?"

She glared. "He was our landscape designer last year—designed a beautiful pergola and rock garden by the south lawn. And before you ask, it was strictly a professional relationship."

Mr. Chagny smiled. "The defense would like to submit this sworn statement by Mr. Gutiérrez that they engaged in no less than twelve sexual liaisons over the course of their professional relationship."

Her glare became even more ferocious. "Then he's lying."

"Or perhaps you are lying. Tell me, after the dust had settled were you glad that your husband could no longer frown upon your extramarital affairs?"

"No!"

"Your honor, he's clearly badgering the witness!"

The judge made to interrupt but Mr. Chagny pressed on.

"Are you glad he's dead?"

"He was my husband!"

"And yet in Mr. Gutiérrez's statement he vividly remembers how you complained about your husband—how you stated you would leave him if a pre-nup wouldn't have denied you alimony after the divorce!"

"Alright, yes. Are you happy? We had our problems, like all couples do. And maybe I retaliated by having an affair now and again. But that doesn't mean I wanted him dead, and that certainly does not imply that I was somehow involved in it!"

All was quiet in the court for a long moment and Christine stared blankly down at her notepad, unsure of what to write. Could there really have been some other plot at work? Perhaps a jealous lover decided to dispatch with an older husband, all under the guise of a blackmailer. They'd get money and the wife in one swift action.

Was Erik's presence at the theatre merely a coincidence?

When Mr. Chagny spoke again his voice was low and carefully controlled. "Do you know the accused, Ms. Poligny? Was he one of your dalliances?"

Her mouth dropped open. "That? You think I'd sleep with that?"

Christine glanced quickly at Erik only to find him tracing light patterns on the desktop with a pale fingertip, his shoulders slightly hunched.

Anger mixed with pity welled within her. He should not be subjected to hearing such things, no matter his supposed crime. He was still a human being, and to be referred to as less than a person…

She wanted to give him a hug.

But such was impossible so she forced herself to return her attention to the witness.

"It is a fair question, Ms. Poligny. I'm asking if you have any type of personal relationship with the accused."

Her nose crinkled in disgust. "None. I've never seen that man before."

"Not around the theatre? Not in your home? He might have been wearing a mask." He went to his desk and pulled out a picture, holding it so both the witness and the jury could see it. It was nearly impossible to tell who might be beneath it for it covered every inch of flesh. But the eyes staring out from beneath were not colorless—were not the hauntingly sad eyes of the defendant, but were a normal hazel.

"I should certainly think I'd remember something like that! And my answer is the same, I've never seen that around any of the places I frequent."

Mr. Chagny smiled almost triumphantly. "I have no further questions, your honor."

The judge sighed. "Excellent. Then the court is in recess."

And as Christine shuffled by the table where Erik still sat, she found that he looked nearly as despondent and lifeless as the very first day of the trial.

And she had to clench her hand tightly to keep from reaching out and laying a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

For even if no one else remembered, she knew.

He was still a man and deserved far better than this.

Sooo… does hearing from the widow change your mind? Does Erik seem more or less guilty to you now? Do you think that something else is going on?

And do you think Christine should be doodling during the trial? I don't know about you, but while I'm a terrible 'artist', my notebooks all through school were covered in scribbles.

Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts! You help keep me writing even when my schedule threatens to drown me.