Jenny Jansdotter picks up a pen and twirls it between her fingers.
“So you claim you were awake when Stella arrived home that night?”
“Yes.”
“And what time was that?”
“I said that already.”
“I’d like you to repeat it.”
“Quarter to twelve,” Adam says, annoyed.
Jenny Jansdotter tilts her chin up and juts her head out over the table like a bird of prey.
“Curious,” she says.
There is an alarming hint of triumph in her voice.
“Very curious,” Jansdotter says, unfolding a piece of paper on the table in front of her.
What is this? Is there something we missed?
“I have here a list of your text messages, Adam. Each text that was sent from your phone on the night of the murder, and each text you received, is included. Two messages were deleted from your phone, but the evidence technicians were able to recover them. I’m sure you are aware that deleted texts can be recovered?”
Adam bows his head.
Dammit, this cannot be true. How could Michael have missed the phone records? We knew the police had taken Adam’s cell phone into evidence, but it never occurred to me that there could have been any compromising information on it.
“At eighteen minutes after eleven, the following text was sent from your phone to Stella’s number: Are you coming home tonight?”
The prosecutor holds the list up and points with the tip of her pen.
“Okay?” Adam says.
“Do you recall sending such a text?”
His shoulders squirm and he looks thoroughly uncomfortable.
“Yes, I suppose I could have. My wife said Stella might be spending the night at Amina’s. That’s why I texted her to ask.”
“Are you coming home tonight?” Jansdotter repeats. “Did you receive a response from Stella?”
Adam scratches his chin. I try to catch Michael’s attention, but he refuses to look in my direction. Sweat is running down his face and he tugs at his tie as if he can’t breathe.
“I don’t remember,” Adam mumbles.
“Are you sure? You don’t remember whether you received an answer?”
Adam swallows hard and shakes his head rapidly.
“Probably not.”
Jansdotter waves the list. Beside me, the bearded man sucks air through his teeth. I’m getting an inkling of where this is going. How could we have missed it?
“Stella did in fact send a reply,” the prosecutor says.
“Oh?”
Adam just sits there as if waiting for a death blow. I want to shout at him to hold his ground—he can’t give up now.
“The technicians have managed to recover that one as well. The fact is, you deleted both of these messages on Saturday, when you learned that Stella had been taken into police custody.”
“I did?” Adam says.
He doesn’t sound like he’s very good at lying. No one is buying this.
“Stella wrote, On my way home now. The message was received by your phone at twenty minutes to two. When Stella had already, according to your story, been home for almost two hours.”
92
Adam doesn’t respond to the prosecutor’s statement.
“Do you have any explanation for this text?” Jansdotter says. “Why would Stella send a text to say she’s on her way home at twenty minutes to two when you claim she was home by eleven forty-five?”
Adam is silent. The seconds are ticking by.
A woman in the row behind mine tugs at my blouse and gestures at me to sit down. But I have to go to Adam. He needs me. This is all my fault!
“I’m sure there can be delays,” Adam says at last.
The bearded man hisses psst at me and nods toward the end of the row, where a security guard has puffed up his chest and is staring at me.
“What do you mean, Adam?” Jenny Jansdotter says.
“Sometimes texts can get stuck out in cyberspace,” he says, obvious doubt in his voice. “Just because I received a message at a certain point in time doesn’t necessarily mean it was sent right then.”
I sink down on my chair and a sigh of relief goes through my body. Naturally, Adam is right. He may not have a clue about all these technicalities, but he’s smart and quick on his feet. Common sense would dictate that he’s not wrong. The fact that the prosecutor has proof of when a text arrived means nothing in practice unless she can also prove when it was sent. And in order to do that she would need access to Stella’s phone.
Jenny Jansdotter makes a pained face.