Attorney Johnson began her cross.
“Ms. Francone, you say you had no memory of going to Rachel Boyd’s house on the night of the murder. Tell me, what do you remember from that night?”
To Grace, it remained unclear if Penny could hear or understand what was being asked of her, and those were concerns the prosecutor appeared to share.
“Are you okay, Ms. Francone?” Attorney Johnson asked. Her tone was harsh, unaccommodating.
“I want to go home,” came Penny’s strangled response. From a distance, Grace could see tears well in her daughter’s eyes.
“You’re in a court of law. You can leave when court is adjourned for the day.”
“I want to be with Mommy.” Penny’s voice sounded tiny and sad.
“Please don’t offer commentary. Answer my questions directly.”
Attorney Johnson showed Penny no compassion. She was there for one purpose only—to put the witness away for life. To win.
“What is the last thing you remember?”
“I was in my bedroom looking at the book my daddy gave me. The book I loved. The water made me want to take a bath so I asked Mommy if I could take a bath. So Mommy put me in the bathtub and she left to go talk to Daddy. They were fighting.”
“Your mother put you in the bathtub?”
Navarro was on his feet in a flash. “Objection, Your Honor! This is badgering my witness!”
“Your Honor, I’m just following up on the witness’s own statements with a logical next question. I find it curious that a then sixteen-year-old girl has her mother put her in the bathtub. I suspect she’s not telling the truth and hasn’t been telling the truth since the start of her testimony. This is helping to prove my case.”
Grace thought otherwise. This girl on the witness stand was being perfectly honest, and Lord help her, she thought she knew why.
“Overruled,” said the judge. “You may proceed.”
“What is your mother’s name?”
“Objection!” Attorney Navarro rose to his feet again in a huff. “Relevancy. We know this defendant’s origin story.”
“Overruled,” said Judge Lockhart. “I’d like to hear the answer, but Counselor, this is your cross, so please, keep it under control.”
“I’m not sure I can, Your Honor,” Attorney Johnson warned, looking frazzled and uncertain. “Can you please tell us your mother’s name?”
Silence.
Grace’s heart thundered in her chest. Jack, Ryan, and Annie also had looks of deep concern.
“Can you please tell us your name?” Attorney Johnson said in a much kinder voice.
“Isabella,” she said softly. “My name is Isabella Boyd, and I want to go be with Mommy now.”
CHAPTER 52
GRACE GASPED, ALONG WITH everyone around her. Once again, Judge Lockhart banged her gavel hard.
“Order, order in my courtroom,” she demanded.
“I want to go home,” Isabella lamented sorrowfully in a shaky voice that portended tears.
“If you’re Isabella Boyd, where do you reside?”
Her daughter did not answer. With a look of annoyance, Attorney Johnson placed her hands on her hips and repeated her question in a terse tone like she was scolding her.
“I said where do you reside? Please answer.”
Grace understood the purpose now. Johnson was using language a child wouldn’t understand, but Penny—no, not Penny, Isabella—looked bewildered and scared. She had no idea what was being asked of her.
“Where do you live?” Attorney Johnson said, sounding flustered that the trap she’d set hadn’t sprung.
“I live with Mommy,” said Isabella.
“In what town?”
“In Lynn.”
Grace’s fingers dug into her thighs. She could see Navarro shifting uneasily in his seat. He knew his client was in trouble, deep trouble, but he had no control now, this wasn’t his witness, and his words of warning to Grace about putting Penny on the stand came barreling back at her. Grace was stunned, unsure how to feel. She worried for her daughter, but she also desperately wanted to know what book she’d been reading that she seemed to love so much.
* * *
Mitch had his phone out, hidden in his lap so the court officer wouldn’t see it. He wanted to record everything being said, because now it was Isabella addressing the court. Something had triggered a switch, but what? And why to Isabella? The demeanor was similar to the dissociative states he’d observed. Quiet. Dreamy. Childlike.
He was right: she had switched to a new dissociative state in Edgewater several times, and they were slow and careful transitions to the little girl, Isabella Boyd. In those sessions, it had been the primary self, emerging like a butterfly from a chrysalis, bit by bit, and now, here in the courtroom of all places, the whole of the creature had at last appeared.