Seeing Red (30 page)

“Let me know if you need anything,” Pamela said as she stepped away. “We close at four-thirty.”

Ellis set her hands on the keyboard. She waited until the woman was back behind the counter before she typed even the first letter to initiate the search. She felt as though she were opening a personal diary or a secret family album.

Her first task was to choose a month and year, or specify a span of time to search using a drop-down menu. Out of curiosity, she expanded the search to five years prior to Laura’s case.

Ellis typed the first letter of Hollis Alexander’s name in the defendant’s name box. Then she lifted her hands from the keyboard and flexed her fingers. Tension had all of her muscles at strained attention. She felt like she’d consumed a truckload of caffeine.

She was so anxious that she mistyped Hollis Alexander’s name three times.

She paused momentarily, feeling as if she was opening a box that could hold a precious treasure . . . or a collection of venomous snakes. The she hit the search button.

The computer pulled up all relevant cases. Much to her surprise, there were four. She double-checked to confirm they were all the same offender. Of course they were; how many Hollis Alexanders could there be in Charleston County?

Two of the cases were sealed—juvenile records. She wondered if Lorne Buckley could enlighten her. There was a Charleston County Clerk of Courts notepad sitting next to the keyboard. She started her list of questions to ask the prosecutor. Tops on that list was whether or not Buckley bought into this theory that Nate murdered Kimberly Potter.

The third case was a trial several months before Laura had been attacked.

Ellis opened that transcript. It was one of those with only the identification page listing the arrest, charge, and judgment. Alexander had been arrested and charged with aggravated sexual assault—and acquitted.

She jotted another question for Buckley. Why had Alexander walked?

Now she was left with only the trial for Laura’s attack.

After fortifying herself mentally, realizing this would be the first time she would face all of the horrible, gritty details of Laura’s case, she opened the file she’d come here to see.

She noted that Alexander had been represented by a public defender. No surprise, although she’d never thought about such things at the time. So many things fell into that category. So many gaps she’d either filled in with her imagination or ignored completely. So many things her family had kept in the shadows.

Like an emaciated person rescued from starvation, she wanted to gobble up every scrap of detail, while at the same time she was sickened at the very thought of them.

Swallowing the bile creeping up her throat, she pressed on.

She was stunned when she saw the transcript was over three hundred pages long.

As she read the first part, she realized how much of it was courtroom information, instructions given by the judge, things other than the words out of the witnesses’ mouths.

Neither of the opening statements, by the prosecution or defense, held any bright flashes of discovery. Both were long-winded, laying out in vague and evocative speech why their view of Hollis Alexander’s guilt/innocence was right and just.

What did surprise her was the fact that the defense attorney had admitted right up front that Alexander had been outside Laura’s house that night. He painted a picture of a young man smitten, who’d made the shameful mistake of looking in her window. But that did not make him a brutal rapist. Especially when Laura’s bed had been empty when he’d looked in her room at three that morning. He insisted that Laura Reinhardt suffered her fate at someone else’s hand. Someone who was out there now, mocking our justice system.

She supposed contesting the fact that he’d been there, in light of the fingerprint and Ellis’s seeing him, would make Alexander’s story of innocence that much less credible.

Ellis scrolled down to the witness testimony for the prosecution.

At first, she couldn’t find any rhythm to what she was reading. It was like looking at halting, jerky dialogue in a book, or the bare bones of a script for a play.

Words sitting alone on the page seemed grossly inadequate to transmit what had transpired inside that courtroom. Words had been stripped of their emotional delivery by a court reporter who had reduced disturbing testimony to an impersonal dictation.

Ellis skimmed over testimony whose sole purpose appeared to be establishing Laura’s position in the community, the admiration of friends and loved ones.

As she read Dr. Kreag’s testimony, Ellis got her first taste of the reality of what had happened to her cousin. The doctor began by listing Laura’s grievous injuries and hopeless prognosis.

The doctor explained the details of how, although no semen had been found, they’d determined that Laura had been raped.

She had multiple bruises and lacerations from the beating she’d received. Photographs had been shown to the jury as exhibits.

Ellis wondered where those photos were.

Laura had suffered a traumatic brain injury from bluntforce trauma to the head, which they suspect occurred when her head was repeatedly slammed into the ground. Her throat exhibited injuries consistent with manual strangulation. She’d also inhaled and swallowed moderate amounts of salt water.

All of these things combined had left Laura in an unresponsive, vegetative state.

Even with the dispassionate delivery, by the time Ellis had finished Dr. Kreag’s testimony, her face was wet with tears. She’d vividly imagined every blow, every indignity her cousin had suffered.

How had her aunt and uncle been able to sit through this testimony?

Ellis no longer had any appetite for what was in this file. Still, she forced herself to chew and swallow every detail.

In his cross-examination, the defense attorney ignored the listing of injuries and the fact that Laura’s brain had been irreparably damaged. His only question was to establish that, from her medical findings, Dr. Kreag had no way at all to identify who had delivered the beating and rape.

Ellis’s testimony was next.

Simple black-and-white letters certainly didn’t convey what it had
felt like
sitting on that witness stand, the sensation of being naked and afraid as Hollis Alexander stared at her with his hateful, colorless eyes.

The feel of the weight of that accusing stare was as fresh now as when she’d been on the stand.

February, eight months after Laura was attacked

Charleston County Courthouse

Ellis walked the aisle from the back of the courtroom toward the witness stand. Her breathing came shallow and fast. She was so dizzy that the floor felt odd under her feet, as if she were walking on thick foam rubber.

Mr. Buckley had told her it was important to breathe and to keep her eyes on him. He stood behind the railing, his eyes encouraging her.

This felt like one of those dreams where you’re out in public, doing regular stuff, but you’re naked and you can’t find anything to cover up with. She could feel everyone looking at her.

It was so quiet that the sound of the heels of her shoes echoed with each step.

She made it to the railing. Mr. Buckley opened the little gate for her.

Eight steps more and she’d made it to the witness stand.

The bailiff stood before her and had her swear to tell the truth.

Suddenly she couldn’t remember anything straight. All of Mr. Buckley’s instructions were mixed up in her head. All the words she was supposed to use had hidden in places where she couldn’t find them.

Her body flashed hot. All the spit in her mouth dried up. What if she couldn’t do this?

You have to. For Laura
.

Mr. Buckley had her tell the jury who she was and where she lived. The answers to those simple questions helped cool the heat of her rising panic.

“Tell us about that night, the night your cousin was attacked.”

She licked her lips, but her tongue was so dry it didn’t do any good. “I was sleeping on the top bunk in Laura’s room. She was on the bottom. We turned out the lights around midnight.”

“Was the bedroom window open at that time?”

“Yes. I went to sleep pretty much right away.” She wasn’t going to tell how as she’d been falling asleep, she’d heard Laura’s soft laugh and whispers as she’d talked to Nate through the window. She hadn’t told the police either. It would only confuse things. “It was around three-fifteen or so when I woke up. I’m not sure why. Then I heard a soft thump on the porch outside the window. And I smelled something; my mom says I have the most sensitive nose in the county.” It startled her when a few people in the room chuckled.

Mr. Buckley nodded. “Go on. You’re doing fine.”

Ellis kept her eyes on him. “You know how you can smell camellias in the fall even when you’re several feet away? It was like that. But not sweet. It was like really strong spicy cologne mixed with the way the bus smells the morning after it’s been used to take the football team to an away game.” There, those were the right words, the ones that had made Mr. Buckley clap his hands when she’d said them the first time.

She felt a little better.

“There’s a path from the road to the beach between Laura’s house and mine. I leaned over the edge of the bed and looked out the window. I saw a guy with light-colored hair that was kind of long on top; it hung down onto his eyebrows. He looked like he was searching for something, like he’d dropped something in the sand.”

“Did you get a clear look at his face?”

“Yes. I remember especially because it was a full moon, and the color of his eyes was so light; they looked really strange.”
Vampire eyes
.

“How far away was he from your cousin’s window?”

“About fifteen feet or so.”

“How long did you watch him?”

“A minute or so. I was curious about what he’d dropped, so I waited. He didn’t find it. All of a sudden, he just gave up and walked toward the road.”

“How fast was he moving when he walked away?”

“A little faster than a normal walk. He wasn’t running.”

“What did you do then?”

“I went back to sleep.” She felt so guilty admitting that. Laura had needed her and she’d gone back to sleep. “I thought he was just somebody cutting through, coming up from a beach party. Kids do it sometimes. Usually not that late, though.”

“Is that man in the courtroom?”

“Yes.” Her heart sped up again. She’d been able to avoid looking at Hollis Alexander until now. When she turned toward him, he stared at her with those ice-colored eyes, and her skin shrank against her bones. He looked like he wanted to eat her alive. She thought she might pee her pants. “He’s there.” She pointed like Mr. Buckley had told her to.

“Had you ever seen this man before that night?”

“No.”

“And did you see this man after that night?”

“Yes. He was outside Laura’s hospital room a couple weeks later, peeking in the door. I called to him but he ran. My uncle chased him out into the parking lot.”

“He
ran
?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. That’s all.” Mr. Buckley went and sat at his table.

Ellis looked at her hands in her lap. Her fingernails blurred; she realized she was starting to cry.

The judge called the defense attorney.

He had red hair and freckles, and looked like he was still in high school. She guessed that was impossible. He was a lawyer, after all. Maybe he was like a Doogie Howser kind of lawyer.

He stood in front of her so that when she looked at him, she couldn’t help but see Alexander.

The Doogie lawyer asked, “You’d been sleeping just before you saw my client?”

“Yes. But I was completely awake when I looked out.”

“Mmmhmm. Were there any lights on outside?”

“No. It was sea turtle nesting season. Nobody had outside lights on.”

“So you’d been asleep
and
it was completely dark outside.”

“Not completely. The moon was bright. And my eyes were used to the dark.” She wanted to say that she’d smelled him before she saw him. But Mr. Buckley had warned her not to do more than answer the question. He would have her clarify things if he thought they needed to be.

“And when you say you saw Mr. Alexander, did you see anyone else?”

At one point, Ellis had thought she’d seen a shadow near the corner of the house, but no one ever appeared. Mr. Buckley had been adamant there was no reason to mention it, as she hadn’t seen anyone. “No.”

“Mr. Alexander was
alone
? Your cousin wasn’t with him?”

“No.”

“At any time that night, did you hear a struggle? A noise? Anyone calling out for help?” His tone was condescending. Doogie wasn’t nearly as nice as he looked.

“No. But when I woke up, I figure he’d already taken her to the beach by then. He was heading toward the road.”

“Let’s keep our statements to the facts, Ms. Greene. You did not hear any sort of struggle?”