Chapter 8: Passenger Footwell

"Every night," I told Melanie. "He hands it to me himself."

She studied my face in the mirror for a long moment.

"The jail kept my bottle for three days," I said. "I felt every one of them."

"I'm sure you did."

"Ask Marshall what the first night looked like. He'll enjoy telling you."

She picked up her bag and went out. I waited until her footsteps faded, then I washed my hands.

Ten days later, at nine in the morning, the preliminary hearing opened in Courtroom Two.

The State had one witness, and he was the officer who had put the handcuffs on me.

Duncan questioned him first, plainly and briefly, so the court would have the basics.

The officer described the road, the lights, the man under the sheet, and the woman behind the wheel.

"Thank you, Officer," Duncan said. "Mrs. Kershaw may cross-examine."

I stood and kept my hands at my sides.

"Officer, how tall am I?"

He blinked. "I'd say about five-ten, ma'am."

"And the driver's seat that night. Where was it on its track?"

"I didn't note that."

"You were standing at the window with a flashlight in my face."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You did not notice that my knees were against the steering wheel?"

"I noticed you looked uncomfortable."

A few people in the gallery laughed, and the judge looked up until they stopped.

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