“But he liked to be around women who were tough and kind of physical?” Gary was looking at him strangely. “Not at all.”
“Richard liked nice, quiet women.” “Did he and Alette have a lot of fights? Did she yell at him a lot?”
Gary was puzzled. “You’ve got it all wrong. They never yelled at each other. They were great together.”
“Did you ever see anything that would lead you to believe that Alette Peters would do anything to harm—?”
“Objection. He’s leading the witness.” “Sustained.” “No more questions,” David said.
When David sat down, he said to Ashley, “Don’t worry. They’re building up our case for us.”
He sounded more confident than he felt. David and Sandra were having dinner at San Fresco, the restaurant in the Wyndham Hotel,
when the maitre d’ came up to David and said, “There’s an urgent telephone call for you, Mr. Singer.”
“Thank you,” David said to Sandra. “I’ll be right back.” He followed the maitre d’ to a telephone.
“This is David Singer.” “David—Jesse. Go up to your room and call me back. The goddamn roof is falling in!”
Chapter Seventeen
“Jesse?” “David, I know I’m not supposed to interfere, but I think you should ask for a mistrial.”
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