or because they thought someone was threatening to kill them?“No.” “Thank you.”
The trial was recessed for lunch. David got into his car and drove through the park, depressed.
The trial was going badly. The doctors couldn’t make up their minds whether MPD existed or not.
If they can’t agree, David thought, how am I going to get a jury to agree?
I can’t let anything happen to Ashley. I can’t. He was approaching Harold’s Cafe, a restaurant near the courthouse.
He parked the car and went inside. The hostess smiled at him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Singer.”
He was famous. Infamous? “Right this way, please.” He followed her to a booth and sat down.
The hostess handed him the menu, gave him a lingering smile and walked away, her hips moving provocatively.
The perks of fame, David thought wryly. He was not hungry, but he could hear Sandra’s voice saying, “You have to eat to keep up your strength.”
There were two men and two women seated in the booth next to him.
One of the men was saying, “She’s a hell of a lot worse than Lizzie Borden. Borden killed only two people.”
The other man added, “And she didn’t castrate them.” “What do you think they’ll do to her?”
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