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Gleason sternly shook his head as though admonishing him to keep quiet. It made her shudder to surmise what he might have said, but she seriously doubted that it could have been flattering to her.
    Jackson continued. “I think the jury will agree that we’ve established that the defendant, his wife, and your estranged husband showed up drunk to your son’s birthday party. Could you please tell the court what happened next?”
    She put herself back into that scene, seeing again Jeremy’s insolent grin. “I asked Jeremy to leave. Other guests had already arrived. They were in the courtyard at the side of the house. I was embarrassed for Jeremy, for myself.”
    “How did he respond to your request that he leave?”
    “He became belligerent. He said that he had a right to see his son on his birthday, and that I wasn’t going to stop him from doing so.”
    Gleason came to his feet. “Your Honor, I object. Why is this testimony relevant to this trial?”
    “I’m getting to the relevance,” Jackson calmly replied.
    “Objection overruled,” the judge said, but she asked Jackson to move it along.
    He nodded and turned back to Amelia. “For the sake of time and defense counsel’s limited patience, can you tell us how this confrontation was resolved?”
    “I told Jeremy that he wasn’t fit to be around children. Or anyone for that matter. I ordered him to leave. He refused. So I threatened to call the police. I also threatened to get a restraining order, preventing him from coming near our sons.”
    “What was his reaction to the threat?”
    “He cursed at me. Called me names. He said that our sons were his flesh and blood and that nothing would or could keep him from being with them. He caused a terrible scene.”
    Friends of Hunter’s from preschool, their parents, Hunter himself had heard Jeremy’s profane shouting and had come inside to see what it was about. She would never forget the fear in her son’s eyes as he watched his ranting father. Grant, her younger, was only a year and a half old at the time. He began to cry.
    Amelia looked down at her cold, damp hands, which she’d subconsciously clasped tightly in her lap. She forced herself to relax them, reminding herself that her sons would never have to fear Jeremy again.
    “Ms. Nolan?”
    She raised her head and squared her shoulders.
    “Ms. Nolan,” Jackson repeated, “what were Willard and Darlene Strong doing while this scene was unfolding?”
    She darted a look toward the defense table and felt the full brunt of Strong’s animosity. “Mr. Strong was egging Jeremy on.”
    “Can you be more specific?”
    “He was saying things like ‘Darlene would never get away with talking to me like that.’”
    “Did he indicate that she would suffer physically if she—”
    “Your Honor, objection,” Gleason whined. “Prosecution is leading the witness again.”
    “Sustained.”
    Jackson apologized, rather insincerely Amelia thought. Then he turned back to her. “Do you recall a specific threat made by Mr. Strong toward his wife?”
    She closed her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them, she looked directly toward the jury box. “Jeremy had taken a grip on my arm. Here.” She placed her hand around her biceps. “He was shaking me. Mr. Strong said, ‘You’re letting her off light. If Darlene threatened me like that, it would be the last thing she ever did.’”
    *  *  *
     
    The statement created a vacuum in the courtroom. It was several moments before the spectators began to breathe again. Feet shifted, clothing rustled as people readjusted themselves in their seats, someone coughed.
    Dawson noticed the same was so with the jurors. They had seemed transfixed by Amelia Nolan, or at least by her story. Lem Jackson was no fool. He milked the tension by looking each of them in the eye before he walked back to the state’s table and picked up a legal pad, flipping through several pages as though searching for a note. Dawson doubted he needed