The Wrong Sister

I met with the district attorney the next morning. He was in his late forties and was a tall, wiry guy with a balding crown. His sparse dark hair was shot with gray. He studied me through dark-framed glasses as if I were a fascinating specimen of untold value. “Hello, Miss Winters. Nice to meet you.” “Hello,” I said, taking his offered hand. “You can call me Bernie.” “Ok.” “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news for you.” “Oh, great. Just what I need,” I said sarcastically, though worry was evident in my voice. Bernie smiled grimly and said, “The judge has announced that you won’t be able to testify in this case against your husband.” I gasped in surprise. “Why not?” “Because you weren’t directly involved in the trafficking itself. Therefore, because you’re having unrelated issues with her, your testimony is ruled as potentially biased.” “But she threatened to sell me for a new truck!” “I understand that, and personally, I believe you. However, the defense attorney is going to say that you’re just saying that because you’re angry with her.” I exhaled in frustration. “The slightest bit of doubt in the minds of the jury and she could walk. I know you would have preferred to testify against her as a witness to her dark side, but it wouldn’t have been worth the risk, even if it were allowed. We can’t afford to take the slightest chance of putting doubts in the jury’s minds.” As much as I hated to admit it, I knew he had a point. “Cops are tough to convict. It takes an awful lot of evidence—evidence no jury in their right minds could ignore. If we do anything that could make the jury hesitate…” “Yeah, I get it. The judge’s decision makes sense, even though I don’t like it. I really wanted to be heard.” Bernie smiled. It was a smile that said he was glad I understood, but that he also sympathized with me. “What can I do instead? I can’t go back to her. She would kill me—not that I want to go back to her in the first place.” “For now, you remain where you are pending the outcome of the trial.” I thought about the potential outcome, and that made me nervous. “Can I ask you an honest question?” “Of course.” “What do you think the chances are of her being convicted?” “About sixty to seventy percent.” “And if she beats the odds?” “Then you’ll probably be given a new identity and shipped off to a new location unless you feel there’s someplace here in the city where you’d feel safe.” “I don’t know that I feel safe anywhere in the world when it comes to her, so let’s just hope she’s convicted. How long do you think it’ll take before the verdict is in, either way?” Bernie speculated for a moment and then said, “It could take several months.” “And what will her sentence be?” “About twenty years, though she’d probably only do about ten.” “Oh, damn. That would just delay her coming after me instead of preventing it altogether. In ten years, she’ll be in her early fifties.” Bernie nodded knowingly. “That’s why you’ll be a good candidate for a new identity and a new location at that time.”