They found Johnny not guilty. Easy-peasy. Clearly it was self-defense.

The judge released him.

She apologized for the time he had already served. “You are free to go, Mr. Kandinsky. Good luck.”

Johnny, who had also suffered in prison, who had been beaten up more times than he could count, who had lifted weights and learned how to box and had become huge and muscled simply so he could defend himself, hung his head, his hands to his face. He tried not to cry, but it didn’t work and he sobbed. He prayed for Betsy, his love for her had only grown over the years. Oh, how he prayed.

* * *

Betsy’s trial was held directly after Johnny’s trial with an old judge named Seymour Mansfield. The jury heard from detectives and the police who had been on the case before. They heard from forensics. They heard from Tilly, and what she remembered.

The dead body of Johnny’s mother and the other women helped, in the sense that the jury knew that Peter was one sick son of a gun.

But still.

The prosecutor, a woman named Zoe Benedict was a competitive, cold, manipulative woman and tried to make mincemeat of Betsy when she took the stand. That Betsy had had a “premonition” of Peter killing Johnny was excellent cannon fodder for Zoe.

“Tell us about your premonitions,” Zoe asked, believing that the jury would think that Betsy was crazy, probably violent. Definitely mentally ill.

“Objection,” Betsy’s attorney said.

“Overruled,” the judge said. “Let’s hear them.”

“Recess, please,” Betsy’s attorney shouted.

“No,” Betsy said. “No recess. I’ll tell the truth.”

“No recess granted,” the judge said. “Let’s hear about the premonitions.”

“I have premonitions, now and then, about people.” Betsy closed her eyes, then opened them and spoke to the prosecutor. “You’re going to go home early today and your teenage daughter is going to be in bed with her boyfriend. In about a month she’s going to realize she’s pregnant.”

The prosecutor laughed but looked stunned. “My daughter is only fifteen. She’s in school today, then she has soccer practice. But nice try. Can we get back to the case?”

Betsy stared back at her, unblinking, then turned to the judge. “Your wife is planning a surprise party for you. It’s tonight.”

The judge’s mouth opened. “She is?”

“Yes. Your brother is flying in.”

“My brother is?” His face broke out in a smile, briefly, then he told himself to stop it, to show no emotion, be professional. A judge couldn’t believe in premonitions!