The gallery erupts in nervous laughter but quiets when the judge glares. I can see Bastinelli’s red face from here. I feel his pain and embarrassment. So much for the “bombshell” the reporters were predicting.

“And who’s Timmy Gervin?” Hardy continues.

“He was an assistant equipment manager for the Patriots.”

“Can you tell me why a male equipment manager would dress himself up as a cheerleader?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there when it started. He was just playing around, I guess.”

“Playing around. I see. And did Mr. Gervin make a habit of dressing in a cheerleader’s uniform?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

“Did it look like Mr. Gervin was being injured in any way?”

“No. I remember he was laughing the whole time.”

“So whatever was going on here, he seemed to be in on the joke?”

“Seemed that way, yes.”

“So you knew, when you produced this picture, that it showed a bunch of male coworkers just playing around?”

I can tell what Hardy’s doing. The jury can’t unsee that image. All she can do is try to disarm it. When your client is on trial for murder, the last thing you want the jury to remember is a picture of him pretending to kill somebody.

“I did know.”

“So why bring it forward now, Mr. Donovan? Why did you feel compelled to rush it to the attorney general’s office?”

“I heard trial coverage about Cole Wright strangling Suzanne Bonanno and I didn’t want anybody to think I was hiding something.”

Hardy steps toward the bench. “Your Honor, move to strike! This witness is not a medical or forensics expert!”

“Sustained.” Dow looks at the jury. “The jury will disregard the witness’s last response.”

Hardy collects herself before asking her next question.

“Mr. Donovan. A photograph captures one instant in time, isn’t that right?”

“One split second, that’s right.”

“And you’ve admitted that you don’t really know what led up to this picture, right?”

“Not really.”

“Meaning no?”

“That’s right. I don’t know what came before.”

“But from what you witnessed, it seemed a harmless joke, right?”

“I think so, yes.”

“No further questions.”

Bastinelli stands up and buttons his jacket. “Your Honor, the State rests.”

His strategy is clear. That picture is exactly what he wants the jury to remember.

CHAPTER
118

The White House

In the Oval Office, the president of the United States is staring at a photo of her husband that she’s never seen before. It shows him pretending to choke a young man dressed as a young woman.

The couple’s daily phone call has been a time for Maddy to show Cole her unwavering support. Not today. They’re on a conference call with Tess Hardy.

“Cole, what the hell were you thinking?” Maddy demands, knowing how bad this makes the First Gentleman look.