“Can you see the punch?”

“No. Just movement. It’s too grainy.”

Ryan handed still shots from the surveillance video to Lila. She could make out the driver, a man in a red shirt, pointing his finger at the woman. In the next picture, the woman had opened the passenger door and had one foot outside. The man had ahold of her arm near the biceps. In the next picture, he had pulled her back into the car. The fourth picture showed the two people facing each other, both with their arms up as though wrestling. The final shot showed the woman lunging out of the car, a hand to her face.

Lila sat back in her chair and flipped through the photos again. This time, instead of thinking about the potential charges, she took her thoughts to the trial. What would be his defense? How would she handle the case if she were his attorney?

“What did you charge him with?”

Ryan handed the draft complaint to Lila. Count one was third-degree assault, which required substantial bodily harm. The swollen eye met that element, but some juries didn’t like the idea that a black eye could be considered substantial harm. The second charge on the complaint was domestic assault—a misdemeanor—which required a punch but no damage.

“Is your victim willing to testify?” Lila asked.

Ryan shrugged. “He’s hit her before—twice—both times she changed her story before trial. Said she lied to the police because she was mad at her husband. Said she hit her eye on a door frame or something. Both cases got dropped. I think that’s why Fitch is being such a—”

“Stickler?” Lila finished Ryan’s sentence, although that hadn’t been the word he was going to use. Ryan had called her Fitch the Bitch once before in Lila’s presence, but Lila’s look had let him know she didn’t approve.

“So, what am I missing?” Ryan asked.

“What’s Gray do for a living?”

“Runs an assisted living facility.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, a conviction gets him fired.”

“That would explain why the wife keeps recanting.”

Lila stared at the pictures again, thinking the case through as if she were the defense attorney, focusing on the State’s obvious weakness—the wife. The key would be to take her out of the equation. Abusers like Gray often talked their victims into not testifying—for the sake of the marriage, or the kids, or a job. But surveillance cameras don’t have that particular human frailty.

Lila stopped on the picture of the woman with one leg out of the car, the man holding her arm, and that’s when it came to her. “Gray yanked her back into the car.”

Ryan looked at Lila as though confused. “Yeah.”

“It’s false imprisonment. He didn’t let her leave the car.”

Ryan pondered that for a second and then said, “Okay, but that’s still only a three-year felony. I already have him charged with third-degree assault. That’s five years. If Fitch isn’t happy with five—”

“He’d have to register as a predatory offender. False imprisonment carries a mandatory registration—assault doesn’t.”