How an Eight-Year-Old Girl Named Emily Reached Out for Help on Maplewood Drive
Claire’s phone, on silent in her pocket, lit up against her thigh.
Wayne Owens, the screen said.
She pressed it flat through the cloth.
“Your witness, counsel,” Mark said.
Pendelton didn’t glance at his notes.
He walked up to the witness stand with his hands hanging loose at his sides.
“Ms.
Johnson, you overrode a standard priority code without a supervisor’s confirmation.