Samuel Reed Kept an Old Wooden Bat Behind the Pantry Door for Twenty Years
“I never spoke to the neighbors about anything.”
“The statements are notarized, Mrs.
Voss,” Miller said smoothly.
“They describe several instances when you left the residence without shoes or keys while in a state of high distress.”
Mark Jennings read the top page twice, his jaw working slowly over a piece of spearmint gum.
He didn’t hand the paper to me.
“These are character affidavits,” Mark said to the lawyer.
“They don’t explain away the injuries documented at the county clinic.”