"Mr. Banes," the judge's contralto voice was somewhat husky. It would have been undeniably sexy in a younger woman. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
"No, Ma'am, Your Honor." He cleared his throat quietly. "Nothing that hasn't already been said." His tenor voice was lightly seasoned with an Oxford accent.
"What's been said is a lot of claptrap and hooey, young man. I don't believe half the crap your esteemed lawyer's shoveled. I want the straight stuff, kid. I want it plain and I want it now." She tossed the file folder on the floor in front of her bench.
The bailiff eyed the file, but let the contents scatter, making no move to pick it up. This was how Judge Walker was. God, Himself wouldn't interrupt the flow of her monologue.
"Objection!" Jason's lawyer tried to assert himself.
"You hold your water, pipsqueak!" She pointed one well-manicured finger at him, glaring over the pearls. "When I want to hear from you, I'll ask." She folded her hands, gazing patiently at Jason. "What really happened the night of the Eleventh of May? Who are you trying to protect?"
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