"Well, I mean . . . he only yelled during big fights."

"So you had big fights too?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm going to trust that you are answering my question accurately this time. Is that fair?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Reid was starting to get steamed, and Daphne hadn't raised her voice once.

"Mrs. Reid, can a husband be kind and gentle if he hits his wife?"

"Objection," Nigel blurted, standing up. "The question is vague, more prejudicial than probative, a.s.sumes facts not in evidence . . ." He was talking as fast as he could think.

"Your Honor," Daphne said pleasantly, "the defense is putting a lot of weight on this phrase kind and gentle. I think the jury deserves to know exactly what it means."

"Go on," the U.S. Attorney said.

"Mrs. Reid, can a husband be kind and gentle if he hits his wife?"

"Of course not."

"And Mr. Reid never hit you?"

"Never. Not once."

"Can a husband be kind and gentle if he pushes his wife?"

"No."

"And Mr. Reid never pushed you?"

"No."

"Can a husband be kind and gentle if he grabs his wife and shakes her?"

"Nuh--"

Halfway through the word no, Mrs. Reid came to a halt.

"Mrs. Reid? It's a simple question. Can a husband be kind and gentle if he grabs his wife and shakes her?"

"I don't know . . ."

"Yes or no, Mrs. Reid."

Silence.

"Your Honor, please instruct the witness to answer my question."

"Mrs. Reid?" Bernini looked at her curiously.

"Yes," she whispered.

Daphne c.o.c.ked her head, confused.

"Mrs. Reid, for the record, are you saying that a husband can be kind and gentle if he grabs his wife and shakes her?"

"Yes. No. I don't know."

"Please, answer my question. Yes or no?"

"No," she said softly.

"Good. We can't call a husband kind and gentle if he grabs his wife and shakes her. Mrs. Reid, I'm sorry, but I have to ask, has Mr. Reid ever grabbed and shaken you?"

Mrs. Reid shook her head, not yes or no, but as if she were warding the question away. Nigel and John stared straight ahead, betraying nothing.

"Yes," she said finally.

"Thank you for your honesty," Daphne said kindly. "It was on the night of your husband's company dinner, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"You thought you two were alone in the coatroom, didn't you?"

"Yes," she said, starting to weep softly.

"Would it surprise you to know that a man named Arthur Willey, the man working in the coatroom that night, saw you two fighting?"

"I didn't see anyone else."

"Your husband was yelling, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"He grabbed you by the arms, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"He shook you and shouted at you, didn't he?"

"Yes," she said, and tears started to run down her face.

Daphne leaned in, like a priest or a cellmate.

"What were you fighting about that night?"

"I don't remember."

"Was someone cheating?"

"No."

"Were you in financial trouble?"

"No."

"It must have been something big. Surely you remember?"

Mrs. Reid was shaking her head, wishing the questions away.

Then she said, "No."

"Are you saying your husband grabbed you and shook you over something you can't even remember?"

"Asked and answered," Nigel called out.

"Sustained."

Daphne spoke softly to Mrs. Reid, ignoring Nigel and the judge. "Just one more question, and then we're done."

Daphne made a sad face, as if it hurt her to even ask it.

"Was this fight before or after Mr. Reid's accident, when the piece of metal went into his head?"

There was a painful pause.

"Before," Mrs. Reid said, so softly you almost couldn't hear it at all.

John faced Mrs. Reid and smiled kindly at her. He looked at the jury, with his understanding eyes and his broad hand on the back of his neck, as if to say: this woman deserves better than what she just got.

"Mrs. Reid, how long have you and Arnold been married?"

"Twenty years."

"Did you have boyfriends before Arnold?"

"Yes."

"Did you fight with those boyfriends more or less than you did with Arnold?"

"More, I think. Arnold and I didn't fight that much."

"But you did fight sometimes, right?"

"Sure. We were married for twenty years!"

John smiled sheepishly, as if to say, you got me, ma'am--that was a dumb question. He let her answer sink in.

"The night you were just talking about, did you call the police?"

"No," she said, looking confused.

"Who drove you home that night?"

"My husband."

"Did you go to the hospital?"

"No . . ."

"Did you have bruises?"

"No," she replied, with a baffled look that said, aren't you on our side?

"Are you surprised by these questions?"

"I guess I am."

"Why?"

"Well, it just wasn't like that. I mean, police? Bruises? He didn't grab me hard. We were just fighting and he kind of, you know, held me here. It didn't hurt. It was just, you know, pa.s.sionate. We were having a fight."

"Were you afraid?"

"No. I was p.i.s.sed."

A couple of the jurors laughed.

"Mrs. Reid, we've just heard a lot about one fight. Except for that one night, did Arnold ever lay a hand on you in anger?"

"No. Never."

"Did he ever hit you or push you or do anything physical at all?"

"Never," she said. "He was a gentle man. With our kids too. He was so sweet."

"So in twenty years of marriage, you had one really bad fight. Is that it?"

"Objection, leading."

"Withdrawn. Mrs. Reid, do you think a person should be judged by twenty years of marriage or by one night?"

"Objection, argumentative."

"Sustained."