Page 74 of Declan

The judge gives Penny a warning look and then turns to the prosecutor and asks, “Have you had a conversation with Ms. Munroe since the evidence went missing?”

“No, Your Honor,” the prosecutor responds. “We only found out the evidence had been misplaced when checking discovery earlier this morning.”

“And is she here to provide testimony for this hearing?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” the prosecutor replies, appearing unhappy about the line of questioning being directed at him from the judge.

The prosecutor says nothing further, but then the judge gives him a pointed look, and he says, “The prosecution would like to call Ms. Marissa Munroe to the stand.”

Issa

I enter the courtroom to a lot of chatter, and the judge waits for me to reach the stand before he calls for order.

It’s my understanding the prosecution was hoping for a closed-door hearing, but the judge denied the request, stating it was completely unnecessary. The defense prefers this, given Declan is a pretty big deal in Los Angeles, and any type of buzz his fans can create will be to his benefit.

I take the stand, and once I’m sworn in, I take a seat, meeting the gaze of the State’s prosecutor head-on as he begins, “Ms. Munroe—“

“Hughes,” I interrupt.

“Excuse me,” he replies with a frown.

“Mrs. Hughes,” I say firmly. “My last name is Hughes.”

His scowl deepens, and it takes some effort for me to school my features and not return Declan’s gloating smirk from across the room, but then, the prosecutor clears his throat and says, “Mrs. Hughes, please state for the record that you’re waiving spousal privilege to testify against the defendant, Declan Hughes.”

I sit up straighter and fold my hands over my lap as I state, “Yes. I’m waiving my spousal privilege to testify against the defendant.”

“And you were married to the defendant at the time the alleged crime was committed?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He squints at me, pausing for a moment before saying, “And you’re still married to the defendant today?”

“Yes.”

“And just to clarify,” he says rather suspiciously. “You understand you’re not compelled to testify against him, but you are choosing to do so of your own free will?”

“Yes.”

He nods and glances back at his co-counsel for a moment before turning back to me and saying, “Mrs. Hughes, did you or did you not tell Detective Swanson that the defendant had a grudge against the deceased, Bobby Schmidt?”

I frown, pursing my lips as I think over the question for a few moments, and then I respond, “You know, I don’t quite recall. It has been a very trying time and all.”

“Was your husband friends with the deceased?”

“Goodness no,” I answer easily. “No one was truly friends with Bobby. The only friend Bobby had most days was himself.”

“But you were in a relationship for years, were you not?”

“Define relationship,” I quip.

The prosecutor gives me an unamused look and then glances at the judge, who says, “Just answer the question, please, Mrs. Hughes.”

I smile primly, then say, “We were in more of a situationship than a relationship.”

The prosecutor stares at me for a moment, and then he turns and looks at his co-counsel for a moment before turning back to me. “A situationship, Mrs. Hughes? Really?”

I nod, so he asks, “And what exactly is a situationship?”

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