“MP, meaning military police?”
“Correct.”
“Can you tell the jury the basis for that promotion?”
“‘Sergeant Hollis has demonstrated razor-sharp tactical skill as an assault force member during annual unit force-on-force exercise.’” Aronson is reading directly from someone else’s report, double hearsay from a document not in evidence. But Abby isn’t saying anything. Popping up with technical objections will annoy the jury and serve no useful purpose; Aronson will just use his own words to repeat what he’s already said. None of which is good for them. “‘He is committed to career advancement and expeditiously completed security forces career development courses. An articulate, gregarious young airman whose devotion to duty makes him an asset to the air force—promote now.’”
Shauna nods, looking pleased. She asks, “Did you know Staff Sergeant Travis Hollis personally?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve supervised him going on two years.”
“In that two-year period, did you come to know him well enough to form an opinion about his character?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What was that opinion?”
“He was strong, tough, never complained. Followed orders. Did a twelve-month tour in Iraq in 2003, where he served with distinction. Big and burly, but a gentle giant.”
Abby writes down the last two words as Shauna shifts gears. “I want to turn your attention to the night of—well, the early morning hours of October 14, 2006. Do you recall receiving a phone call from a woman who identified herself as Mrs. Rivera Hollis, the defendant?”
Aronson inclines his head slightly. “Yes.”
“You received the call at 02:46 hours, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Why was the defendant calling you?”
“She said that her husband, Staff Sergeant Hollis, was drunk and being loud and waking up their baby. She said something to the effect of ‘he can’t stay here,’ and she was asking that I remove him from the house.”
“Did she sound upset?”
“No. She was talking in a normal tone of voice, not yelling. She sounded maybe a little tense.”
“Angry?”
“Maybe a little, yes.”
Shauna turns to face the jury. “Did she say she was afraid? That her husband was threatening her or that she was in danger?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Did she say the baby was in danger?”
“No, ma’am.”
Abby’s eyes are on the jurors. They are fixed on Aronson, who answers the questions in an even tone while looking slightly uneasy. A decent man balking at airing someone else’s dirty laundry. Far better if he was puffed up with self-importance, enjoying himself at Luz’s expense.
Satisfied, Shauna walks back to the podium. “After the defendant told you that the victim—”
Abby objects and Dars overrules her. “When it’s your turn, you can use a different word.”
“After the defendant told you that the victim was being too loud to stay in the house, what did you say?”
“I said, ‘Well, what is he doing exactly?’ Because I was trying to find out, you know, what the situation was.”
“What did the defendant say?”
“She didn’t say anything. There was silence, and then some kind of thumping and I could hear kind of a muffled sound, like maybe she had put her hand over the receiver. And I—I didn’t know what to think at that point. I was—well, I was getting concerned, and I said, ‘Put Hollis on the line. Put him on the line now.’”
“Did Sergeant Hollis get on the line?”
“Not to speak to me directly. I heard a sound, though, like heavy breathing.”
“What did it sound like?”
Aronson leans forward, puckering his lips and blowing slowly into the microphone. Shauna makes a continuing motion and Aronson does it a second time, then a third before resuming his default upright position.
“Then what?”
“I said, ‘Hollis? Hollis? This is Captain Aronson. What is going on there?’”
“Did the victim respond?” Shauna asks.
“Not to me directly, but yes, he spoke.” Aronson hesitates. “He used a profanity.”
Dars leans in, caterpillar eyebrows drawn together, an unmistakable gleam in his eye. “What profanity did he use, exactly?”
Now Aronson looks distinctly uncomfortable. “Your Honor, I’m not sure it is appropriate—”
Dars shakes his head firmly. “This is a murder trial, not ladies’ social tea, Captain Aronson. Answer my question.”
“He said—” Aronson looks once more at Dars, then apologetically back at Shauna “—‘you stupid cunt.’”
The gym teacher puts a hand to her mouth and one of the stay-at-home mom’s eyes go wide.
Shauna does an excellent job of looking unfazed. “Did the phone call continue?”
“No. It was cut off. There was a smashing sound—and then nothing. Not even a dial tone.”
“Did you try calling back?”
“Yes, several times, but there was nothing. I got out of bed, pulled on a pair of pants and a tee shirt. A sweatshirt, too. It was fall at that point, turning cold. I grabbed my car keys off the table and my wife, she’s been up long enough to hear some of my side of the conversation and she asks, ‘Where are you going?’ and I say, ‘To Sergeant Hollis’s house to see about a possible domestic situation.’ Then I got in my vehicle and I drove over there.”
“How long did it take you to get in your car and drive from your house to the Hollises’?”
“I was in my vehicle approximately ninety seconds after the call was over. From there, it was about a six-minute drive.”
“So that would get you there at approximately 2:53– 2:54 a.m.?”
“Approximately.”
“Okay, tell us what you saw and heard when you pulled up to the house.”
“The lights were on in the foyer area. I could hear a baby crying inside and a woman screaming. There were a lot of sounds. I pulled out my phone and called to dispatch law enforcement patrols. I advised my commanding officer and all police patrols that we had a domestic incident in progress, possible injuries, dispatch immediately. And as I—as I am doing that, I’m running up to the house. The door was slightly open but there was a weight against it when I pushed on it and I just barely got inside.”
“What did you see?”
“Mrs. Rivera Hollis. She was sitting down, her back was up against the door and she was holding Sergeant Hollis’s head
