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  “Yes. She hadn’t even started filming Jennie yet.”

  “Is it true that you’re one of her oldest friends? If not the oldest?” He paced in front of her, taking one step to the left, two steps to the right, and back again.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Is that a yes?” He took one step closer and looked at her directly until she looked back.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you say you’re her best friend?”

  “I would. Yes.”

  “At what point did Eva-Kate start paying you to be her friend?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Objection,” said Melinda. “Argumentative.”

  “Overruled,” said Judge Lucas. “Proceed, Mr. Willoughby.”

  “You were her paid assistant, correct?”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t paid to be her friend. I was paid to help make her life run smoothly.”

  “I see. Isn’t it true that you were living with Eva-Kate at the time of her death?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t it true that you were living with Eva-Kate for at least a year before that?”

  “Yes…”

  “Did your parents know that you’d been living at Eva-Kate’s?”

  “Uh…” She glanced nervously at me, then at Melinda. “No…”

  “Really? How is that possible?”

  “They’ve been living abroad for a few years.”

  “Interesting. So, then, the homeschool you spoke of earlier is really no school.”

  “Uh…”

  “It’s just, if you have no education and nowhere to live, and Eva-Kate was paying you and giving you a place to live, it seems you’d be very dependent on her, isn’t that so?”

  “Sure.” Josie rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Then someone like Justine shows up and is suddenly Eva-Kate’s new favorite person, right? She’s potentially a threat to your security and cushy setup as Eva-Kate’s professional best friend, so you decide you don’t trust this new girl, you decide she’s suspicious, is that it?”

  “She was suspicious,” Josie insisted. “I didn’t just make that up for convenience’s sake.”

  “What about seeing Justine with the athame? Did you make that up for convenience’s sake?”

  “No. I didn’t. I saw her take the athame outside.”

  “You saw her take it all the way outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Which is it, Miss Bishop? Yes or no?”

  “I saw her take it and follow Eva-Kate down the stairs.”

  “But not all the way outside?”

  “No.”

  “I see. I just want to get clear on what you think you did or didn’t see.”

  “I did see it.”

  “And this was on the sixteenth of July?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you’d arrived home from San Luis Obispo?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many alcoholic beverages would you say you’d had the night before?”

  “What?” Her gaze darted to the judge. “Do I have to answer that?”

  “You do.” Judge Lucas nodded.

  Josie sighed.

  “I don’t know.” She rubbed her temples. “Maybe five?”

  “Maybe five? Is that a typical amount of drinks for you on any given night, Miss Bishop?”

  “No.”

  “Then you were pretty hungover on that day, the sixteenth of July?”

  Josie sighed again. “Yes.”

  “So, then, isn’t there a chance that your hangover and your prejudice against Justine led you to believe you saw something you didn’t?”

  “I didn’t have any prejudice against Justine.”

  “You didn’t? Because we know you had a bad feeling about her, and we know she was threatening your position in Eva-Kate’s life. Do you know the definition of prejudice, Miss Bishop?”

  “The exact definition? No.”

  “Great, let me read it for you.” He picked a dictionary up off his table and flipped to a bookmarked page and read, “Preconceived opinion that is not based on reason or actual experience. Doesn’t that sound like your feelings toward Justine?”

  “No, because my feelings about Justine were based on reason and experience.”

  “The experience of seeing Justine spend all her time with Eva-Kate? Because that sounds more like simple jealousy to me.”

  “Objection, your honor,” Melinda whined. “Argumentative! Counsel is testifying.”

  “Try again, Mr. Willoughby,” Judge Lucas instructed.

  “I wasn’t jealous of Justine,” Josie cut in before he had a chance to rephrase.

  “But you didn’t like that she was stealing your best friend?”

  “She wasn’t stealing my best friend.”

  “But they were doing everything together all the time?”

  “Well, yes. But—”

  “When you were in San Luis Obispo, is it true that you stayed at the Madonna Inn?”

  “Yes…”

  “And did the three of you share a room?”

  “No.”

  “Is it true that Eva-Kate and Justine shared a room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then where did you sleep?”

  “In my own room.”

  “So they shared a room, and you had to sleep alone.”

  “I had my own room, but—”

  “Miss Bishop,” he cut her off. “How is your eyesight?”

  “My eyesight?”

  “Do you wear glasses? Contacts?”

  “Uh … yeah … I wear glasses at night.”

  “Are they for reading or for distance?”

  “Um … distance?”

  “So, you need them if you want to see things clearly from a distance at night?”

  “Yes.”

  “On the night of the sixteenth when you think you saw Justine holding the athame, how far away from her were you?”

  “I was down the hall. So … like, twenty feet.”

  “And were you wearing your glasses?”

  “No.” Josie shifted her jaw from side to side. “I wasn’t.”

  “No further questions, your honor.”

  * * *

  “How did that go?” I asked in the hallway during a recess.

  “Fine,” he replied, “but it’s just getting started.”

  “Fine?” I asked. “What does that mean? Did you prove Josie’s an unreliable witness?”

  “Prove? No, I didn’t prove. I showed some evidence that points to her possibly not being reliable. There’s not a lot of room for black and white in the American judicial system, but we’re building you a defense here, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “Fine.” Then I tried hard not to think of spending the rest of my life in a bunk bed with a roommate with a face tattoo and a sadistic streak.

  CHAPTER 17

  EXHIBIT A FOR ATHAME

  Next up was the coroner. Thomas Walker-Flynn. A tall and lanky man, I guessed somewhere in his early sixties, with powdery white eyebrows that loomed crookedly over the rest of his face. His blue silk tie burned against the stark white of his suit jacket.

  “Your name, sir?” Melinda Warren asked him, standing with her hands tucked into her blazer pockets, elbows splayed out so that her arms looked like wings.

  “Thomas Walker-Flynn.” He leaned in to speak into the microphone.

  “And who do you work for?”

  “LA County Medical Examiner’s Office.”

  “How many years have you worked there, Mr. Walker-Flynn?”

  “Almost twenty years.”

  “What is it that you do at the medical examiner’s office?”

  “I am a medical examiner. I am charged with examining the bodies of deceased individuals and certifying a cause or manner of death.”

  “Mr. Walker-Flynn,” she went on, “according to your expert opinion, what was the cause of Miss Kelly’s death?”
/>   “A knife wound inflicted below her rib cage on the left side. The knife punctured her spleen and severed her thoracic aorta. She bled out extremely quickly and was dead within seconds.”

  “According to what you found, how big of a blade are we talking about?”

  “About five inches. Double-edged.”

  “So then it was a dagger, and not a knife?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “A dagger like this?”

  She removed a remote control the size of a business card from her pocket and clicked it in the direction of a projector screen to the left of the room. As she did so, it flickered awake, displaying an image of the athame, the bone-white handle and the double-edged blade rusty with blood. My stomach lurched and my eyes clapped shut.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed. “Exactly like that.”

  “This is People’s Exhibit A, your honor,” Melinda declared. “The dagger, also known as an athame, that killed Eva-Kate Kelly.”

  She paused here, opening up a big, blank space I felt myself plunge into.

  “According to your findings,” she went on, “was this wound inflicted by a large person?”

  “Sorry, can you define large?”

  “Sure, sure.” She bobbed her head. “Six feet or taller?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “Is it possible for you to tell how tall this person was?”

  “The dagger went in on a slightly upward angle, which suggests the killer was shorter than the victim.”

  “Interesting.” One side of her mouth twisted up into an amused, sour smirk. “Now, according to your findings, what time did Eva-Kate Kelly die?”

  “I can’t say a precise time. But it would have been somewhere between midnight and four in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Walker-Flynn. No further questions, your honor.”

  * * *

  “Mr. Walker-Flynn,” Jack began, hopping up even before Melinda had finished speaking. “Refresh our memories. You said Eva-Kate was killed with one stab wound, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meaning, she was stabbed one time? Just once?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she died almost immediately?”

  “Very quickly, yes.”

  “Then the killer knew what they were doing?”

  “Objection, calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Of course.” Jack held up a finger, asking for patience. “Let’s put it this way: Would an average person know how or be able to end someone’s life with one quick stab?”

  “Unlikely. It could happen by chance, of course, that someone who had no idea what they were doing got quote unquote lucky and inserted the weapon into the exact right spot.”

  “But most likely an average person would have to inflict multiple wounds, trying at least a few times before cutting into the right spot?”

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “Then, in your expert opinion, is our killer most likely somebody with expertise and knowledge of human anatomy?”

  “Most likely, yes.”

  “Interesting,” he shot pointedly in Melinda’s direction. “And you say the time of death was approximately between midnight and four in the morning?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But it is possible that the death occurred before midnight or after four? Say, five?”

  “It’s possible, yes.”

  “Thank you.” He glanced over his shoulder at Melinda to gloat once more. “No further questions, your honor.”

  * * *

  Judge Lucas had called another recess and I was sitting in a private room with my parents and Jack Willoughby.

  “You’re doing so good, pumpkin,” my dad said. “Phenomenal. Everything’s going to be over soon.”

  No it’s not. I wanted to slip away from his hand on my shoulder but sat extremely still. I never knew anymore who was looking. I felt sick to my stomach. My heart thumped deep in my neck tissue like a ticking time bomb hidden away somewhere in the walls. I could feel that the air was cool, but my skin sizzled and my forehead burned with the first signs of a fever. I struggled to swallow. I broke out in a cold sweat.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I said to Jack, wanting my parents to disappear, wanting the walls and the lights and my bones and my shoes and the chipped tiles they stood on to dissolve, liquefy, and slide off the face of the Earth. “When will it be over?”

  “That’s extremely hard to say, Justine.” He handed me a handkerchief that was white with black polka dots. “There are several witnesses left and—”

  “Can you walk us through the rest of the trial?” my mom asked, practically shouting. “I need to know what to expect. I swear I’m on the verge of a heart attack.”

  “Nancy, breathe.” My dad moved his hand from my shoulder to hers, and she slapped it off.

  “How can I breathe, Elliot?” Her voice started to tremble. “Do you understand our daughter’s life is on the fucking line?”

  “Nancy, calm down,” he tried again. “Everything is going to be fine. Remember that the worst-case scenario—”

  “Mr. Willoughby.” She put her hand up to block my dad from her sight. “This isn’t going well, I know that, I’m not an idiot. I’m not a lawyer but I’m not a fucking idiot either, so I know shit’s going south. They’re saying my daughter is a crazed stalker killer freak, and with her fingerprints on the knife and a witness who says—and all you did in there was a half-assed attempt to prove Josie’s unreliable! For what we’re paying you, Mr. Willoughby, there has got to be more you can be doing.”

  “Dr. Childs, Josie is an unreliable witness, and the jury will see that. And getting the coroner to admit that the murder could have taken place once Justine was at the hotel is very important for us. I’m fairly confident right now that I’ll be able to prove that there’s simply not enough evidence to convict.”

  “That’s it?” My mom clutched at her neck. “That’s not enough! Melinda Warren has painted a very convincingly lurid image of my daughter, and she does have evidence to back it up. She has witnesses. Who cares if they’re reliable or not? We don’t have any! We don’t have anybody on our side!”

  “That’s not true, Dr. Childs,” Jack said. “We have Richie Holmes testifying later, and—”

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “The man who Justine checked in with at the Ace Hotel. He’ll be testifying about the—”

  “His testimony is useless! Time of death is approximately between midnight and four in the morning. All he’s going to do is testify that she arrived at five; what good is that? Oh God, I can’t breathe. Elliot!” She turned back to my dad. “I can’t breathe!”

  “You can breathe,” he said, scratching beneath his chin. “This is just anxiety.”

  “Dr. Childs, are you all right?” Jack asked her, but looked to me for an answer. I rolled my eyes.

  “She doesn’t like that the attention isn’t on her,” I explained. “She’s fine.”

  “Are you kidding me, Justine?” She glowered. “You think anyone would want the kind of attention you’ve attracted to yourself? You think anyone wants to be a part of this nightmare that you’ve created?”

  “Me?” I laughed. “You’re the one who did this! You’re the one who led a maniac straight to our door. Now she’s dead and the world thinks I killed her. And why? Because she was obsessed with me. She stalked me, okay? And you let her. You practically helped her! None of this is my fault.” I shook my head. “None.”

  “Okay, okay, okay.” Jack Willoughby put his arms out between us, as if he thought we might lunge at each other. “Listen to me, both of you. You’re right, the prosecution has painted a picture of Justine as a girl obsessed, but you say if anyone was obsessed, it was Eva-Kate. To the best of your knowledge, is there any evidence that might point to this?”

  “My notes,” my mom said instantly. “From my sessions with Eva-Kate. They’re confidential, but it’s
all in there—how unstable she was, how fixated she had become. I haven’t looked at them lately, but they should illustrate that if anything, Justine is a victim.”

  “And you’d be willing to submit those?” Jack asked. “Even though it could result in the loss of your license?”

  “Of course,” she said. “This is my daughter’s life we’re talking about. I’d do anything.”

  “Okay then.” He nodded. “I’ll talk to the judge and see what I can do about getting the notes submitted into evidence.”

  He left us there, and I’d have preferred it if he hadn’t, because then I had to look my mom in the eye. And after what she’d just said, I didn’t think I could. She’d do anything for me. After everything, it was my life that mattered most to her. More than her own. Blood rushed my cheeks, hot and stinging with shame. I hated myself. I had an urge to bash my head into the wall until it was finally all over. I don’t know why, but for as long as I can remember, whenever I sense that somebody purely and truly loves me, I want very much to kill myself.

  Jack had left the door to our room ajar, and out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a ghost. A glimmer of blond hair walking by, opalescent skin sculpted into high cheekbones, green-apple eyes. Liza. My heart skipped a beat. I watched as she pushed the bathroom door open and went inside.

  What’s she doing here? I wondered. After disappearing for months, why show up now?

  To watch you squirm, a voice said. She wants to watch you take the fall.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I told my parents. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  “What’s taking Jack so long?” my mom said, not hearing me. “Where’d he go, anyway?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, keeping my eyes on the bathroom door. “Why don’t you go find him. I’ll be right back.” I hurried down the hall, keeping my head low.

  Stop, I told myself, you look insane. If anyone sees you right now they will think you’re insane. If anyone gets a picture of you right now they will think you’re insane. Stop walking. Just stop. But I couldn’t stop. I was driven. I took a breath at the bathroom door and pushed it open. Liza stood at the sink applying highlighter to her cheeks. She saw me in the reflection and turned around.

  “What do you want?” she asked, capping the highlighter and tossing it into her purse.