"Celestina Amonte, your indictment reads as follows: Count One, First Degree Murder. One, on or about and between November 6, 2013 and November 13, 2013, both dates being approximate and inclusive, within the jurisdiction of the United States, the State of California, and the City of Krimson City, the defendant Celestina Amonte did knowingly and intentionally murder the victim Carolyn Ledford.

"Count Two, Second Degree Murder. Two, on or about and between November 6, 2013 and November 13, 2013, within the aforementioned jurisdictions, the defendant Celestina Amonte did—without malice aforethought—intentionally murder the victim Carolyn Ledford.

"Count Three, Voluntary Manslaughter. Three, on or about and between November 6, 2013 and November 13, 2013, within the aforementioned jurisdictions, the defendant Celestina Amonte did intentionally murder the victim Carolyn Ledford as a crime of passion—without malice aforethought and spurred by momentary emotional or mental distress.

"Mr. Newell, have you discussed the charges set forth in Counts One, Two, and Three with your client?"

"I have, Your Honor."

"And does your client understand that, should any of these charges be proven, any of the lesser offenses as previously listed will automatically be proven in tandem?"

"Yes."

"Does your client wish to enter a plea at this time to the aforementioned charges?"

"Yes, Your Honor. My client pleads not guilty to each count."

"Very well. A plea of not guilty is entered to all three counts of the indictment."

A loud, irate huff escaped her lips as soon as the door shut behind her. She threw her leather bag onto one of the hooks by the door and marched deeper into the house. There, she found Stefano reclined in his armchair. A few feet in front of him was a large print already tucked into its thick matte.

"Brown matte," she heard Stefano mutter under his breath, his voice muffled by the fingers pressed over his lips. "Why on earth would anyone ask for a brown matte?"

"How is the gift for the mayor coming along?" Alessandra asked, stopping by the armchair to observe the portrait. It was that of a woman—hmm, the mayor certainly married below his level, didn't he? Perhaps the woman had come with a nice dowry.

"Already finished. Not bad, even with that hideous matte." With a sigh, Stefano continued, "Last time I spoke with the mayor, though, I asked for a bit more time. I haven't been myself, I told him, with fretting over my poor wife. He was very understanding—a rare trait among clientele. He confessed to me he was absolutely baffled by the KCPD's actions, you know. How could they do that to Krimson City's sweetheart? He even assured me that I would have nothing to worry about. If she didn't do it, then they'll eventually find that out." He laughed. "I supposed I should be worried then?" There was no response. "Amore?"

"Three counts," Alessandra muttered bitterly. "That detective pinned three counts on me—he really doesn't want to let me go."

"Isn't that the usual reception you get from men?" Stefano replied nonchalantly, pulling his sleeve back to glance at his watch.

"There's only one man's response I care about," Alessandra said, letting her voice grow playful. She crouched down by the armchair, resting her arms atop the armrest. "You'll protect me from the bad detective, won't you?"

"Of course." Stefano placed a hand on the top of her head, letting it slide down and come around the back of her neck. "What artist would I be without my inspiration? I'm curious, though—did anyone bring up your hair?"

"No," Alessandra scoffed lightly. "This was a court proceeding, not a ladies' night out."

"And speaking of which, when is the hearing?"

"Next week," Alessandra answered, standing and pulling herself from Stefano's grip. "Doug told the judge he needed time to prepare. He wants to take whatever evidence the detective has on me and turn it against him."

"This lawyer—he trusts you? Believes your every word?"

"Of course," Alessandra said. "We're friends."

"Hmm," Stefano mused, "quite the puppeteer, aren't you?"

"The world is simply my stage," Alessandra responded. "And I've gotten quite good at setting it how I like." She walked around the armchair.

As she headed towards the kitchen to fix herself a mug of something hot, she heard Stefano speak up behind her. "How is… How are you feeling?" There was something clumsy about how the question was asked. Of course. True empathy was something she suspected Stefano to be a complete stranger to. She only wondered what was causing him to breach the boundary now.

"I'm fine," Alessandra answered, her hand automatically drifting up to settle over her stomach. She stopped and looked back at Stefano. "Nobody knows, of course. And you know what, darling? If push comes to shove, I have a way to make the detective look truly heinous. Make him the monster."

Stefano broke away from her eyes to sit back, settling his gaze onto the portrait. "Once the dust settles over this…" He gave a brisk flick of his hand, "… this ordeal, I think we should leave Krimson City. I'm serious this time."

"And won't people think that we're running from something?" Alessandra pointed out.

"Or they'll see a man who is simply tired of having him and his dear wife be harassed by the KCPD time and time again."

"What about when the Krimson City Killer murders stop?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can arrange for some pieces to have delayed unveilings," Stefano said. "Throw off the timing—just by a bit. People are ever so dimwitted, amore. I'm sure you've noticed that in abundance as well." Resting his elbows on either armrest, he laced his fingers together in front of him. "I just feel like I'm starting to fly too close to the sun."

Alessandra had long forgotten why she was heading towards the kitchen, her attention wholly focused on the man in the armchair. She turned fully to face him. "Darling?"

"When I was a younger man, if someone told me I'd be here—wearing gold on my hand and talking to an expecting wife, I'd think they were telling me some sort of joke in ill taste. If they told me that I'd desire her company over the pulling apart of her flesh, I'd call them a fool. But now…" Stefano suddenly parted his hands. "Brown matte. I put a brown matte over that thing. Why did I do that?" He paused for a moment, and then in a soft voice said, "I've been thinking about Giacomo a lot lately."

Then, abruptly as though shaken from a dream—or even a nightmare—Stefano stood. He stepped away from the armchair. As he passed by Alessandra, he paused next to her and gave her nose a playful tap. "Why are you standing here like some kind of stranger?" he asked her in a teasing voice. He then walked past her, adding, "I wonder how my hometown is going to react to my pieces."

Krimson City's sweetheart—this was going to be no ordinary case, the prosecutor knew. Nor easy. Unfortunately, preliminary hearings were open to the public and she expected a full courtroom. She only hoped the bailiffs were ready to pull rowdy and outspoken fans out of the room.

To be completely honest, Chen was surprised Ledford managed to push the proceedings on Amonte this far. Even she had felt the general skepticism that was widespread across the police department and prosecutor office. No one but Ledford seemed to believe that La Contessa was capable of what she was being accused of doing. Chen had to admit the evidence they had on hand was a bit shaky, but it was all they had. That, and the detective's steadfast determination, was the only things keeping the cogs turning.

Chen was already at her bench when the defendant and her counsel arrived. She spent the next 15 minutes before the hearing to skim through her documents one last time and rehearse the facts in her head. Ledford was going to appear as the prosecution's witness. Then the few pieces of evidence they had would be presented, and Chen was fully aware that Newell likely had counterarguments prepared for each and every one of them.

When court came into session, Chen rose to her feet. The hearing began with the judge addressing the defense, asking if the defendant would like the charges reread to her. Newell responded by saying that wouldn't be necessary.

Finally, after more exchange between the court and the defense, the judge finally turned to Chen and asked that the hearing begin. "Prosecutor," the judge addressed. "Your objective today is to prove probable cause that the defense, Celestina Amonte, is linked to the murder of Carolyn Ledford. Otherwise this case will not proceed to trial. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Very well. Do you anticipate making any sort of opening statement?"

"No, Your Honor."

"Call your first witness."

"I'd like to call Detective Jackson Ledford to the stand," Chen introduced. She couldn't help but watch warily as the detective stepped up and took his place at the booth. His face was hardened as it always was in a professional setting, but the jovial glint that used to be ever present in his eyes was extinguished.

Once Ledford was sworn in, Chen began her questioning. She asked Ledford to introduce himself and spell out his name for the court reporter, which he did.

"How are you employed, Detective Ledford?"

"I'm an investigator with the Krimson City Police Department."

"How long have you been with the KCPD?"

"11 years."

"And how long have you been a detective?"

"This January will make it seven years."

"And what were you serving as before you became a detective?"

"A patrol officer."

"Detective Ledford, so that we may lay this matter transparently to the court, please explain the nature of your relationship between yourself and the victim."

At the question, the detective's jaw clenched, though he was quick to answer. "The victim, Carolyn Ledford, was my sister." His words remained firm, but Chen caught a slight stammer on his last word.

"Thank you, Detective. Now, were you the first officer at the scene after the body of the victim was discovered?"

"No, Detective Hendriks was the first. I arrived shortly thereafter."

"Were you able to assess the body before it was taken to the ambulance?"

"Yes."

"And can you describe the nature of the body as it was discovered?" It pained Chen to even ask, but she knew laying the facts out for the court was necessary. As Ledford had insisted, they needed to establish probable cause today.

"The body was posed," Ledford began. Chen was amazed at how steady he kept his composure. Then again, this was Jackson—the man whose job brought him face-to-face with the darkest parts of humanity time and time again. But even this… this couldn't be compared. "Additionally, it was decorated. Upon discovery, it was wearing a dress that more than likely did not belong to the victim."

"Was it decapitated like many of the other previously found posed bodies?"

"No."

"Does the KCPD suspect the same killer, aliased the Krimson City Killer by media, to be responsible?"

There was an uncharacteristic pause that followed Chen's latest question. Ledford's eyes flitted to the defendant. "Y—most likely."

"Then leave her alone!" a shout suddenly pierced the proceeding. "What the fuck are you doing?" Heads snapped back to see a middle-aged woman with short hair and highlights who had risen to her feet.

The judge frowned. "Quiet in the court," he stated sternly.

Another, having been spurred by the first woman, screeched, "Innocent until proven guilty, and you can't even prove shit!"

"Quiet in the court!" one of the bailiffs boomed. Chen wanted to sink down under her bench. On the other side of the aisle, Celestina gave her attorney a worried look. Newell only shook his head and touched a finger to his lips.

"Throw his ass in jail! He's the only guilty one here!"

"Bailiffs, escort them out! They are not to be allowed back in!" the judge snapped. As the bailiffs carried out his order, the judge continued, "Might I remind the court that a preliminary hearing is in session, and any interruption from public attendees will not be tolerated!"

Chen looked back once more to catch a glimpse of the bailiffs herding the women out. As she did, another face in the backbenches caught her eye. She recognized him. Several years prior, Ledford had pulled him in as a suspect for a previous murder, but they hadn't even been able to take him to court. He was there now, the only face not turned to watch the bailiffs. He was staring straight ahead at the prosecutor. There was something in his gaze that caused a deep shiver of fear in her.

And then she realized he wasn't looking at her. He was staring past her—at the detective on the witness stand. Chen turned back and saw that Ledford was returning the stare. There was something unsettling in the detective's glare.

Chen heard the large courtroom doors close. Immediately, the judge spoke up, "Court is back in session. Prosecutor, resume your questioning."

Questio—? Oh. Right.

Ledford broke his eyes away from Stefano's, looking back at the prosecutor expectantly. "Detective," Chen began, her mind racing to recall what had been discussed before the outbursts. "As previously established… The KCPD suspects the victim to have been killed by a suspected serial killer known to be within the Krimson City area?"

"It certainly seems that way, yes," Ledford answered. He implored Chen through his gaze to veer the questioning towards the direction they needed it to go.

"Has the KCPD ever brought up prior suspicions about the defendant, Ms. Amonte, being or in affiliation with the Krimson City Killer?"

"Yes."

"Please elaborate."

"Six years ago the KCPD brought in her husband, Stefano Valentini, for questioning as a suspect for the murder of Janine Sawyer. Two years ago, Ms. Amonte was taken for questioning for the Irma Kotz murder."

"And was probable cause formally established in either of these instances?"

The detective's eyes darkened. "No."

"Detective Ledford, can you please explain to the court why you suspect Ms. Amonte now?"

"New evidence has arisen in the face of this new murder, Prosecutor. They all link to the defendant."

"Your Honor," Chen said, "the prosecution has a prepared exhibit list it wishes to present to the court. I would like to conclude my questioning with the detective and move on to the presentation of the exhibits."

"Before we do—does the defense wish to cross-examine the witness?"

"Not at this time, Your Honor."

"The prosecution will present its exhibit list."

"Of course, Your Honor." Chen signaled to an officer sitting behind a laptop nearby. The lights in the courtroom dimmed slightly and a projection screen lowered from the ceiling. "Here we have Exhibit A." An image appeared on the projection screen—that of a red dress laid flat on a table. An evidence tag was attached to one of the shoulder straps. "This is the dress that the victim was found in. Exhibit A is a red satin dress of the designer brand, C. Denevor. We had appraisers come in and estimate that the retail price of this dress would have been around $1,995. You see, Your Honor, there was no comparable dress on the market that we could use because this one was an exclusive—a personal, one-of-a-kind made by designer Clarissa Denevor herself as a gift for Ms. Amonte."

"The defense would like to object," Newell quickly cut in. Chen couldn't help but shoot him a look. "There is a rational explanation for this that disconnects my client's involvement with how the dress ended up on the victim."

"The defense may continue," the judge allowed.

"Ms. Amonte has informed me that some time in October, she had that dress brought to the dry cleaners. Upon picking it up, she was informed that the dress had been misplaced. She never had it in her possession since."

"And did she make any attempt to recover the dress?"

"Yes, but they were all unsuccessful. I suspect that it was around that time when the true killer took possession of the dress."

Chen already knew of this counterargument when Newell had first learned of the victim's dress. Officers had gone to the dry cleaners. The staff there confirmed that Ms. Amonte had checked in a red satin dress that, to their bafflement, became the first piece of clothing that had ever gone missing. When asked for a receipt for proof, the staff replied that Ms. Amonte had refused to pay when she learned that her dress had gone missing. All they could show was the entry they had made in the system's log, which was deemed adequate.

"If, for a moment, we were to say that Ms. Amonte did indeed murder the victim," Newell continued, "it would be completely irrational and—might I add—foolish for her to put her victim in a dress that very quickly could be proven she was the sole possessor of."

To Chen's disappoint, but not at all to her surprise, Newell's argument won over the court. "Ms. Chen, Exhibit A has failed to prove probable cause. Please move on to your next exhibit."

"Yes, Your Honor. Might I direct the court's attention to Exhibit B?" The officer behind the laptop rose and procured the next piece of evidence—a smartphone. "Detective, was the victim's phone ever recovered?"

Ledford, still at the witness stand, answered, "No, Prosecutor. And it is currently powered off, so it cannot be GPS tracked."

"Then whose phone is this?"

"Mine."

"The detective has informed investigators—and this has been confirmed by records within his phone—that he received a text message sent from the victim's phone on November 6, timestamp approximately 5:30 PM. The message reads as follows: La Contessa's house is so big! Will she think I'm trashy if I ask her for a selfie while I'm here? End quote."

Hidden from view in the defendant's seat, the woman's hand clenched in her lap.

"My client claims she was never visited by the victim on or around November 6, Your Honor," Newell said. "Detective, where did officers find the victim's car?"

"In the parking garage of her apartment complex," Ledford answered flatly.

"It's possible the victim took a taxi," Chen shot back. "Krimson City Taxi has records of a cab stopping at the defendant's address on November 6, with the fare paid by Ms. Amonte's card."

"Ms. Amonte has told me that cab was for herself. She had gone out for drinks with friends that day."

"November 6 is within the coroner's range of estimated time of death," the judge said, this time not looking as convinced by Newell's argument. "And despite the context of the victim's message, Ms. Amonte denies seeing her around her home. Why would she send a message like that, then? I think this may warrant further investigation, Mr. Newell. Prosecutor, do you have any other evidence to show to the court?"

"I do, Your Honor," Chen replied. Her eyes met Ledford's. "Forensics found Exhibit C. As Detective Ledford has been working closely with them, I'll have him present it to the court."

"Exhibit C," Ledford picked up immediately, "was found on the victim herself." Unbeknownst to anyone else within the courtroom, Stefano suddenly sat forward. The grip he had on one knee was tight. The projection screen showed a picture of a thin, brown strand against a white surface. An evidence tag labeled 'C' was laid next to it. "It was a hair, Your Honor. Luckily, the root follicle was intact and forensics was able to extract enough DNA to run identifying tests." The detective's cold eyes fell on the defense's bench as he said, "A match was found and it was determined with absolute certainty that the hair belonged to Ms. Amonte."

Celestina had paled. It was time to drive the final nail in. "Detective," Chen addressed. "Where did forensics find this hair?"

Each word was spoken with puncturing intensity. "Inside the knife wound."

For a moment, the room was silent. Eyes of those once adoring fans looked to Celestina in shock. Then came the multitude of hushed whispers as people were no longer able to keep their racing thoughts to themselves. The judge quickly silenced the courtroom. Celestina looked to Newell with pleading eyes while the attorney simply looked helpless. He had no counterargument for this one. When she found no reassurance from him, she looked back over her shoulder. There was one among the sea of faces that remained calm as he returned her gaze.

The sigh seemed to echo in the large, spacious room. Funny, Stefano mused as he gazed out across the emptiness. This house seemed to have tripled in size ever since Alessandra moved in. But he could only ever feel the extra space in her absence.

The judge at the preliminary hearing had established that there was indeed probable cause. At the session's end, Alessandra had burst into tears and a bailiff had pulled Stefano away when he'd gone to hug her. Of course—the media was there, after all.

Speaking of them—Stefano remembered how they hungrily followed him out the courtroom, pleading for a minute of his attention. He had ignored them at first. Then he had lied to them, telling them he had no desire to respond to any questions. And then he'd stopped to let the cameras and the microphones rush in.

They asked him question after question—one after the other and together all at once. Never could one end without another quickly being asked on its tail. They were all too excited, and Stefano made sure they would do what he wanted them to do.

They asked him if he thought his wife had truly committed the murder, to which he fervently denied. They asked him what his take was on the arrest and Stefano admitted he had never felt more hounded in his life. He wondered if maybe the KCPD's true motivation for targeting the two of them had something to do with their race or their socioeconomic status. He knew the press would gobble his answer up—they loved controversy, and so he painted it vibrantly into his words.

They had asked him what he thought of the judge's latest decree. With probable cause established, Alessandra's recognizance had been revoked and she was to be detained until her trial. To this, Stefano responded that he felt utterly hopeless.

That had been the biggest lie told that day.

There was work to be done. A little trim here, a little snip there. Gently whittle away certain parts until the whole thing was teetering. Then, a simple push. The rest would follow.

"Detective, um…"

This couldn't be good. Hendriks looked up from her desk. The officer stood there, hesitating for a moment, before continuing. "I think… you might want to hear this."

"What is it?" Hendriks asked, rising from her chair. She came around the desk and followed the officer out into the hall.

"Earlier today the suspect made a call to her husband," the officer explained as they headed towards one of the surveillance rooms.

"Did Ms. Amonte reveal anything in the call?" Hendriks asked.

"Yes—well, not pertaining to the case, exactly. Have a listen." With that cryptic answer, the officer let Hendriks sit at the table where the phone call had been monitored and recorded. She picked up the headphones from off the table, placed it over her ears, and hit play on the device.

Celestina had been allowed to telephone home after giving full acknowledgement and consent to the monitoring of the call. The phone rang a few times, and then Hendriks heard Stefano pick up.

"Amore?" he said. "Amore, is that you?"

Before she could muster out an answer, Celestina let out a quiet sob at the sound of his voice. She quickly calmed herself down and said, "Yes, darling, I—." Her words cut off with another shaking sob.

Stefano gently comforted her with soft shushes over the line. "Amore, listen—listen to me," he told her gently. "Don't cry, amore mio. Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," Celestina replied, regaining some of her composure. "I'm… I'm fine."

"Stay strong for me. I know you can do it."

"What about you?"

"You don't need to worry about me, amore. Focus on yourself. Focus on our…" Stefano quickly paused. Then he continued, "Does anyone know? Will they let you see a doctor?"

"I haven't told anyone yet," Celestina confessed. "Not even Doug. I just don't know if this is the time to bring it up."

"You need to," Stefano insisted. "Please… just in case. I don't want anything to happen to our child."

A hand pressed down tighter against the headphones as Hendriks's eyes widened. So this was what the officer had heard. The suspect they had in custody was pregnant. Unable to listen to the rest of the phone call, Hendriks pulled the headphones off. Her eyes remained glued to the desktop as her mind raced.

She had always backed Ledford up on his effort, even when there was a part of her that doubted. Even when his pushing and pushing had brought Celestina Amonte to tears countless times. Even when things just didn't seem right as she cried.

Hendriks had known Ledford since he'd started on the force—that spunky, young officer. His sense of righteousness and his spirit had always provided a breath of fresh air.

But now… who was this detective? The one ruthlessly pursuing a woman—a pregnant woman—like a wolf on a rabbit. Hendriks had thought that the death of his sister would have been the driving force for Ledford to find the truth once and for all. How wrong she had been.

He wasn't looking for the truth. He was looking for retribution—not for his sister's death, but for something much deeper and darker. Some sort of deluded justice, Hendriks suspected, that he feverishly chased.

She thought of the promise she had given to Ledford. But now, like everything else, it just didn't seem right.