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CHAPTER 19

"This is a court of law young man, not a court of justice."

Oliver Wendell Holmes

CATHERINE POV

"You ready?" Amy asks, sending me a supportive look.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

She nods, watching me pace back and forth in front of her. "Just tell the truth up there and you'll be fine."

"Well, I was planning to fabricate my account of events…but gosh…," a smoky voice calls.

"Hello Sara," Amy greets the approaching brunette with a roll of her eyes. "Can always count on you for sarcasm. Even at six in the morning."

Sara sends her a wide grin.

For my part, I'm lost in the sight of Sara's smile. It's been so long since I've seen the brunette smile like that…

"Alright ladies," Amy checks her watch. "It's time."

Sara gives me a quick look, a polite nod of greeting before following me into the courtroom.

We sit together, not so much by choice, but out of convenience.

While I'm feeling suddenly nervous regarding taking the stand, Sara for her part seems as calm and collected as ever.

When the side doors open, however, and the man we now know as Nathanial Redder enters the courtroom, I can feel her stiffen beside me.

I reach out and place my hand on her thigh before I realize what I'm doing.

Jerking in her seat, Sara's gaze shoots to mine.

Immediately, I remove my hand.

Opening statements proceed, both sides trying to sell the jury on the authenticity of their account, their version of events.

Inwardly I wonder how the hell a case like this can be up to a random panel of individuals to decide. This man is pure evil, and I feel like anyone looking at him should be able to see that.

To see through his kempt façade to the monster that's beneath.

As the moment stretch on, my nervousness transforms to confidence. I want to nail this bastard and make him regret sending this case to trial.

I don't have to wait long as I hear my name called out through the courtroom.

"Are you okay?" Sara's quiet voice reaches my ears, my body too numb to respond right away.

The concern in her voice is genuine, and, despite everything that transpired between us, I appreciate her caring.

"I think so," I tell her. "Still sort of trying to get my bearings."

Sara nods, letting out a breath.

"None of it matters," she says after a few moments. "He was trying to rile you, belittle your character. Their case is bogus, and that's their only shot at defending him."

She looks over at me. "Anyone with half a brain can see that. And, anyone with half a brain can see through it to the amazing woman that you are."

Her words surprise me. I know they shouldn't, that I always knew Sara to be a good enough person to put her own feelings aside to help others, but right in this moment it astonishes me.

She has every right to hate me, to have left me to stew alone after my testimony, but she didn't.

She reached out to help me, like she's always done, always seems to do.

"I have to say I'm shocked, though," her words cut into my thoughts. "I had no idea you used to get naked for a living. God, the scandal."

I snort, nearly choking on the coffee she was kind enough to buy me.

"I know," I shake my head in amusement. "You'd think people would get tired of bringing that up in court by now. Yes, I was a stripper. Now I'm a badass federal agent. Get over it."

Sara smiles. Then, surprising me even further, she squeezes my arm lightly.

"We all have a past, Catherine."

"I just wish my past didn't have to get spread across a national stage," I tell her honestly. "Lindsey doesn't need to hear more about her mother's coke addiction and abusive ex-husband. Her father, with all his faults, was still her father and she should be able to have his memory rest in peace."

Sara listens, squeezing my arm in support again before pulling away.

"Lindsey knows exactly who her mother and father are. She's brilliant, more than smart enough not to give something like this a second look."

I nod slowly, knowing that she's right.

"Miss Sidle?" the bailiff calls from the doorway. "You're up."

Sara nods, her calm facade faltering only briefly before she stands.

"You good?" she asks me one last time as I stand as well.

"Yes, thanks." I take a deep breath. "Good luck."

Sara nods solemnly, leading the way back inside.

"Sara Gabriel Sidle."

"Gabriel?" the defense attorney, David Lehmann questions with a smile, flashing a boyish grin at the jury.

"It was my father's name."

Sara's tone is even, holding no humor.

Lehmann drops his grin.

"How long have you been a CSI, Miss Sidle?"

"Ten years."

"And how many times have you been the target of an abduction or violent attack while on the force?"

"Objection," Amy stands. "Relevance?"

"I'm trying to establish character, your honor."

"Right, because you did that so well with Miss Willows…"

"Order," the judge bangs his gavel loudly. "Mr. Lehmann, you will proceed, but I highly suggest you quickly get to your point."

"Miss Sidle?"

"Depends on what you define as 'violent attack,'" Sara states. "But about four."

"You were abducted and left in the desert by the miniature killer. You nearly got your throat slit by the patient at that mental hospital. You were recently stalked and framed for murder by a psychopath, Ronald Basderic."

Sara watches him closely.

"I'm sorry," she shakes her head evenly after a minute. "Was there a question I missed?"

Some stifled chuckles can be heard around the courtroom.

"My question is, after your latest trauma, just weeks before, what exact frame of mind were you in when you were taken captive yet again?"

Sara narrows her eyes as if she's talking to a child.

"I was pissed," she says. "Just like I was the last three times."

More chuckles.

"You've been no stranger to difficult situations, have you Sara?" Lehmann questions, absolutely no humor in his own voice. "I mean, what you went through as a child..."

Sara's jaw tightens, her expression remaining tightly controlled.

"Counselor…" the judge warns.

"You'll get my point soon, I promise, your honor."

"I better."

"Tell me about November 18th, 1985."

Sara remains silent, her features stark.

"Fine," Lehmann shrugs casually. "I'll tell everyone for you. That was the day you confessed to murder."

Gasps of surprise can be heard around the courtroom, and I feel my own expression registering the shock running through my body.

"Wasn't it, Miss Sidle?"

Sara hesitates only a moment.

"Yes."

I, and clearly everyone in the courtroom, are dumfounded.

"That's the day you confessed to killing your dad."

Lehmann pauses, rubbing his chin. "No, wait, my mistake. Your foster dad," he smiles. "Your mother had already killed your real father."

Amy stands so quickly that her chair nearly topples to the floor.

"Objection," she growls out. "Miss Sidle is not on trial here, her family business has no place being discussed!"

"You have one more minute, counselor, then I hold you in contempt for harassing the witness," the judge states darkly. "And you better pray this has a point."

Lehmann is unphased.

"Your foster dad got drunk one night, came into the house with his hunting rifle, fired off a couple rounds for kicks. You grabbed the gun he kept in the closet, killing him before he could accidentally kill one of you."

Sara remains silent.

"That's what you told the officers on scene," Lehmann says. "The man had a long list of domestic violence complaints, assault charges, DUIs. You confessed in court, plead guilty. Charges were never placed, however, due to your age and the clear argument of self-defense. No one ever questioned your story."

Sara's expression darkens.

"No one questioned it, Miss Sidle, until nine years later when your foster brother confessed to the very same crime."

The courtroom is so silent I can hear the sound of my own breathing.

"Want to guess what the statute of limitations is for murder in the state of California?"

Lehmann pierces the jury with his gaze before returning it to Sara.

"Nine years."

I feel my heart sinking somewhere to my knees.

Amy pales, her hands pausing before frantically riffling through her papers.

"Out of curiosity, the investigators from the original case took a look at the old evidence that was never fully investigated due to your confession. They ran the prints on the gun."

Lehmann steps closer to the brunette.

"They only found yours," he says. "Which is odd, seeing as it was your foster dad's gun."

His voice is low, dark.

"They concluded that you'd wiped it down before placing your prints on the gun to cover up the crime for your foster brother. Why else would you wipe down a gun but leave your own prints?"

Sara's jaw is clenched, her eyes dark.

"How old were you then, Miss Sidle?"

It takes Sara a moment to answer, her narrowed gaze burning holes through Lehmann.

"Eight."

"You were eight, and you managed to cover up a murder, lie in court under oath, and convince a jury you committed a crime you never performed."

He pauses.

"I can only imagine, Miss Sidle, what you're capable of now at the age of thirty eight."

"Amy, I'm so sorry," Sara mutters, hand angrily running through her hair as she paces outside the courthouse.

"You didn't know," is Amy's tightly controlled response.

"Those records were sealed," Sara shakes her head. "Expunged."

"Sealed records can be revoked in the event the subject is named in a murder trial."

"Yeah," Sara nods. "As the suspect."

Amy shakes her head.

"That's how the law was intended," she agrees. "But not how it's often interpreted by sleazy defense attorneys who know the law was too ambiguously written for us to counter it."

"Shit," Sara groans, pausing to kick at the cement before resuming her pacing.

"What are our chances?" I ask quietly.

"Well," Amy breathes out. "We still have some of the trace evidence, which is shaky at best as he wore gloves and a mask the entire time. We have the fact that he was apprehended at the scene, though his team has argued he was only there because he was checking up on his property, and was unaware of the events taking place there."

She shrugs. "The best evidence we had was two criminalists who served as victims and eye witnesses placing him as the perpetrator."

"Two witnesses whose credibility has now been successfully shot to hell," I offer dejectedly.

"We just have to hope the jury believes you enough for a conviction."

We all fall to silence, none of us really having anything left to say.

AN: Thanks for reading.