Haynes rose from his seat with the controlled ease of a man who had done this a thousand times before. Adjusting his jacket, he strode toward the witness stand, flipping open the file in his hands with deliberate care.
"Miss Uwimana," he began, his voice smooth but edged with something sharper, "I want to go back to your initial statement to Agent Katz."
Shema Uwimana, small in stature but rigid with tension, gripped the edges of the witness stand as if bracing for impact. Her dark eyes flickered toward the jury, then back to Haynes. She nodded once, barely perceptible.
Haynes held up a page, tapping it with his finger. "According to the notes from that interview, when asked if you could identify the woman who rented the room in your building, your exact words were—" he lowered his voice, reading aloud, "'It could be her.'"
He let the words settle, glancing up at her. "Not 'It was her.' Not even 'I'm sure it was her.' Just 'It could be her.'" He closed the file with a soft thud. "That doesn't sound like certainty to me."
Shema shifted in her seat, fingers tightening against the wood. "I—I meant that she looked like the woman. I remember her face."
"You remember her face." Haynes nodded, stepping closer. "Tell me, Miss Uwimana, how long did you see this woman? A hour?"
"A few minutes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"A few minutes." Haynes let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You live in a building where people come and go constantly, do you not? Tenants change, people rent rooms for short periods, some stay, some leave. You told the prosecution earlier that you don't know most of your neighbours by name. Is that correct?"
She hesitated before nodding. "Yes."
"So you saw a woman for a few minutes, didn't speak with her, didn't interact beyond a passing glance, and yet, here you are today, claiming that you can, with certainty, identify my client as that woman?"
Shema inhaled sharply, glancing at ADA Markson as if searching for reassurance. He gave her nothing but a neutral expression, unwilling to interfere.
Haynes pressed forward. "Miss Uwimana, you understand the gravity of what you're saying, don't you? You're placing a woman on trial for her life. A woman with a family, with a child. And you're doing so based on a momentary encounter."
She squared her shoulders, though her voice wavered. "I know what I saw."
"Do you?" Haynes asked, voice gentler now, though no less pressing. "Or are you just afraid of what might happen if you say otherwise?"
Her breath caught. A flicker of something passed through her eyes. Fear. That was the real issue, wasn't it? She wasn't testifying because she was certain. She was testifying because she was afraid.
"You're undocumented, aren't you?" he asked, lowering his voice.
Shema flinched. "I—I don't—"
"Your family came here seeking asylum. You're still waiting on a ruling, aren't you?"
Her gaze darted toward the judge, as if looking for an escape route. Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
"Objection," Markson said finally, though his voice lacked its usual force. "Relevance?"
"Goes to credibility, Your Honor," Haynes responded smoothly. "The witness has an obvious and compelling reason to comply with law enforcement in any way they ask of her."
Judge Caddel exhaled, then nodded. "Overruled. Proceed."
Haynes turned back to Shema, his expression unreadable. "Miss Uwimana, I understand that testifying in court must be terrifying for you. But I have to ask you again—are you certain that Katherine Beckett-Castle was the woman you saw that day? Or are you just saying what you think they need to hear?"
Shema's lips parted, but no words came immediately. The weight of the moment pressed down on her. Finally, she exhaled and shook her head slightly. "I... I think it was her."
"You think, but you don't know."
She swallowed hard. "No. I don't know."
Haynes let the silence that followed speak for itself. Then, with the faintest nod, he turned to the judge. "No further questions."
Lanie sat rigid in the witness stand, her fingers clasped so tightly in her lap that her nails dug into her skin. The familiar weight of the courtroom, the rhythmic shuffle of papers, the steady voice of the judge—none of it brought her the comfort it usually did. This was different. This was wrong.
She'd given testimonies a hundred times before, standing as the expert in her field, presenting cold facts without hesitation. But today, each word she spoke felt like a betrayal, an act of treason against the woman who had been her sister in all but blood.
The prosecutor's voice droned on, but Lanie barely heard it. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out his carefully constructed questions. She had held Kate's son just days ago, felt his tiny fingers curl around hers, seen the trust in his wide blue eyes. How could she sit here and let the prosecution twist the truth into something unrecognizable?
"Dr. Parish, can you confirm the cause of death?" ADA Markson asked, his tone steady, almost gentle.
Lanie swallowed hard. "Yes. Caleb Brown was burned alive."
The words scraped against her throat like gravel. She didn't need to look at the jury to know they had flinched. That was exactly what Markson wanted—to let the horror of it sink in. And then, once the revulsion settled in their bones, he would lay the blame at Kate's feet.
She gritted her teeth as he continued. "Can you describe the condition of the remains?"
Lanie hesitated. She wanted to say no. She wanted to refuse. But she had taken an oath, and Kate wouldn't want her to lie.
"The burns were extensive," she said, her voice quieter now. "The body was almost entirely charred, making it difficult to determine precise injuries beyond what the fire caused."
She caught movement from the defence table—Kate shifting slightly, her eyes locked on Lanie's face. Lanie felt like she was suffocating.
Markson nodded, feigning sympathy, but she knew what he was doing. He was letting the gruesome details settle in, painting a picture so unbearable that the jury wouldn't need physical evidence. They'd feel it in their gut. And that was all he needed.
She clenched her hands tighter. Please, Haynes. Tear this apart. Give me a reason to fall apart on the stand and scream that this isn't right.
"Dr. Parish," Markson pressed, "given the severity of the burns, would you say this was an intentional act?"
Her stomach churned. "I can only state the medical findings. The fire was deliberately set."
"And, from your experience, why would someone deliberately set fire to a car?"
Markson smiled. It was the smile of a man who knew he was about to plant the seed of doubt deep within the jury's minds.
Lanie's breath hitched. This wasn't about science or justice. It was about destroying Kate.
And she was helping them do it.
"To destroy evidence."
Court adjourned for the day, but the weight of it lingered like a noose around Kate's neck.
Haynes had told her to get some rest, but they both knew it was a futile suggestion. Tomorrow, Flynn would take the stand. He was the prosecution's star witness, their smoking gun. He was the final nail in Kate's coffin.
The thought sent a cold shiver through her, dread pooling in her stomach like lead.
She almost wished tomorrow would never come.