Chapter 1

Friday, 9:45 a.m.

But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.

~James 3:8

The worst part about waiting to testify is I spend the entire time terrified the lawyers will uncover some huge mistake that screams how lazy and incompetent I am. I tell myself a hundred different ways that I always do the best I can…but I don't really listen.

After so many appearances in court you’d think I’d have no problem when it comes time to testify. But it never fails. Every time the bailiff comes to get me from this small waiting room, the cycle begins.

The door swung open and a big woman with a horsey face and short gray hair enters. Her uniform hugs her well-nourished figure. The web belt is off-center and sags to her right, the holster almost resting on her thigh. She looks directly at me and I’m waiting to see if her voice sounds like John Wayne.

“Detective Rebecca Watson?” she asks in a soft voice.

“That’s me.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my black slacks.

Like clockwork, my stomach twists into a knot, pushing its contents toward my throat as I stand and follow her into the courtroom.

****

The courtroom is overflowing with spectators and media. Knees trembling, my high heels echo off the marble floor as I approach the witness stand, carrying a red binder, also known as a murder book. Today is going to be a very tough day. This is no ordinary case. The Florida Supreme Court awarded Leonard Lee Lucius a new trial or whatever verbiage they used. Some crap about tainted evidence. Anyway, his new defense team argued a crucial piece of evidence, the knife used to kill his girlfriend, Teri Goodson, was exposed to foreign fibers after being collected from the crime scene and before being signed into the evidence locker.

Apparently, neither the jurors nor his lawyers saw fit to argue this point during the previous trial. The jury found him guilty. The District Attorney sought the death penalty, but Lucius ended up with life.

All eyes in the courtroom focus on me. I keep my head straight to avoid their stares. As I step closer to the witness stand, it feels like I’m the one on trial. This isn’t true, but I can’t wrap my head around the fact they’re judging me, even before being sworn in.