Page 123 of Dissection of a Murder
A safe.
I bought it on Saturday and had the locksmith attach it to the wardrobe.
I’m too late. She’s been in here.
I walk over, defeated. When I place my finger on the side of the safe door, it swings open without any resistance whatsoever. It’s empty, except for a piece of white paper with writing in black ink.
Rule #1: Don’t Get Caught
60
Witness X
Can anyone reallychange? That’s the ultimate question, isn’t it? Is anyone capable of becoming a better person?
What evenis“a better person”? Better than what?
I used to think I’d know it when I saw it, or sense when it happened—a warm glow on my skin indicating I was somehow healed, somehow better. But it didn’t work like that. If anything, everything just became messier. I’ve lost count of the many versions of myself I’ve shown people over the years. Each one was a new attempt at survival.
A liar. A manipulator. A predator.
For so many years I’ve blamed the person who made me this way, but while I continue to do that, how can I become a better person? I’ve carried that shame and guilt and rage and terror for so long now, it’s worn me down.
Yes, I’ve done terrible things, but I’ve also done good things. Does that make me a hero or a villain? Guilty or not guilty?
I think, perhaps, it just makes me human.
61
Leila
R v Jack Millman
Day 3
10:30 a.m.
The importance oftoday weighs heavily on every single person in this courtroom.
I’ve had, at most, three hours’ sleep. Julian and I remained in separate rooms all night; even in the midst of what happened, neither of us can afford any drama before today. I am physically and emotionally wrecked. The bags under my eyes communicate as much. I didn’t even use a brush this morning; I simply scraped my hair back into a ponytail (the wig will cover it anyway). My eyeliner looks as if it’s been drawn on by a toddler. Never in a million years did I expect the last day of the trial to be like this.
I had an urgent breakfast meeting before court and then literally ran to court just in time to meet Davina, so we could head down to the cells to see Jack.
When they bring him in, I feel an overwhelming sense of emotion and I inhale deeply, while trying to be subtle about it. It will do no good for the others to see how nervous I am. How much this trial means to me, too. We can only work clinically for so long—I have this man’s freedom in my hands.
“How are you, Jack?” I inquire. It’s a stupid question, but I ask it anyway.
“I didn’t sleep well.”
“Neither did I.” I smile. “You set the court alight yesterday.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“For what it’s worth, I think we now have the best chance you’ll ever have at being found not guilty. But you never know with a jury. At the end of the day, it all depends on their biases.”
“Whether they believe me or the judge’s son?”
“Not technically,” Davina answers. “It’s a case of whether enough doubt has been cast on the prosecution’s case. They’ve heard all the evidence they’re going to hear now, so they have to go away and discuss it, then decide. We can only hope we’ve persuaded at least three of them to question the prosecution enough that they cannot, legally, find you guilty.”
