Closing
The courtroom smelled of aftershave, sweat, and fear, as it usually did so early in the morning. The audience was packed, people lining the walls. Claire sat in the front row behind ADA Mitchell, and Detective Stanek stood by the door.
ADA Mitchell rose from his seat, adjusting his tie as he approached the jury. The room was silent, every eye fixed on him. Despite Colton’s reassurances, I was scared. So many things could still go wrong—including the verdict itself.
With juries, you never knew. Or so I’d been told.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Mitchell began, his voice steady, intense, “we’ve spent days in this courtroom, sifting through evidence, hearing from witnesses, and piecing together the truth. Now it is time to look at the facts—cold, hard, irrefutable facts.”
He paced slowly, letting silence fill the room for a moment before continuing.
“We know that Winston Donovan was killed by a highly concentrated dose of methamphetamine, administered through spiked eye drops. A method as cruel as it is cunning. The evidence points clearly to the defendant, Olivia Taylor.”
Mitchell’s eyes scanned the jury, ensuring he had their full attention.
One juror tapped his foot impatiently. Another, a younger woman, bit her fingernail.
“We have the murder weapon—a bottle of Visine laced with methamphetamine, bearing Olivia Taylor’s fingerprints.
We have video footage showing her coming and going from the hotel garage, her demeanor distraught.
The autopsy findings align perfectly with the time Olivia was last seen on that footage. ”
He paused for a loaded moment. “Now, the defense argued that Olivia had no motive to kill Winston, that she had more to gain by marrying him. But, as Dr. Leishman testified, Olivia’s history of childhood trauma made it impossible for her to truly commit to a relationship like that.
She couldn’t let Winston in, couldn’t cross that final threshold.
And that reality, ladies and gentlemen, is what shattered her fragile psyche. That is her motive for murder.”
His words made me shudder. Again, he’d twisted things around and painted my hands with Winston’s blood. Fear grew inside me, unfurling in my gut and spreading like wildfire.
Mitchell’s voice grew stronger, filled with conviction.
“Olivia’s actions weren’t driven by greed or jealousy—they were driven by fear, by shame, by the scars left on her by a past she could never escape.
Winston was getting too close, and Olivia, in her damaged state, saw only one way out: to end his life before he could truly see her for who she was. ”
He let the silence that followed his words linger, probably seeing that the jurors were hanging on his every word. The foot tapping had stopped, and so had the nail biting. They were gripped.
“And let’s address the defense’s attempts to introduce doubt into your minds. Yes, it was proven that Claire, not Olivia, was the one knocking on that door, but let’s not be distracted. Claire found Winston already dead.”
Mitchell looked at the jury, his expression somber. “Ladies and gentlemen, Olivia Taylor’s story is tragic, but that does not excuse her actions. The evidence is clear. I urge you to find Olivia Taylor guilty of the murder of Winston Donovan.”
He stepped back, his final words resonating through the courtroom like a verdict already handed down. “This is about justice, about ensuring that no one, no matter their past, can get away with murder. Thank you.”
Mitchell returned to his seat, seeming confident that he had done everything in his power to sway the jury. He shot me a quick glance in passing, and I withered under it.
Without waiting for the judge’s invitation, Colton stood slowly and fastened his jacket button, then walked over to the jury with a confident demeanor. It was the last chance to reach them. To persuade them of my innocence.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Colton started, his voice steady but filled with passion, “you’ve been entrusted with a solemn duty.
It is your responsibility to weigh the evidence, to review the arguments presented by both sides, and to determine whether or not the prosecution has proven—beyond a reasonable doubt—that Olivia Taylor committed the crime of murder in the first degree.
And I emphasize beyond a reasonable doubt.
If there is any doubt in your minds, you are obligated, by the law and by your conscience, to return a verdict of not guilty. ”
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, while looking at each of them as if to make sure they understood. Some jurors nodded; others muttered words I couldn’t hear.
“Imagine, if you will, the luxurious suite at the Cosmopolitan, perched high above the glittering lights of Las Vegas. The suite is opulent, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a breathtaking view of the Strip. The city hums with life far below, but up there, in this serene, secluded space, Winston Donovan waits, excited and filled with anticipation. He’s planned a private celebration for his fiancée, Olivia—a night to mark their engagement, a night that is supposed to be filled with love and joy. ”
Colton’s voice softened, as if he could see the scene unfolding before him.
“Winston has ordered champagne, the finest vintage, chilled to perfection. The lights are dimmed just so, creating an intimate atmosphere that reflects the depth of his feelings for her. The scent of lavender, relaxing and soothing, is—”
“How did you know?” I blurted, springing to my feet without thinking.
Shocked, Colton turned toward me, his mouth open and his eyebrows raised. The judge frowned at me, pushing his bifocals up his nose with a quick gesture. The courtroom filled with whispers, surging like a wave.
I cleared my thickened throat and raised my voice over the ruckus. “How did you know his room smelled of lavender?”