Chapter 2 #2
Quinn ignored the last part of my statement. “You and your family continued that belief up until two years ago, correct?”
“I cannot speak for other members of my family,” I said, pointedly. She was trying to lay the foundation for something that I didn’t want her to. “But I personally believed that, yes.”
She lifted her chin. “But didn’t you just state for the record, Doctor, that ‘it was what we thought at the time’?”
My stomach dropped. I hadn’t even comprehended that she’d referred to my family in the previous question. Gritting my teeth, I silently cursed those distracting pale-blue eyes. They were stunning, in a strange way. Like the ocean turned to ice.
“Considering the question referred directly to your family—and given your own phrasing—you clearly included your family in the belief that the Shadow Stalker was responsible for the murder of your sister, up until two years ago, correct?”
I clenched my jaw, annoyed at myself. She was…as frustrating as she was impressive.
“I suppose you’re correct.” I relented.
“Thank you for that clarification.” She nodded curtly. “Are you aware that my client has been referred to as the Shadow Stalker serial killer?”
I tried to let some of my tension go, but couldn’t. “I am aware.”
“Is it in fact true that all media referring to my client calls him by that name?”
“I can’t say.” I shrugged. “I haven’t consumed all media regarding your client, nor am I interested in doing so.”
Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Your family sought grief counseling after the loss of your sister, correct?”
I wasn’t sure how she would know that, but it wasn’t a lie. Reluctantly, I said, “Yes.”
She didn’t pause before releasing the next question. The question that connected everything. “Is it true that, inspired by the loss of your sister, your brother started the business of Hearthstone Security and Investigation?”
She was sharp. Defeat loomed over me, circling like a vulture waiting for the kill. “That statement is true.”
“And you work for this business, correct?”
“I do.”
“You see your brothers daily in the course of running the business?”
“Yes.”
She tilted her head, a ghost of a smile wanting to pull up her lip. Dread slid over my skin like ice. “Doctor, your brothers are married to Emersyn Hawthorn and Lark Meadows, is that correct?”
And there it was. The conflict.
“They are, but they were not married at the time of the defendant’s arrest.”
She raised a brow. “Were your brothers intimately involved with these women at that time?”
I resisted a grimace, refusing to move a muscle. “They were.”
“Are you aware that both Emersyn Hawthorn and Lark Meadows are listed as victims in this case?”
“I am aware, Ms. Carpenter.” Her name came out with more bite than I intended.
She stilled at that, but she recovered quickly. “Were you also aware of their experiences as victims when preparing your psychological assessment of Mr. Anderson?”
I balled my hands into fists. Of course I knew exactly the kinds of horrors they had survived at the hands of that man.
“Yes, but my role requires objectivity. Much of my work is conducted within correctional and forensic institutions, evaluating and treating offenders. My focus is on understanding criminal behavior, not judging it. If anything, my professional experience is weighted toward working with perpetrators rather than victims.”
She touched her watch again, only briefly. Then she leaned against the podium, giving me a look that was somewhere between sympathy and contempt. “Thank you for the explanation, Doctor, but do you expect this court to believe that you were capable of complete neutrality?”
Her determination was palpable. In other circumstances, it might even be admirable. The moment Quinn Carpenter had set her mind to this argument, I was done for. I could sense that truth.
“This court knows that I am more than competent at my job.” My stare bore into her, willing that ice blue to crack. It didn’t. “I do not make assessments based on anything but the facts before me.”
“The facts you choose to see, based on your opinion, isn’t that correct?”
I bristled. “My opinion as a professional with years of experience, yes.”
But it didn’t matter how hard I defended myself. She had already won this battle, and the biggest surprise was that I was almost more mad at myself than her. She was good.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
Quinn returned to the defense table with a composed, satisfied expression. Her work was done. The prosecution rose for redirect and attempted to salvage what they could, but the damage was already irreversible. Nothing they asked made a dent in the foundation she had dismantled piece by piece.
The judge issued his ruling swiftly. My initial psychological profile and report were deemed inadmissible due to clear conflict, and the defense’s motion was granted.
I stepped down from the stand knowing I should have expected this outcome—and yet the impact of it still caught me off guard. As I left the courtroom, I avoided looking at Quinn, though I felt her presence like a pressure at my back.
A presence I feared would haunt me for a while.