Page 4 of Giovanni
He sighs, a sound that carries his weariness.
“Kacie, I can do the fifteenth or nothing at all. You know how it is.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the start of a headache.
“Fifteenth it is. I’ll rearrange the docket. Again.”
“If you can get this case, the Brown murder, and the Flores assault moved to that date, it would help me out.”
His voice rattles through the phone with a seemingly impossible request. Instead of being a ringleader, I’d need to be a magician to make that magic happen. It would also help me, but those cases fall across three presiding judges, two with the most impossible schedules.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
It’s the best commitment I can make at the moment. The phone call ends, and I’m left staring at the mess in my office. It’s a reflection of my life. Takeout containers from this morning and yesterday are stacked precariously on the corner of my desk, a testament to the many nights spent working late. My case files are a jigsaw puzzle of criminal charges, witness statements, and plea bargains waiting to be struck.
A knock at my door barely registers before Ethan, my fellow ADA, steps inside. He’s holding the Jackson file, a high-profile murder case that’s become my waking nightmare.
“Kacie, we need to go over this.”
His tone is urgent, and his face pinches with worry. I gesture to the chair opposite my desk, and he sits, sprawling the Jackson file across my desk.
“The defense is going to argue self-defense based on the knife wounds on his hands. We need to be prepared to counter that.”
I nod, my mind racing through the evidence photos, the angles of the wounds, the blood spatter patterns, and other notes.
“The knife was in the defendant’s hand when Mr. Jackson, the victim, was stabbed. It doesn’t make sense for self-defense. The defendant was the aggressor.”
Ethan leans forward, his eyes intense.
“I agree, but we need to make the jury see that. The defense is going to play up the victim’s military background and his PTSD. They’ll say Jackson was a trained government killer, confusingthe defendant with an insurgent from his time overseas. They’ll flip this and paint the defendant as the victim.”
I rake a hand over my curly black hair, a strand catching on my watch.
“We’ll highlight the premeditation, the threats he made. We’ve got the text messages and the emails.”
“We’ll dissect the narrative they’re trying to sell. Show motive and opportunity and expose every inconsistency in their self-defense claim.”
Ethan’s nod is sharp and decisive.
“I’m working to bring in our expert to discuss the nature of the wounds and reenact the scene. Make it clear that the wounds on the defendant don’t match the story they’re peddling.”
I swipe at a stack of folders, searching for a specific report, my fingers brushing against the cool plastic of my keyboard.
“The transcript from the message is the most damning. It paints a picture to clear intent. Ethan.”
He leans forward, his gaze meeting mine when his elbows hit the edge of the desk.
“We’ll need to prep our witnesses again, ensure they’re solid on the stand. The defense will be gunning to discredit them.”
I nod, aware of the monumental task ahead.
“They’ll be ready,” I assure him, more a promise to myself than anything. “We’re not letting this guy walk. Not after what he did to the victim.”
I gather the content of the Jackson file to shove in the folder, the edges frayed from handling, and push it toward him. He stands, his eyes roaming stacks of documents for current cases, my notebooks scribbled with daily to-dos, and the collection of half-drunk coffee cups that I’m too lazy to wash out in the breakroom.
“We’ve got a strong case, Kacie.” Ethan lingers in the doorway, clutching the file and tapping the frame. “Another late night for you?”
“You know it. Bennett is only giving me one day this month. He’s off on some safari the following month, so everything is getting double booked. Not to mention Judge Warner’s retirement announcement. Did you hear about that?”
