My curiosity piqued, intensifying as I came to the front of the room and took a seat on the witness stand. Fully facing the two teams of lawyers, I forced my face to remain emotionless as I met a pair of the palest blue eyes.
The woman at the defense table was the same one I had met in the library hours earlier. The one who had been attacked—if you could call it that—by Calliope the cat.
She barely indicated outwardly that she recognized me, but her stare did not waver. Her entire body had stilled, as if she were frozen.
I raised my right hand as I was sworn in, not looking away from her, either.
The new bangs she had spontaneously cut with a pair of medical scissors hid the bandage on her forehead well. It made sense now, why she’d been so upset about it. She had wanted to hide the evidence for court. Hadn’t wanted to bring attention to herself in that way.
I wasn’t sure how to process this.
She had been an anomaly when she walked into that library. I hadn’t recognized her, and the way she’d dealt with her injury, like it was a nuisance and not a wound, had been…entertaining. I hadn’t been able to make sense of her.
Until now.
“Quinn Carpenter?” The judge’s voice tore both of our attention away from each other.
“Yes, Your Honor?” the woman answered, without missing a beat.
Judge Connolly gestured toward me. “Are you to question this witness?”
The woman, Quinn, nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”
He nodded. “Go ahead, Counselor.”
Apprehension coiled around my spine like barbed wire. I glanced at the two other lawyers sitting at the defense table; George Barron was an older gentleman, but the younger man with slicked-back hair I did not recognize. They had to be the leads on this case, though; I was familiar enough with the firm to know that.
It was my luck that they were having her—Quinn—questioning me today. As if I weren’t feeling enough off-kilter. Now, I had to sit here and pretend I hadn’t watched her bleeding in front of me mere hours ago.
Quinn gathered her notes from the table and approached the podium facing the witness stand. She walked with purpose, her head held high and shoulders pushed back. She gave the energy like she had done it a thousand times before. Like she lived in this courtroom, and we were all nothing but visitors in her domain.
She took some time situating her notes, but I suspected it was to hide the slight tremble of her fingertips. Something that would be missed by most, but I saw it. She touched the watch on her left wrist, sliding the pad of her index finger over the glass face as if she were touching something precious.
I frowned at the thing, noting how thick the worn leather band was around her dainty wrist. It was too big for her. But it was obviously worn often. Another interesting anomaly to add to her repertoire.
When she was all set, she looked up at me.
Her expression wasn’t one I recognized from the library. When Quinn looked at me now, it was with a touch of softness. Almost pity.
Annoyance prickled at the back of my neck.
“Good morning, Dr. Ramsey.” She smiled, and though it looked convincing, it was forced.
I greeted her in return, and she continued her initial questioning, establishing my name and credentials. I’ve been a professional forensic psychologist for over seven years, but had been working with violent offenders for over a decade. I have testified in numerous courtrooms and conducted assessments with inmates in the prison system for both the prosecution and the defense.
“It seems that your professional experience is considerable, wouldn’t you agree?” Quinn tilted her head, but her face didn’t give anything away.
I nodded, keeping the questioning cordial. “I suppose so.”
She touched her watch face again, not breaking eye contact with me. “Do you have any other experience with violent crimes outside of your professional involvement?”
Her question sounded so neutral, as if she were asking about the weather. My stomach clenched. She knew exactly what she was doing, and I knew exactly how she was going to get there.
“Yes.”
One word. No elaboration needed.
She paused, as if waiting for more. When there wasn’t any, she continued quickly. “Your sister, Thea Ramsey, was murdered twelve years ago, correct?”
