"We've had a professional relationship for a few years. I write thrillers—he's been a source to help me get details correct." I glance at him in the gallery. "When I realized what I had, he was the first person I thought to call."
"And what happened when you brought this information to him?"
"He'd been working a cold case for years—one of the murders the hitman described. The details matched. Things only the killer would know."
Rodriguez enters my notes into evidence.
Then she gets to the safe house.
"After you came forward with this information, were you placed in protective custody?"
"Yes."
"And when was the defendant informed of your identity as a witness?"
"When discovery was released. About two months ago."
"What happened after that?"
"I was moved to a safe location. And while there, the house was hit."
"Can you describe what happened the night of the hit?"
I can. I don't want to. But I can.
"Two officers were assigned to guard me—a uniformed officer and Detective Daniels." My voice doesn't shake. I won't let it. "I woke up to gunfire. Glass breaking. The uniformed officer went down in the first seconds. Detective Daniels took a bullet trying to hold them off."
The courtroom is silent. Every eye on me.
"I ran. Out a back window, into the dark. I hid until backup arrived." I stop. Swallow. "I don't know how long. It felt like hours."
"Can you describe the injuries you sustained?"
"Cuts from the glass. A bullet grazed my shoulder—ricocheted off something. I didn't even know I was hit until after."
Rodriguez pauses. Lets it land.
"No further questions."
The defense attorney stands for cross-examination. I've written this guy in three different books. The shark in a good suit.
"Ms. Cross, you're a thriller writer, correct? Someone who makes up stories for a living?"
"I write fiction, yes."
"And isn't it true this case has generated significant media attention? Attention that could benefit your book sales?"
"I haven't worked on anything for publication since the attack."
"But you could. A book about this case would sell quite well, wouldn't it?"
I don't take the bait. "I wouldn't know."
He shifts tactics. "These notes you claim to have taken—we only have your word that they're accurate. No recording. No other witness present during that interview."
"The details I documented matched Detective Carver's cold case. Things only the killer would know."
"Or things a skilled fiction writer could research and fabricate."
