Chasing Innocence | ✓

9 | unveiling evidence

The committal hearing begins at eleven. Davina has been losing her mind all week, knit-picking at Braxton's story. She's searched for holes, for anywhere the prosecution may be able to strike during trial, if it comes to that. She believes we have a steady case either way.

She'd seen the prosecution's evidence during discovery. They have not solid witnesses, not even the owner of the restaurant had seen anything after Braxton paid his bill. They had little on him, really. It's just whether standing over his body is enough evidence for a judge to rule in favour of trial.

Braxton's blood had been all over Dylan because they'd physically fought. That certainly didn't help his case. Neither did his decision to give us a short version of his truth. Davina had done her best, but he's stubborn. Stubborn for reasons we still can't understand.

Davina picks me up at ten, taking the half hour drive to court. Her black Mercedes glints in the light, momentarily blinding me as the winter sun hits. I open the passenger door, sliding into her leather seats.

"Morning," she grins, her eyes hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses. Her dark hair is pulled back into a slick bun; not a single strand of hair is out of place.

I smooth down my black dress, taking in the interior or her car. "Not bad," I whistle.

"Thank you," she muses; the engine purrs to life as she zooms up the street.

"I've been up since four in the damn morning," she grumbles, turning out of my street. "Don't have kids."

"How many do you have?"

"Just the one. She's just had her second birthday," she sighs. "Love her, but she's a party animal. Doesn't sleep. I'm terrified for the teen years."

I smile, laughing lightly. "Were you like that? A party animal as a teen?"

"Yes. It's punishment, I'm sure. I used to sneak out at sixteen to see my first boyfriend. Then, at seventeen, I smoked weed for the first time at a boy's house and somehow ended up sleeping on his front yawn. It only got worse when I went to university. I didn't grow up until my mid-twenties."

I laugh harder, shaking my head.

"Don't repeat any of this," she warns, half-heartedly, "I don't need people knowing my past."

My smile drops; my stomach tightens uncomfortably and I turn to face her tinted window, drumming my hand against my knee. "Don't worry. I won't."

We pull onto the main road; the lights turn red as she pulls up slowly. The radio plays Kings of Leon softly in the background. "So what were you like as a teen? Good in school, I'm sure. Straight A's? Cute boyfriend? Popular?"

"I didn't really try hard in school until my final year," I admit. "I, um, spiralled for a bit. Did some things you've just admitted to, even," I smile, softly. I feel my heart clench.

"I'm glad you admitted that to me," she nods when I turn towards her. "Most people would have lied. You could have said you had your head stuck in books every day, but I respect your answer more."

My chest lightens slightly as the light turns green. "How do you think Braxton will be today?"

"The same as always," she retorts. "Cocky, stubborn, so sure that he's going to get off."

"You're having doubts?" I question.

"Every smart lawyer should have doubts," she answers. "It makes the case stronger when you question your own ability. Cockiness only gets you so far."

I nod, watching her drive effortlessly. "So, what's the barrister like?"

She snorts, placing the sunglasses on her head as she rolls her eyes. "Oh, hunny. Just you wait."