Autopsy Of A Mind - Chapter 147

“And how are you sure of that?”

“I have undergone various physical and psychological tests, on top of the qualifying examination in which I got one of the top scores recorded. I have been deemed fit to perform my duties.” And I had evidence to prove it.

“Would your colleagues and senior feel the same way?” he asked.

“Yes.” I had no doubt.

The lawyer paused, stunned by my confidence. What did he expect from someone who psychoanalyzed and pressured others to confess? Sometimes, I wondered if Sebastian had rubbed off on me the wrong way and I was becoming more narcissistic like him.

I sometimes really thoughts others were stupid.

He probably saw my critical expression and tried to get back on track. “But why did you need to get a psychological evaluation? That is now required by the state, is it?”

I smiled. “No, it is not. But Seth Nash and Sebastian Butler believed that I should get a thorough check-up and submit the results so that no one can question the authenticity of my work in such situations.”

I made sure my voice was matter-of-fact, but I could see the people in the courtroom pressing back their laughter. Even the judge looked amused.

“And this psychological evaluation said you were fit to perform your duties?” he asked again.

“They did. The result has been submitted at the beginning of my testimony.” I glanced towards his desk, where the document was kept. I could see it clearly.

He cleared his throat.

“You were one of the first people to find Maya, were you not?” he asked. Now, they were back to the main problem at hand.

“I was,” I admitted freely.

“What was the scene like?”

“The rest of the house was silent when we made our way through it. We reached the bedroom and found the victim on her bed, bleeding out. She was turned to her side with a deep stab wound.” I blinked, wondering what question they would pose next.

“And was she alive at the time?” he asked.

“She was. She was barely breathing and her heartbeat was faint. We had to give her life-saving procedure to keep her alive,” I responded.

“And who performed the procedure?”

“I did,” I said firmly. The lawyer turned to the jury as if to make a point.

“Why?”

I inspected his face cautiously. “The emergency medical responders hadn’t arrived and we didn’t have time to wait for them. The victim would have died then and there.”

His eyes glowed with victory. For what I didn’t understand.

“Did you perform the procedure properly?” he asked, the accusation clear in his voice.

I let out a surprised chuckle. “Yes, I did. I received extensive training.”

“Can you recollect the procedure?” I recalled exactly what I had done, absolutely sure that I had followed the procedure.

“You didn’t wait for the medical professionals and turned the victim on her back, placed her on the ground and performed CPR, is that correct?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t appreciate how you phrased that,” I said in a low voice.

“Please answer.”

I sighed. “As I said, I was on call with the medical professional and received a command that I had to perform the procedure to sustain her life.”

“But still, her life was not saved!” he exclaimed, appealing to the judges. I could feel a headache coming and it was mostly anger. I kept my face composed and stared at him. “The autopsy showed that she had pooling of blood inside her body from when Miss Lewis placed her on the floor and performed the procedure.”

My eyes widened. That was one way to twist the truth.

“Do you admit that you performed the procedure and caused her death?”

I stared at him for a second. The prosecutor jumped in, trying to help.

“No,” I responded. “The procedure did not cause the death. It is a life-saving procedure, you see.”

“And it caused more harm!” he argued.

“The procedure was performed because her body was shutting down and we couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. We performed CPR because we wanted her to live. If I hadn’t performed CPR, the victim wouldn’t have survived for a few dozen more minutes than she got.” My eyes blazed with anger.

“B-”

I interrupted. “From what you are saying, you are admitting that your client stabbed the victim and saying that it was not your client who killed the victim, but the people who tried to save her!” I announced.

He tried to stop me, but I was pissed.

“I should remind you that if the victim wasn’t stabbed and dying, I wouldn’t have had to perform CPR on her. The reason for the victim’s death was the person who stabbed her, not the people who tried their best to save her life.”

There was silence in the room.

The judge coughed.

“Miss Lewis, thank you for your monologue, but your actions were against the decorum of the courtroom. We will speak about this matter later.” He paused and gave her a pointed look. “Defense, do you have any more questions?”

The man breathed, still trying to reel from his stance.

“Miss Lewis, do you often lose control of your emotions and make mistakes? Are you sure you did the procedure correctly and didn’t have an episode?”

I felt a saccharine smile spread across my lips. “I do not lose control. The letters from colleagues about my performance video footage from the cameras on the other officers’ bodies will tell you exactly that.”

He became silent.

“No further questions.”

The prosecutor sprang into action. “I have some counter questions to ask.”

“Go ahead,” the judge ushered him.

He made his way to me. “Miss Lewis, thank you for being so passionate about your job. I understand your frustration for being accused of accidentally hurting the person you tried to save. You did everything correctly, I assure you. I have gone over the footage myself.”

“Thank you,” I replied. I really was grateful.

“If you hadn’t performed CPR, would the victim have survived the extra few minutes she got?” he asked.

“No.” My answer was decisive.

“What would have happened if you hadn’t done the procedure?”

“She would have kept bleeding out, her heart would have slowed down and stopped completely.” He nodded.

“And do you think you did your duty?”

“Yes. My job is not only to investigate after a crime has been committed but also to try and save the victims.”

I was not going to allow some scummy lawyer make me feel guilty for not saving a woman.

“And if I asked the medical professionals on call, would they think the same?” he asked, to drive the point in.

“They would. I followed their instructions completely,” I admitted.

“Thank you. I apologize on behalf of everyone for questioning your ethics and performance.”

I didn’t respond, not feeling like there was a need for it. I simply nodded.

“No more questions, your honor,” he said.

I was let off the stand and walked away with my head held high.

Nash was called on the witness stand and he explained everything he heard. The tapes we had viewed and his behavior. The exact members and videos we had. Everything.

The defense crumbled.

That was until the child was brought in.

He was scared and I was thankful that the cameras were not trained on his face.

He sat with his grandmother, hugging her.

“How are you doing today?” The prosecutor asked in a pleasant voice. I had expected him to be just as hard but was glad that the child wasn’t being treated poorly.

“Okay,” he said in a small voice.

“Do you remember what happened the last time you saw your mother?”

The kid frowned. “Mm,” he said simply.

“Was your mother going out?” he asked.

The child shook his head. “No. We were going to have fun together. At home.”

“We? Who do you mean?”

“Mom and me,” he said softly. He glanced towards his father and seeing his expression, burrowed his head into his grandmother’s side.

“And what happened then?”

“Um… we were having fun and daddy came.” He paused. “Dad yelled at Mom and… he put her to sleep.”

Silence. It was horrifying to hear the words from a child. He didn’t quite understand what had happened and it was the only boon in the situation.

“Do you remember how your Dad put your Mom to sleep?”

He nodded. “He was yelling so I hid.” And he proceeded on to saying a horrible tale of exactly what had happened.

I shuddered.

“And does your Dad yell a lot?” the prosecutor asked. He was establishing character testimony. I was mildly impressed.

“Mm. I don’t see him much because he hit Mom and me, and Mom didn’t let him come near us again,” he explained.

“But did he come again?”

“Mm. He came sometimes. He was sick, too.”

“Sick? How?”

“He was sick and he smelled and couldn’t walk or talk properly,” his voice cracked as if remembering something that had happened.

Proof of intoxication.

Check.