‘Dr Scarpetta, what is your response to Carrie Grethen’s letter?’ asked a reporter from Channel 6.
‘No comment,’ I said as I frantically cast about for the commonwealth’s attorney who had summoned me here to testify in his case.
‘What about the conspiracy allegation?’
‘Between you and your FBI lover?’
‘That would be Benton Wesley?’
‘What is your niece’s reaction?’
I shoved past a cameraman, my nerves hopping like faulty wiring as my heart flew. I shut myself inside the small windowless witness room and sat in a wooden chair. I felt trapped and foolish, and wondered how I could have been so thick as not to consider that something like this might happen after what Carrie had done. I opened the accordion file and began going through various reports and diagrams, envisioning gunshot entrances and exits and which had been fatal. I stayed in my airless space for almost half an hour until the Commonwealth’s attorney found me. We spoke for several minutes before I took the stand.
What ensued brought to fruition what had happened in the hallway moments before, and I found myself disassociating from the core of myself to survive what was nothing more than a ruthless attack.
‘Dr Scarpetta,’ said defense attorney Will Lampkin, who had been trying to get the best of me for years, ‘how many times have you testified in this court?’
‘I object,’ said the C.A.
‘Overruled,’ said Judge Bowls, my fan.
‘I’ve never counted,’ I replied.
‘But surely you can give us an estimate. More than a dozen? More than a hundred? A million?’
‘More than a hundred,’ I said as I felt his lust for blood.
‘And you have always told the truth to the juries and the judges?’
Lampkin paced slowly, a pious expression on his florid face, hands clamped behind his back.
‘I have always told the truth,’ I answered.
‘And you don’t consider it somewhat dishonest, Dr Scarpetta, to sleep with the FBI?’
‘I object!’ The C.A. was on his feet.
‘Objection sustained,’ said the judge as he stared down at Lampkin, egging him on, really. ‘What is your point, Mr Lampkin?’
‘My point, Your Honor, is conflict of interest. It is widely known that Dr Scarpetta has an intimate relationship with at least one law enforcement individual she has worked cases with, and she has also influenced law enforcement — both the FBI and ATF — when it comes to her niece’s career.’
‘I object!’
‘Overruled. Please get to the point, Mr Lampkin,’ said the judge as he reached for his water and goaded some more.
‘Thank you, Your Honor,’ Lampkin said with excruciating deference. ‘What I’m trying to illustrate is an old pattern here.’
The four whites and eight blacks sat politely in the jury box, staring back and forth from Lampkin to me as if they were watching a tennis match. Some of them were scowling. One was picking at a fingernail while another seemed asleep.
‘Dr Scarpetta, isn’t it true that you tend to manipulate situations to suit you?’
‘I object! He’s badgering the witness!’
‘Overruled,’ the judge said. ‘Dr Scarpetta, please answer the question.’
‘No, I absolutely do not tend to do that,’ I said with feeling as I looked at the jurors.
Lampkin plucked a sheet of paper off the table where his felonious nineteen-year-old client sat.
‘According to this morning’s newspaper,’ Lampkin hurried ahead, ‘you’ve been manipulating law enforcement for years . . .’
‘Your Honor! I object! This is outrageous!’
‘Overruled,’ the judge coolly stated.
‘It says right here in black and white that you have conspired with the FBI to send an innocent woman to the electric chair!’
Lampkin approached the jurors and waved the photocopied article in their faces.
‘Your Honor, for God’s sake!’ exclaimed the C.A., sweating through his suit jacket.
‘Mr Lampkin, please get on with your cross-examination,’ Judge Bowls said to the overweight, thick-necked Lampkin.
What I said about distance and trajectories, and what vital organs had been struck by ten-millimeter bullets, was a blur. I could scarcely remember a word of it after I hurried down the courthouse steps and walked swiftly without looking at anyone. Two tenacious reporters followed me for half a block, and finally turned back when they realized it was easier to talk to a stone. The unfairness of what had happened in the witness stand went beyond words. Carrie had needed to fire but one small round and already I was wounded. I knew this would not end.