She hated days like this. They seemed to drag on forever. And it was all Rodney’s fault. Well... not really, but he was lead defense, so she could blame him all she wanted. As lead prosecution in this case, just like so many before, Clara Summers could put the blame of the long hours on just about anyone she wanted. And, like always, she wanted it to be put on the lead defense. Clara regarded defense lawyers as beneath her, simply because they chose to represent the world’s criminals and try it make them sound all rose petals and sunshine. It made her feel physically ill. It was all Clara could do on some days not to walk out while the defense was speaking. Today, was no exception....

Clayton Price couldn’t look any less rose petal-y and sunshine-y. He sat there in his lovely orange jumpsuit, thick chains linking his wrist cuffs and ankle shackles to another thick chain around his waist. Clara allowed herself a quick smile as the thought of ‘How did they know where to put it when they went for his waist?’ trickled through her idling mind. Then, she forced herself to look up from the blank legal pad in front of her to look at Rodney Ackerman, her current nemesis. The day after a sentence had been delivered and the scum was carted off to wherever was deemed foul enough for him, Clara and Rod would probably go out for a drink and rehash the case, like they always did. Rod was one of the few defense lawyers Clara could get along with. Simply because he did what he did because it was his job. He rarely believed in the true innocence of his clients, but was impartial in his delivery because it was his duty to try and prove their innocence.

Rubbing her long fingers hard over her right eyebrow, Clara squinted up at the witness stand through one eye. This was a big case for her, one of her biggest. Price had been accused of the murder of his wife and one of their two children. He had allegedly been draining their bank account to fund his little drug habit and when confronted, he had finally snapped. As far as it went, this was one of the more violent cases Clara had handled. Price was the perfect picture of a great big bad biker man, and he had wielded the axe like an expert lumberjack. The scene photos were enough to send chills down Clara’s back, something that didn’t happen too often any more. Price’s handprints were wrapped around the axe handle stained into the polished wood in the blood of his wife and oldest son. And poor Rod had the job of trying to smooth over that. He had no chance.

Clara stood, photos clutched tightly in her hand. “Mr. Price, what would you say if I told you that there had been a tragedy?” Clara shot at the man after a long moment of drawn silence. He started slightly, watching her carefully.

“`D say yer probly right,” he drawled, shifting in his seat a bit.

“What would you say, Mr. Price, if I told you that we both know what really happened during this tragedy?”

With no clue where this line of questioning was going, Rod stood up. “Objection, Your Honor,” he said, looking nervously at Clara. “Is this going somehere?”

The judge looked sternly at Rod for a moment. “Overruled,” he said gruffly before turning to Clara. “If you have a point, Ms Summers, I suggest you make it... and quickly.”

“Of course, Your Honor,” Clara replied graciously. Before she turned back to the witness/defendant, she shot a scathing look at Rod that caused him to shrink back into his seat. Clara’s blue eyes were comparable to ice chips as she set her sights on Price once again. As though she was giving off some sort of chilling aura, the big man actually settled himself as far back in his chair as he could. “Mr. Price, can you tell me what I’m looking at here?” Clara snapped, all calm mannerisms dropped as she practically flung the scene photos at the man.

He looked down at the photos, and couldn’t help but smile despite himself. The smile faded when he looked up and saw that smug smile reflecting back at him from Clara’s face. He shift and cleared his throat, beads of sweat forming along his brow. “I s’pose that there be the pictures the cops took of my place af’er someone killed my wife an’ kid,” he said with a casual shrug.

“I see,” Clara said, her smile widening as she turned and walked a few paces away. She then continued, her back to him. “Tell me, do you own everything in these photos? Everything in these pictures came from your house?”

“Uh.... yea....”

“Even the axe?” she demanded, whipping around and placing her hands on the witness stand. “You admit that the axe is yours. Can you please, then, explain to the court how it got out of the shed? Out of the locked shed that had no signs of forced entry, but did have your fingerprints all over the padlock and doors?!”

“Well... I guess... you see...”

“No. No, Mr. Price, I don’t see!” Clara snapped, flinging another picture at him. “How do you explain your axe from your locked shed, when only you have a key, being the weapon used to murder your wife and son?! I don’t see it, explain it to me!”

Rod half rose from his chair. “Um... obj—“

“Overruled, counselor. Mr. Price, I suggest you start answering Ms Summers questions,” the judge barked gruffly, glaring down at Price, who was now sweating like a stuck pig.

Price looked between Clara and the judge, getting paler by the second. He could see the triumph in her eyes and knew he was done for. But, he couldn’t speak. Something had lodged in his throat, rendering him mute. Sensing her prey weakening, Clara moved in for the kill. “So, still can’t explain the axe being there, huh? Fine. Well, answer me this then, Mr. Price,” she said, her voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. Price swallowed hard, watching her nervously. He could tell that she had almost free rein in the court room and wouldn’t put it past her to cause him some serious harm before she was finished. He should’ve requested a better lawyer....

“Tell me, Mr. Price,” Clara started, staring hard at the jury as she walked toward them as she spoke. “If you were never at your house at all this weekend, and only heard about this after the police were involved and the scene processed and cleaned up....” She paused to build tension. She could almost feel the court room lean in, worried they were going to miss her next words. “.... how did your fingerprint, perfectly outlined in your son’s blood, get on your wife’s neck? And if you look at the last picture in that pile you’ll notice why I’m asking. That’s hardly the place to checking for a pulse, is it? It looks more like where fingers would land when choking the victim.”

Clara turned back to Price and began a slow, stalking walk back over to him. “I want the truth, Mr. Price. And I want it now,” she said so quiet that even the judge had to lean in to hear her. “You killed them, didn’t you? You killed your wife because she was going to put a stop to your drug habit. You then killed your son for trying to defend his mother from you, a monster. Well?”

There was a stunned silence that followed. Rodney couldn’t even bring himself to object, he was so transfixed on the situation. Almost everyone jumped when Clara slammed her hands down on the witness stand. “Well?!” she shouted, “You did it, didn’t you?! DIDN’T YOU?!”

“Yes! Yes! I did it!” Price suddenly screamed hysterically, almost falling out of his chair as Clara leered in at him. “It didn’t have to happen! I had no choice!”

“No further questions, Your Honor,” Clara said coldly as she walked back to her seat, leaving Price to blubber behind her.

It was over. Finally. Everyone had left the court room except for the two lead counsels. Rod walked over to Clara and held out his hand. “You were brilliant... very Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men,” he teased.

Clara smiled wearily at Rod and shook his hand. “He had it coming,” she said, shutting her briefcase.

Rod simply nodded and walked away. Clara remained in the room for a minute, letting everything sink in. She’d nailed another one, and it still felt like her first case. Overwhelming, electrifying.... amazing...