The judge leans forward, eyebrows drawn in scepticism. “If that’s the case, Mr. Krill, why did you say you met in school? Those were your exact words.”
Lara’s eyes dart around for a second before he explains. “Our schools were close, just a few streets apart. We used to meet up during recess sometimes… in the upper grades, they let us go off school grounds.”
The judge’s brow furrows in thought, and he nods. I release a breath as the tension drains from my shoulders.
The prosecution knew we were going to call this particular witness and decided to try to catch us by surprise. Krill knew how to handle herself. Although the lawyer’s interruption may have served to cast doubt on the judge, she hasn’t managed to make the question mark over Krill’s statement big enough to turn the balance in her favour.
Not entirely.
I glance at Bastian. If I were in his position—where I should be—I’d be a nervous wreck. But he looks unbothered, calm, even. As if feeling my stare, he lifts the corners of his mouth into a sly, barely-there smile. His eyes stay locked on the judge.
“Bring in the next witness,” the judge says.
Krill steps down, and the clerk leaves to fetch the next person. The faint murmurs that started when the opposing lawyer interrupted now ripple through the room, growing louder as the door swings open.
And then I see who walks in.
My breath catches in my throat. The person entering the courtroom isn’t a middle-aged man, like I’d planned.
It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, like I’m staring at a ghost, and I’m almost shocked I can recognize the woman, despite her change of look.
This is the moment I realize Bastian has completely disregarded our script.
Antonia Hawtrey-Moore has just stepped into the room.
Excerpt from the affidavit of Antonia Hawtrey-Moore
Court Headquarters. Wednesday, November 11. 10:45 a.m.
(The judge calls the session to order.)
Judge: I begin this meeting prior to the trial against Garros, in order to determine the circumstances surrounding the case and to better understand the matter. The defence of the defendant, Sebastian Saidi, and the witness are present. Please, Mrs. Hawtrey-Moore, confirm your relationship with the defendant and your account of the facts.
AHM: Okay. Let’s see… I don’t know what the public’s opinion of this will be, your Honor, and I don’t care in the least. I didn’t know Julian Garros at all. I still don’t know him. They may not believe me; they may think I’m a liar….
Judge: Nobody believes that, Mrs. Hawtrey-Moore. Don’t refrain from the facts, please.
AHM: I have never met my son’s friends. I have never had a close relationship with any of them; that’s all I ever wanted to say. Nor did I come to know the identity of The Counterfeiter when I engaged in his services. We never got to meet… we never spoke on the phone either. I didn’t know his voice or his face. I didn’t even know his gender. Hecould very well have been a woman.
Judge: Do you remember what day you contacted him?
AHM: Yes, January 12.
Judge: What did he say to you?
AHM: That I needed him to help me fake my death, of course. I told him everything I would need: new documentation, Portuguese identification, a passport, just in case; I also wanted accounts in my new name in Portugal, Argentina and Canada. Then I would need him to make some of my money disappear from the account I shared with my money and erase all traces of it, as if it had never existed, and transfer it to those accounts. I didn’t want anyone to notice that I was missing money. I didn’t count on my son’s stupidity, of course….
Judge: What else did he ask for?
AHM: A fake autopsy. To fake my death, I needed to make it look like I had died. It’s obvious! Next, he needed a forensic team to take care of my body. I wasn’t going to be dead, obviously; I don’t remember what drug I took…it made me look dead long enough for dumb Tim not to notice. I didn’t even need to hire a makeup artist; I painted my face paler than normal, used full-on fake blood, and voila! As for the forensic experts who were in charge of moving my body, cleaning up the scene, taking pictures in front of Tim… they were actors. It was also the Counterfeiter who was in charge of hiring them. I have no idea who they were. But they must be trustworthy… for Garros, I mean, because they haven’t said a word in all these months. They took me straight from my house to the airport. And that’s how I disappeared.
(The judge reviews the documents. He leans forward before asking the next question.)
Judge: You didn’t do it by yourself, did you?
AHM: You mean with Garros’ help?
Judge: No. Ivet Britwistle’s involvement. Forgive me for questioning you, but the court is of the opinion that the escape would not have been possible without her.
