Judge Whitfield set down the letter and looked over her glasses at the defense table. "Let the record reflect the plaintiff's credentials and professional standing." She paused, then turned to Loomis. "Counselor, does the defense wish to request a recess?"
Loomis stammered, "Your Honor, we... yes, we'd like to request—"
Whitfield cut him off. "You've had fourteen years of recesses, counselor. We're moving forward."
Belle was still standing, still facing the room. Her eyes moved across the jury, past the gallery, and came to rest on Craig Dawson: the same eyes that had stared at the ceiling of Room B4 while he shaved her head; the same eyes that had memorized his badge number while he laughed; the same eyes that had watched him testify yesterday with that smug, bored expression, calling her "the female" and "the subject."
Now those eyes held something different. Not revenge, not hatred—authority.
She had let him talk. Let him lie. Let him build his little wall of commendations and excuses brick by brick until he felt safe behind it. And now she was the one holding the sledgehammer.
Reginald Owens stood and buttoned his jacket. No rush, no dramatic opening. He walked to the center of the courtroom the way a surgeon walks into an operating room: calm hands, sharp mind, every cut already planned.
"The plaintiff calls Officer Craig Dawson back to the stand."
Loomis leaned toward Dawson and whispered something. Dawson shook his head slightly, stood, and walked to the witness stand. His steps were slower now; the swagger from day one was gone. He sat, adjusted his collar, and gripped the armrest with his right hand.
Owens didn't start with the big questions. He started with a small one. "Officer Dawson, you testified that removing the security camera from Room B4 was a routine maintenance request. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"How many maintenance requests have you personally signed during your fourteen years with the department?"
Dawson paused. "I don't have the exact number."
Owens placed a document on the evidence table. "I do. Your department's records show that in fourteen years of service, you have signed exactly one maintenance request."