Tell Them This When I Die

Leonardo Tucci Does Not Sell Drugs

Eris stands, calm, graceful. It reminds Adam of that walk she did, where she held the tips of his fingers and led him to her bedroom. It'd be an awkward walk if anyone else had done it, but not Eris.

Adam says very still. He finally meets her gaze. She has that stony look, that expressionless aura. But Adam knows her, better than he ever did. Eris isn't a mystery as much as she used to be, but that only makes her more inviting.

She leans against the defence table, watching Adam. Intimidation, of course, but in Adam's eyes, her gaze is far more complicated. Sensationalism, addiction, romanization of the evil things. And now that she's free to ask as many leading things as she wants, it's dangerous territory.

"Do you drink, Sergeant Hughes?" Eris asks. Adam's heart jumps into his throat.

Diana stands quickly. "Objection. Relevance?"

"Credibility. Character," Eris says immediately. "The crown's entire case comes down to the credibility and qualifications of Sergeant Hughes, and whether or not he is justified to claim my client admitted guilt by the lift of a finger."

"Overruled. Go on."

"Do you drink, Sergeant Hughes?" Eris asks again.

"Occasionally," Adam says. His heart stumbles, flattens. She knows.

"Would you say you rely on it?"

"No."

"Is there a history of alcoholism in your family?" Eris asks.

Adam lifts his chin. So she's going there. "Yes."

"Do you know that an addictive personally is hereditary?"

"I do."

"Do you believe you inherited this trait?"

"No."

"Do you have a daughter?"

"I do."

"Do you have custody over her?"

"I do not."

"Why is that?"

Adam takes a deep breath. "Her mother won custody."

"Why did she win?"

Diana stands. "Objection. Relevance?"

"I have an angle, your honour," Eris says.

The judge shifts. "Overruled. Go on."

Eris walks back over to her table. "As per judicial law, one is allowed to bring in the outcome of other cases—criminal or not—and use them to form an evaluation of character. Therefore, I'd like to bring into evidence the custody case of Adam Hughes versus Sarah Howard." Eris holds up a manilla folder to the judge.

The judge frowns, taking the folder. She scans over it. "I'll admit it."

Adam is done. He's so, so done. The moment that folder comes into evidence, he's done.

Eris glances at Adam, but there's no sly smile on her face. Not yet, at least. She starts, "Sarah Howard, the mother of Sergeant Hughes' daughter, testified that he came home drunk one night and got into a physical altercation with his daughter that resulted in her breaking two bones in her wrist. The judge concluded that Sergeant Hughes' was not a fit parent at this time."

The courtroom is silent. Adam is silent. The only reason she's able to pick him apart like this is because of their personal relationship. It's not fair. It's not right.

Eris pushes off the table, walks over to Adam, who wonders how she could possibly not yet be finished.

"Let's move on to these so-called qualifications Sergeant Hughes has. Five years he's been in major crime. You've spent the majority of your effort in the unit investigating what?"