“Thank you,” she said to the waiter. She is a defense attorney working for Winchester & Co Attorneys-At-Law; with black hair made into a bun, circular glasses and a suit to compliment it, she looks just like one. Sitting at a café table, she awaits her breakfast while reading documents about her upcoming case. She is to defend a suspected homicider of the aforementioned’s husband. His body was found on his side of the bed with several fatal stab wounds in the abdomen, therefore dying from internal bleeding that night. The suspect was sleeping next to him and woke up the morning of the murder. She was the one
JOANNE
Haroun - Morocco
who called the police. It would be very unlikely if she was the murder, the lawyer thought, if it weren’t for the evidence. She slept with a dagger in her hand; the bloodstained dagger specifically used to stab her husband, with no fingerprints on it but his and hers. The dagger was specially-made, it had a specific blade shape that matches with the wounds. To add on the incrimination’s basis, there was no sign of burglary; no broken locks, no unlocked or broken windows, no one else in the house. Well, except for their child, but there’s absolutely no way he could’ve done it. He’s only thirteen-years-old, after all; it would be very anticlimactic would it were true. It couldn’t have been suicide, there were too many stab wounds to support that possibility. The only possibility there is up until now, is that her client is the one who did it. Unless… Wait, she thought, why was the dagger specially-made? The blade has a very peculiar shape, wiggly is the only way to describe it, like the Indonesian Kris dagger. It had a symbol engraved into it. The lawyer can’t remember it very well, but she thinks; maybe, it was a singular open eye with the pupil crossed out? She’ll have to check in court in the afternoon. The waiter approaches finally with an assortment of croissants and a cup of bitter, unsweetened, black coffee — her favorite. “Here you are, Ms. Grave,” he says with a French accent as he puts her breakfast on her table, “Would you like anything else?” She looks up at him and gives him a sweet smile while pulling out some cash. “No, thank you so much, cher,” she places some money into his apron’s front-pocket. He smiles, clasps his hands together charismatically, nodding barely, and leaves her to her food.
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