The witness on the stand was a small woman of about sixty. She had grey hair and weathered cheeks that looked as if they might have been eroded by tears. Water damage, decades in the making.

Prosecutor Gavin Whetstone, all six feet four of him, stood before her with a stern expression. She was a defense witness and he was on the hunt.

“Mrs. Smith, where were you on the night your daughter murdered her husband?”

“Objection!” Victoria Cross, at the defense table, shot to her feet. She was conservatively dressed in a two-piece business suit, her layered blond hair cut to just below her ears, her makeup muted. But fire sparked in her eyes.

“My client has been charged with murder, but not convicted. Counsel is trying to brainwash the jury.”

“Sustained.” Judge Carla Rossotti, five feet nothing, leaned forward across the bench. “Mr. Whetstone, we’ve been down this road before. I won’t warn you again.”

“Sorry, your Honor.”

Whetstone tried to look abashed, but he’d said it, the jury had heard it, and he wasn’t one bit sorry. He turned to the witness again.

“Let me rephrase the question—where were you the night your daughter killed her husband?”

“I was at her apartment.”

“Did you witness the shooting?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you try to stop her?”

“I—I would have, but…I didn’t even know she had the gun. She shot him before I realized what she was doing.”

Whetstone nodded, as if things were going his way. He turned and paced a few feet toward the jury box.

“At the time that your daughter shot her husband, what was he doing?”

“He was…” Mrs. Smith coughed into her fist. “He was asleep.”

Whetstone whirled to face her, his face a mask of surprise.

“Excuse me, what did you just say?”

Mrs. Smith frowned in confusion. She glanced toward Victoria, then answered the question.

“I said he was asleep.”

“He was asleep! Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. He had gone to bed about an hour earlier.”

“I see. So, if he was asleep, he wasn’t threatening her, was he?”

“Not…well, no, not at that exact moment.”

“He wasn’t trying to hit her with his fist, was he?”

“No.”

“He wasn’t coming at her with a knife?”

“No.”

“Was he pointing a gun at her?”

“N-No.”

“Was he doing anything at all that your daughter might have construed as a threat?”

“Well, not just at that moment, no. I mean, he was asleep.”

“You’re absolutely certain about that?”

“Yes.”

Whetstone smiled for the first time, almost charmingly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith. No further questions.”

Whetstone returned to the prosecution table and sat down. Judge Rossotti looked up.

“Redirect, Miss Cross?”

“Yes, your Honor. Thank you.”

Victoria hopped to her feet again and approached the witness stand.

“Mrs. Smith, you testified earlier that your son-in-law threatened to kill your daughter, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And he made the threat earlier that same night?”

“Yes.”

“And you heard him make the threat?”

“Yes, I did.” Mrs. Smith looked calmer now, as if Victoria’s presence gave her strength.

“Can you tell the jury exactly what your daughter’s husband said when he made the threat?”

Mrs. Smith unconsciously twisted the handkerchief in her hand. She glanced at the jury, then back at Victoria.

“He said…” She pursed her lips and looked as if she were about to cry again, but fought back the tears and continued. “He had a gun in his hand, and he pointed it directly at her forehead. He said, ‘I’m going to get some sleep now, but when I wake up, I’m going to put a bullet right there.’ And he tapped her forehead with the gun.”

“So you are telling this jury that the man your daughter killed threatened to murder her when he was finished sleeping?”

“Yes. Only it was more like a promise than a threat.”

Victoria nodded and took a step back.

“Mrs. Smith, did that seem like a credible threat to you?”

“Objection!” Whetstone was on his feet. “The witness can’t possibly know whether the alleged threat was anything more than a scare tactic.”

Victoria looked up at the judge.

“Your Honor, every time we come into this courtroom, we ask a jury to judge the credibility of witnesses. If a jury can do it, so can this witness. All I’m asking is whether or not she believed the threat was real, and if the person making the threat was, in her mind, believable.”

Rossotti frowned, but nodded slowly.

“I’ll allow it. Overruled.”

Victoria turned back to the witness.

“Mrs. Smith, did you believe your son-in-law actually intended to carry out this threat?”

“Yes, I did. And Judy believed him, too. It was a very scary moment.”

“When you heard him make that threat, did you fear for your daughter’s life?”

“Yes, definitely. And my own life as well.”

“You thought he might kill you as well as your daughter?”

“Of course. If he killed her, and if I saw him do it, I figured he would kill me, too.”

“After he made the threat, what did he do?”

“He went into the bedroom, laid the gun on the nightstand, and went to bed.”

“And that is the same gun your daughter used to shoot him?”

“Yes.”

“In your judgment, then, the killing was justified?”

“Objection!”

“Withdrawn. Thank you, Mrs. Smith. No more questions.”

Rossotti glanced at Whetstone, but he waved his hand.

“Nothing further, your Honor.”

“Very well. Mrs. Smith, you are excused. Miss Cross, call your next.”

Victoria walked back to the defense table where the defendant, Judy Gorman, sat as still as a stone statue. Victoria consulted a document, then turned back to the judge.

“The defense recalls Detective Colburn to the stand.”

It took a moment for the bailiff to retrieve the witness, then Detective Colburn strolled into the courtroom and made his way to the stand. He looked up as the judge spoke to him.

“You are still under oath, Detective. Be seated.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

As Victoria approached, Colburn’s face settled into a passive-aggressive mask. He had already testified as a prosecution witness—now he was expecting her to hammer him. Her next words confirmed his suspicion.

“Permission to treat the detective as a hostile witness, your Honor?”

“Very well.”

Colburn was a rumpled little man in his late fifties. His hair had been red at one time, but what was left of it, shorn almost to the skin, was slate-grey. His eyes matched. He peered at Victoria with suspicion.

“Detective Colburn, you testified earlier that you were the arresting officer in this case, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“You were the one who took Mrs. Gorman into custody, booked her, and read her her rights?”

“That’s right.”

“When you arrested her, did she resist arrest?”

“No.”

“She didn’t try to run?”

“No. She went peacefully.”

“She didn’t try to fight?”

“No.”

“Did she throw anything at you?”

“No.”

“Did she spit at you?”

Whetstone stood up.

“Asked and answered, your Honor. The detective said she went peacefully.”

“Sustained. Keep moving, Miss Cross.”

Victoria nodded, but never took her eyes off the witness.

“Detective Colburn, can you tell us, in your own words, why you arrested my client?”

Colburn almost smiled. He glanced at Whetstone, who looked confused, then smirked at the jury.

“I arrested her because she killed her husband.”

“Oh, come on, Detective, you can do better than that. Lots of people kill other people every day for all kinds of reasons. We’ve already established that this was an abusive marriage. We introduced evidence that police were called sixteen times because of domestic abuse. We have photos of Mrs. Gorman when she was beaten to a pulp, X-rays of broken bones, eyewitness testimony of her husband abusing her, beating her, threatening her. It’s all in the record, entered into evidence. But you already know all this, and you knew it before you arrested her. So once again, why did you arrest her?”

Colburn’s smirk had vanished. Now he glared at Victoria as his cheeks burned red.

“She shot the man while he was sleeping! She admitted it. Ballistics confirmed it. Her own mother confirmed it! Why the hell wouldn’t I arrest her?”

Victoria stood perched on one high heel with the other tucked behind her ankle. She crossed her arms and stared at him for fifteen seconds.

She smiled.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you arrest her? Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? Have you ever heard of self-defense, Detective?”

“Of course I’ve heard of it! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Objection, your Honor. Nonresponsive. Please direct the witness to refrain from extraneous comments.”

“You know the rules, Detective,” Rossotti said. “Behave yourself.”

Colburn’s teeth clenched but he didn’t reply. He continued to glare at Victoria.

“So you do know about self-defense,” she said.

“Yes, of course. But when she shot him, he was asleep. He was no threat to her.”

Victoria’s eyebrows arched.

“He was no threat to her? He promised to kill her when he woke up! He had beaten her many times previously. We have police and medical reports to confirm all that. How was he not a threat to her?”

“He was asleep,” Colburn said with dogged persistence. “At the moment she shot him, he was no threat.”

“So, if he had been coming at her with a gun or knife when she shot him, that would be different?”

“That would be entirely different. That would be self-defense.”

Victoria turned and walked back to the defense table. With her back to the jury, she winked at Judy Gorman, pretended to study a document, then turned back. She approached the witness stand again.

“When you arrested her,” Victoria said, “you said Mrs. Gorman went quietly.”

“That’s right.”

“You said she didn’t try to resist.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“You also said she didn’t try to run, didn’t throw anything at you, didn’t spit on you—”

“Objection!” Whetstone was losing patience. “This has all been covered. Where the hell is counsel going with this?”

Victoria spun on him.

“Maybe if you could sit still for thirty seconds, you might find out!”

“Objection!”

“Settle down, both of you! Mr. Whetstone, take your seat. Miss Cross…where are you going with this?”

“I’m going for a point, your Honor. I’m almost there.”

“I certainly hope so, but get to it. The witness may answer.”

Colburn looked confused.

“What was the question? I didn’t hear a question.”

Victoria took a step toward him.

“Here’s the question—when you arrested my client, we’ve already established that she went quietly, but was she in the act of committing a crime at that particular moment?”

Colburn’s forehead furrowed in confusion.

“No. The crime had already been committed.”

“Then why did you arrest her?”

Colburn’s mouth fell open, but he couldn’t find any words. He stared at her, stared at Whetstone, then at the judge.

“What—what kind of question is that?”

Whetstone looked just as confused. He stood up, but before he could speak, Rossotti, eyes narrowed, held up a hand to stop him.

“Miss Cross…would you care to explain the question?”

“I’m using the detective’s logic, your Honor. According to his testimony, you can’t take action against someone if they aren’t actively doing something. He says my client couldn’t legally kill her husband unless he was in the act of attacking her or trying to kill her. By that logic, he couldn’t legally arrest my client unless she was in the act of committing a crime when he did it.”

She walked toward the bench and looked up at Rossotti.

“That is my point, your Honor. Self-defense is the act of saving your own life, or the life of another, but the issue seems to be in the timing. The detective believes that killing someone to save your own life is not self-defense unless it is done at the precise moment that person is trying to kill you. My client believed—and I happen to agree—that self-defense includes the right to a preemptive strike if the victim—in this case my client—has a reasonable expectation that a delay to act may come too late. My client had fourteen years of physical abuse, torture, and trauma that convinced her that her husband’s threat was not only credible, but absolutely certain. If Mrs. Gorman had waited for her husband to act first, it’s entirely likely that she would be dead now and this trial would be about him.”

“You can’t possibly know that!” Whetstone said.

“I said it’s likely, and it’s a logical assumption. He was a violent man. She is not a violent woman.”

“What do you mean she’s not violent? She killed her husband!”

‘TO SAVE HER OWN LIFE!” Victoria shouted. “And possibly her mother’s as well!”

“Time out!” Judge Rossotti banged her gavel. “Bailiff, remove the jury.”

A buzz ran through the spectators as the jury shuffled out. Whetstone and Victoria glared at one another until they were gone. Then Rossotti spoke up again.

“The jury doesn’t need to hear this,” she said. “Now that they are gone, let’s clear the air. Miss Cross, I don’t need you making closing arguments during witness examination, is that clear?”

“Yes, your Honor.”

“Now, do you want to say your piece and give the prosecution advance notice of your closing, or are you done?”

Victoria stared at her a moment, debating. But after a few seconds, she plowed ahead.

“Your Honor, domestic violence is a major problem across the Federation, and I believe our legal system aids and abets the problem.”

“Really! How do you figure that?”

“There are millions of cases every year in which women face physical abuse, brutal beatings, and hideous deaths at the hands of abusive spouses, partners, and stalkers, yet if a woman takes any steps to protect herself, she ends up in a courtroom facing decades in prison.” She pointed at Judy Gorman. “Take a look at my client. This case is a perfect example of what I’m talking about. She could have called the police, but she had done that many times before and nothing substantial was ever done. She could have left him, but she had tried that, too, and he always hunted her down, beat her, abused her, and threatened her life. She lived in fear. No, not fear—terror.

“And finally…FINALLY…she did what she had to do. She did the only thing that would solve the problem and save her life, and now where is she? Facing life in prison because the law not only doesn’t protect her, but refuses to allow her to protect herself. Your Honor, this problem is never going away until Federation law recognizes a woman’s right to kill her attacker before he kills her. I’m sorry, but sometimes killing is the only solution.

“This killing was justified, your Honor. The only crime that was committed here was when she was arrested. Detective Colburn probably had no choice in the matter, but he should be embarrassed that he was forced to do so. Any man who loves his wife, his mother, his sister, his daughter…any man who is a real man should be ashamed that this woman is on trial. It’s time—it’s way past time—for the Federation to recognize a woman’s right to survive, and it needs to start right here, right now, in this courtroom!”

Victoria fell silent, her chest heaving with emotion. Judge Rossotti stared at her as if they were strangers, then sat back in her chair.

“Anything else?”

“No, your Honor. I had to get that out of my system, so thank you for removing the jury while I did so.”

Rossotti looked at Whetstone, who looked stunned. She looked at Colburn, who stared at the floor. She turned back to Victoria.

“Off the record, I happen to agree with you. Unfortunately, I have to apply the law as it is written, not the way I would like it to be. While I appreciate your passion, you’ll have to take it up with your legislative representative. For now, let’s get the jury back in here and finish this trial.”

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