Another thing I read in the law book from school was about the defendant giving evidence. The person accused of the crime has to choose whether to take the stand and be questioned themselves. My first instinct was Why wouldn’t you? It’s your chance to put your side across. But then I think about what that means, in Becca’s case: clinging to a lie in front of all those people, being cross-examined by the Human Crow and scrutinized more closely than any of the other witnesses.

It keeps me awake for the next few nights, the possibility that she might break down and reveal everything.

I dream about the scene, and when I’m back in the public gallery on the final day, with the judge announcing that the last witness for the defense will be Becca, I feel as if I’ve been submerged in my own nightmare. The light in the courtroom seems hazy; people’s voices are slurred; my legs sink into the wooden bench with dreamlike paralysis. For a moment the only clear point in the room is Becca, stepping up to the box, taking her oath.

“Miss Fielding,” her defense barrister begins, “can you clarify for the court whether or not you were taking carbamazepine at the time of the victim’s death?”

Becca’s voice is hoarse, as if she hasn’t used it for a while. “Yes, I was.”

“Why did you originally tell the police—at your aunt’s home and subsequently at the police station—that you weren’t?”

She clears her throat. “I got confused. There’d been so much happening. And I was thinking of stopping because it was making me feel ill. But Dr. Holmes had told me not to just stop.”

“Did you have some with you while you were staying with your aunt and cousin?”

“Yes.”

“Were they accessible to Mr. Wood?”

“They were in Kate’s room.” The mention of my name makes me breathe harder. “They weren’t locked away or anything. So I guess they would’ve been accessible.”

“And did you notice any missing after the evening in question?”

“No, but I didn’t count them, just took my dose as normal.”

“Did you notice you were a number of tablets short at any point following Mr. Wood’s death?”

“No. I didn’t get to the end of the pack before I changed my medication, though. If I had, I might’ve noticed if there were fewer left than there should’ve been.”

There’s something rehearsed about the exchange. I wonder if it’s only me who notices, perhaps because I know Becca so well.

“Did you administer your tablets to Mr. Wood in any way?” the defense lawyer asks, making me freeze.

Becca replies firmly, “No.”

“Did you get on with him?”

“Yes. I admit I had a bad first impression of him, but as I got to know him better, we got on fine.”