By the time the email marked "STATE v. SHAW – EXPERT MEETING" hit his inbox, Elias had already started avoiding it in his head.
It sat there all morning, unread but not unseen, like a sealed envelope from a past he wasn't ready to open. The subject line was polite, almost bland. The content would not be.
He clicked it open just before lunch.
The prosecutor wanted a brief pre-trial conference to "clarify the scope of testimony" and "ensure the expert understands the court's needs." The defense had been invited and had agreed to attend. Standard practice in high-profile cases: everyone wanted to know what the neutral professional would say before they risked their narratives on him.
The meeting was scheduled for three p.m. in a windowless conference room on the second floor of the courthouse.
He felt his jaw tighten.
Neutrality was supposed to be simple in theory: evaluate, document, testify without favoring either side. In practice, it meant sitting between opposing stories and refusing to be drafted as a weapon, even when both sides pushed.
With Clara, refusing was already harder than it should have been.
At 2:50, he walked into the conference room with his file tucked under his arm, his expression set to professional blank.
The prosecutor was already there: Harrington, early forties, sharp suit, sharper eyes. Across from him sat Clara's lawyer, Singh, sleeves rolled up, tie slightly loosened. A court recorder tapped keys at the end of the table, the steady clack a reminder that every word could be replayed later.
"Dr. Kane," Harrington said, standing to shake his hand. "Thank you for coming."
"Of course," Elias said.
Singh nodded in greeting. "Doctor."
They sat.
The recorder identified the case, the date, the purpose of the meeting. Formalities first. Rituals mattered in rooms like this; they kept chaos at bay.
"Dr. Kane," Harrington began, "we're not asking you to share your full opinion today. We understand that will come later, in court. This is simply an opportunity to clarify certain aspects of your evaluation and ensure we understand the parameters of your testimony."
"Understood," Elias said.
He knew this dance. They wanted to test the edges of his neutrality, see if he leaned, even slightly, in one direction. Research on expert witnesses made it clear: subtle biases, even unintended ones, could shape how juries interpreted evidence.
"Let's start with the basics," Harrington said. "From your sessions so far, do you have any reason to believe Ms. Shaw suffers from psychosis, a major cognitive disorder, or any condition that would significantly impair her ability to understand the nature of her actions?"
"No," Elias said. "She is oriented, coherent, and demonstrates intact reality testing. There is no indication of psychosis or significant cognitive impairment in my observations to date."
Harrington's mouth flattened in what might have been satisfaction.
"So she knew what she was doing," he said.
"She understood that her actions could result in her husband's death," Elias replied. "And she understood that killing him was against the law."
Singh's pen twitched, but he said nothing yet.
"Thank you," Harrington said. "Now, regarding her description of the homicide itself. She has stated that she felt 'relief' and even a degree of 'equilibrium' in the immediate aftermath. Would you consider that consistent with remorse?"
Elias paused.
Language mattered here.
"I would consider it consistent with complex emotional reactions often observed in individuals who have experienced prolonged abuse," he said. "Relief that the threat has ended can coexist with guilt or grief. Remorse is not always immediate or singular."
"So yes or no?" Harrington pressed.
"Yes or no is not clinically accurate," Elias replied. "If asked in court, I would explain that her reaction is not unusual in the context she describes."
Harrington leaned back, eyes narrowing.
"Context she describes," he repeated. "Which brings us to the alleged abuse."
He flipped through his own copy of the file.
"There are bruises documented, yes," he said. "Some medical visits. Some neighbors who heard arguments. But no previous police reports. No restraining orders. No formal complaints. Would you agree that the evidence for severe ongoing abuse is, at best, mixed?"
"Evidence of domestic abuse is often fragmented and delayed," Elias said. "Victims frequently avoid formal reporting due to fear, dependence, or mistrust of institutions. The absence of earlier police reports does not negate the possibility of significant abuse."
"But you cannot independently verify the full extent of what she describes," Harrington said.
"No," Elias said. "I was not present in their home. I can only evaluate the consistency of her account, the corroborating details, and how her presentation aligns with known patterns in such cases."
"So you cannot state with certainty that the homicide was a direct result of severe, ongoing abuse," Harrington said.
"I can state that her narrative is clinically plausible and consistent with documented dynamics of intimate partner violence," Elias replied. "The legal determination of causality is for the court."
Singh finally spoke.
"Doctor," he said, voice controlled, "from your evaluation so far, do you believe Clara—Ms. Shaw—represents an ongoing danger to the public at large?"
Elias shifted slightly in his chair.
"Her risk of future violence appears situational," he said. "She does not exhibit generalized aggression or antisocial traits. Her act was targeted within a specific relationship context. If similar circumstances were not present, the risk would likely be low."
"Likely," Harrington echoed. "But not zero."
"Risk is never zero," Elias said. "For anyone."
Harrington gave a short, humorless laugh.
"Spoken like a true psychologist," he said.
Singh leaned forward.
"Doctor, would it be fair to say that, in your professional opinion, this act was an extreme reaction to chronic entrapment and failure of support systems, rather than an expression of a stable, ongoing homicidal tendency?" he asked.
Harrington scowled. "Objection. He's trying to get a closing argument out of you."
"This is not a courtroom," Singh said mildly. "Just a meeting."
Elias chose his words carefully.
"I would say," he replied, "that her account suggests a long-term pattern of fear, control, and psychological erosion, which can significantly narrow perceived options. Her decision to kill her husband appears to have arisen from that context rather than from a generalized desire to harm."
The recorder clacked steadily.
Harrington tapped his pen against the table.
"Doctor, you understand your duty is to the court, not to the defense or the prosecution," he said.
"Yes," Elias said. "My duty is to provide an impartial, evidence-based opinion."
"Good," Harrington said. "Because I'm concerned by some of your language in the preliminary notes. Words like 'complex,' 'morally ambiguous,' 'inevitable endpoint.' Jurors don't hear nuance. They hear justification."
"My role is not to simplify reality into what jurors may or may not prefer," Elias replied. "It's to describe it as accurately as possible within my expertise."
Singh watched him closely, something like approval flickering across his face.
"Doctor," he said, "have you observed in Clara any indications of malingering or deliberate fabrication regarding her abuse history?"
"No," Elias said. "There are no clear markers of feigned symptoms. Her affect, narrative detail, and reaction patterns are more consistent with lived experience than invention."
Harrington's mouth tightened.
"But you cannot absolutely rule out exaggeration," he said.
"Absolute certainty is not a standard I can honestly claim," Elias said. "I can only speak to probabilities based on clinical indicators."
For a few minutes, the questioning shifted to technicalities: test instruments used, number of sessions, limitations of forensic assessments. Elias answered with the practiced restraint of someone who knew how easily his words could be turned into something they were not.
Then Harrington circled back.
"One last question, Doctor," he said. "On a scale from one to ten—purely for our understanding—how much do you sympathize with Ms. Shaw?"
Elias froze.
"That is not a clinically meaningful metric," he said.
"It's a human one," Harrington replied. "We're all human under the degrees and titles. Jurors will want to know whether you see her as a victim or a perpetrator."
"I see her as a person," Elias said evenly. "A person who killed someone, and a person who was harmed. My sympathy or lack thereof is irrelevant to my evaluation."
"Respectfully," Harrington said, "it's not irrelevant. An expert who sympathizes too much might unconsciously tilt their opinion."
"Which is why I focus on observed data and established research," Elias replied. "Not on my personal feelings."
Singh stepped in.
"Doctor, would you be comfortable stating on the record that you are not here to advocate for either side, but to inform the court?" he asked.
"Yes," Elias said. "That is exactly my position."
The recorder caught every word.
The meeting wrapped up with procedural notes: dates, expected length of testimony, reminders about avoiding media commentary. The recorder was switched off. The subtle shift in the room from "on record" to "off" was almost physical.
Harrington stood, collecting his papers.
"Doctor," he said, "I appreciate your time. I hope, when you're on the stand, you remember that the clarity of your statements can mean the difference between justice and misinterpretation."
"I'm aware," Elias said.
Harrington left.
Singh lingered.
"That was… better than I expected," he said, offering a half-smile.
"What did you expect?" Elias asked.
"A man who'd already decided Clara is either a tragic angel or a cold monster," Singh said. "You didn't give him that. That's good."
"It will also frustrate both of you," Elias said.
Singh shrugged.
"Better an honest frustration than a dishonest ally," he said. "For what it's worth, she trusts you more than she trusts anyone else in this process."
That landed harder than it should have.
"She shouldn't," Elias said quietly.
Singh's gaze sharpened.
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because my duty is not to her," Elias replied. "It's to the court. To the truth as I can see it. That may not align with what she wants."
"Maybe not," Singh said. "But she seems to think you're the only one in the room who's actually looking at the whole of her, not just the parts that fit your argument."
Elias had no answer for that.
On the drive back to his office, the city felt oddly distant, like a backdrop he'd walked in front of rather than a place he lived.
His mind kept returning to Harrington's question.
*On a scale from one to ten, how much do you sympathize with Ms. Shaw?*
It was unprofessional. Irrelevant. Manipulative.
And he still found himself answering it in his head.
Not with a number.
With moments.
Clara sitting with her hands folded, describing how fear had turned into math.
Clara admitting, without flinching, that the first thing she'd felt was silence.
Clara asking what the point of staying alive was if everyone decided she was a monster no matter how accurately she spoke.
He didn't know if sympathy was the right word for what he felt.
Recognition came closer.
Back in his office, he sat at his desk, opened his private notebook, and wrote:
> Today they tried to hand me a script.
> Prosecution wants a monster who understood exactly what she did.
> Defense wants a battered woman who didn't.
>
> Both want certainty.
>
> I have a woman who knows she crossed a line and refuses to pretend she didn't see it.
> I'm not sure what to do with that.
He set the pen down, then picked it up again, forcing himself to add:
> I told them I'm neutral.
> I believe it.
>
> I also told her she's a person.
> That feels less neutral than it should.
He closed the notebook and turned to the official file, the one that would eventually make its way into the court record.
He began drafting the formal summary of his findings so far, every sentence weighed, every adjective tested.
Somewhere between "dangerous" and "understandable," between "victim" and "perpetrator," he had to find words that would let the court see her without turning him into an advocate.
It occurred to him, as he worked, that neutrality was not the absence of feeling, as he'd once believed.
It was the discipline of speaking the truth anyway.