That restraint was harder than I expected. I wanted to tell her I remembered her face before she raised the phone, and that I knew what speaking had cost her.
Instead, I wrote a note and left it unsent. It sat on my desk beside the doctor's instructions, two reminders that an urgent feeling was not always an instruction to act.
Morgan's team collected Simone's original file with her consent. They documented how it came from the phone, kept the original format, and asked her to describe when and why she had started recording.
Months later, I would hear that answer in court. She had been making a voice reminder about the room number when Rourke's raised voice caught her attention, and she changed to video as he demanded that I open my case.
The file did not show our first exchange. It did show my hand moving away from his wrist, his palm striking my face, the briefcase falling, and his immediate accusation that I had assaulted him.
The missing beginning mattered. It meant the recording could not settle every word spoken before the grip, and the investigators did not pretend otherwise.
Simone was a home-care worker paid by the hour. Her court appointment concerned a traffic citation, and the time spent helping with the incident had made her late to an afternoon client after she finally left the building.
She had no great reserve of money or influence. She had a phone, a memory, and a willingness to put her name beneath a statement.
Meanwhile, Iris gave investigators the documents she had received while helping secure my papers. Among them was the fourth-floor security assignment sheet, which a supervisor had left on the clerk's counter earlier that morning.
It instructed Rourke to locate Kara Benton for courtroom staff if she arrived. There was no order on the sheet directing him to arrest her, and the photograph attached to it was so dark that the subject's hair blended into the coat behind her.
Denise told me about that photograph after reviewing materials made available through proper channels. She did not show me other witnesses' accounts, and I appreciated the care even when it felt like walking around my own life through a corridor of closed doors.
“Why were they looking for her?” I asked.
“A courtroom clerk needed to confirm her attendance and direct her to counsel. The details will be examined. You should not assume the assignment itself explains the force.”
I looked at the dark print. Kara was Black and approximately my height, but the visible differences were not subtle when someone bothered to look at the actual image.
Her glasses had broad frames. Mine had thin ones; she wore her hair loose, while mine was pinned at the back.
Those details did not prove what Rourke saw. They made his refusal to verify anything more troubling, especially after I gave a different name and offered a place to confirm it.
I asked Denise whether Simone needed to keep the phone unused until the case ended. She explained that the documented collection had preserved the relevant file and that investigators would contact Simone if a further examination became necessary. I was relieved to hear that helping had not automatically deprived her of something she used for work and family. Evidence mattered, but so did remembering that the device belonged to a person whose life had continued after she pressed record.
My clerk called that afternoon to ask whether I wanted work sent home. I almost said yes, then remembered that the doctor had told me to reduce screen time while the headaches continued.
“Only the administrative items someone needs me to answer personally,” I said. “No case files.”
The answer felt like surrender. Then I slept for ninety minutes and woke with less pressure behind my eyes, which suggested my pride was not a medical qualification.
Aaron found the unsent note when he brought me tea. He asked whether I wanted to put it somewhere private, and I slid it into a drawer.
Someday I would thank Simone directly. For now, I could respect her testimony enough to let it remain hers, unburdened by the woman whose title had suddenly made everyone pay attention.
Kara Benton had arrived at the courthouse eleven minutes before I did. That fact came from the public screening log and the camera above the lobby, where she appeared in a burgundy coat carrying a clear plastic document sleeve.
She had gone directly to 4B. A staff member sent her to a consultation room beside the courtroom to meet her appointed lawyer, and she was sitting there when Rourke began looking for her in the corridor.