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FOUR
Eden arrived promptly outside the attorney’s office in downtown Charlottesville at eight forty-five on Wednesday morning. Her hands were only shaking a little bit as she found a parking spot a short distance away and cut the engine, giving herself a little silent pep talk to prepare herself before heading inside.
She was nervous, but confident she could do this. Her memory hadn’t returned about anything related to the murder, but she’d been up most of the previous night going over and over the facts from the police report until they all felt imprinted on her brain. It was not the same as having actual memories to draw on, but hopefully it would be enough to get through the deposition without a problem.
She took a few deep breaths to psych herself up and calm her racing pulse, then she got out and crossed the street to enter the red brick, two-story modern looking building. She’d been in there before, apparently. A visit she couldn’t remember was listed in her day planner. The memory of that earlier deposition had to be somewhere inside her, right? Maybe she could get through all of this on muscle memory—just go through the motions and hope something in her subconscious remembered what she was supposed to say and do.
She went inside to check in with the receptionist and had a seat in a small waiting area, fiddling with the outfit she’d chosen. Not sure what to wear to something like this, and not remembering what she’d worn before, she’d gone with a business causal sort of look. Black pants, black top, minimal makeup, and jewelry. Nothing too fancy or too comfortable. Clothes that would make them take her seriously.
“Ms. Dawson,” a middle-aged white guy with a slight paunch said a few moments later. She’d looked him up online last night too, which meant she recognized him. Ralph Marlow was a prosecutor with the district attorney’s office. “Glad you could make it today.”
“No problem.” She shook his hand and gave him her most confident smile. Fake it till you make it.
They walked to a small conference room with a round table in the middle, surrounded by chairs. In the one farthest from the door sat the defense attorney, Muriel Sanchez. The woman stood and thanked Eden for coming as well, inviting her to have a seat across from her. Finally, another woman came in, older and Black, and took a seat between Eden and the Ms. Sanchez. She introduced herself as Gladys and said she would be transcribing the deposition. She opened her laptop and nodded to Mr. Marlow, who sat on the other side of Eden.
“Okay. Let’s get started,” Mr. Marlow said. “Ms. Dawson, this will probably take about an hour to finish, and I’ll be here if you have any questions, okay?”
“Okay.” Eden swallowed hard, her throat tight. A bible was held out and she was sworn in officially. Even though she’d known the deposition would be given under oath, it still felt odd, bordering on surreal, to actually be there, swearing to tell the truth.
Once that was taken care of, Mr. Marlow gestured for Ms. Sanchez to begin her questioning. The woman proceeded to ask Eden a series of easy questions. “Please state your full name for the record.” Eden did. “Please give your date of birth.” They went through Eden’s demographic information, including address and phone number, then moved on to her employment, marital status, and educational background. At last, Ms. Sanchez began to ask about the case. “Let’s move on to the night in question. Can you please tell me where you were at 9:45 p.m. on the night of February 10and what you were doing there?”
Eden inhaled deeply and pictured the police report in her head. “Yes. I was at the Stop and Go gas station on Wilmont Drive to fill up my tank. I’d gone inside the convenience store there to buy a couple of snacks and pay for my gas.”
“Was there anyone else inside the convenience store at the time you went in?” Ms. Sanchez asked, staring intently at Eden. It made her feel like a mouse caught in the ever-tightening coils of a boa constrictor. Her chest squeezed and she took another deep breath to try to ease the pressure on her lungs.
“Uh, no.” Both attorneys looked at her in surprise. Shit. Okay. Think, Eden. Think. Facts from the police report flashed in her head, but she couldn’t recall seeing anything about other people in the store with her. She knew she’d been the only witness, so there couldn’t have been anyone else there, right? Feeling fairly confident, she went with the obvious. “I mean, other than myself and the cashier and the guy who shot him.”
Ms. Sanchez visibly bristled, her mouth tightening slightly. “Tell me, Ms. Dawson, what was the weather like on the night of the shooting?”
Fuck. Sweat prickled on the back of Eden’s neck and she longed to scratch there but didn’t dare. Fidgeting would only make her look more nervous than she already was, which she couldn’t afford. Keep it together. She was under oath, so she couldn’t lie. “I don’t remember.”
“Right,” the attorney replied, looking pleased. “Can you relay the facts of what happened to you that night at the gas station, Ms. Dawson, in as much detail as you can provide?” Ms. Sanchez asked next, a Cheshire cat smile on her face now, like Eden was a mouse and she was ready to pounce. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The woman’s voice had an edge of “got you” to it that set Eden’s teeth buzzing, but she was determined to get through this. If the woman had asked her what she remembered, Eden would have been forced to admit she didn’t remember any of it. But since she’d just been asked to state the facts, she had some hope she might actually be able to get through this. She knew the facts, even if she didn’t actually remember them happening. She began reciting them like a laundry list. But the defense attorney kept interjecting with little questions and comments about the details, pouncing any time Eden stumbled or seemed unsure.
Eden tried to stick with the facts, tried to be as clear and thorough as possible, but as her discomfort built, things started to get mixed up in her head. Things like where people were standing or what color shirts they had on. And there were some things she simply didn’t know—things that weren’t part of the witness statement she’d so carefully memorized. Things like smells and sounds and other sensory details that could make a big difference to a jury wondering whether to believe a witness or not. Finally, rather than say the wrong thing, she went with, “I don’t remember anything else.”
The two attorneys exchanged a look, and Eden knew she’d blown it.
“I see. And have you been having other problems with your memory?” Ms. Sanchez said.
“I…”
“Please remember, you are under oath,” the attorney pressed.
Eden swallowed hard, her throat sore and dry. “I was in a car accident a week and a half ago. I sustained a head injury resulting in some amnesia.” To try to salvage the situation, she added, “but all the facts of what happened in February are in the statement I gave the police the night it happened. I put gas in my car, went inside to pay and grab snacks, and I saw the guy with the gun shoot the cashier in the chest. He killed him.”
“What snacks did you buy?” Ms. Sanchez countered, putting the pressure on. “What drinks?”
“I, uh…” Her mind whirled and her temples throbbed. “I don’t remember.”
Ms. Sanchez asked for a short break and took the DA aside to the corner of the room, far enough away that Eden couldn’t really hear what they were saying, only see them arguing animatedly.
Seconds seemed to tick by like hours and when she checked her smart watch, Eden was surprised to see only forty minutes had passed. To her it felt like she’d been in there for days. She glanced over at Gladys, who just kept reviewing everything she’d been typing during Eden’s statement, never looking up at any of them. Eden wiped her damp palms on the legs of her pants beneath the table before clenching her shaking hands in her lap for fear the attorney would see how upset she was. This was not going as she’d hoped. Not at all.
As the attorneys continued arguing in the corner, Eden realized that her memory loss was having a much bigger impact than she had expected. If the trial was like this, she didn’t know how she’d be able to get through it. What would the jury think? Would they believe anything she had to say once she admitted she didn’t actually remember the night in question?
Finally, Ms. Sanchez and Mr. Marlow returned to the table. Ms. Sanchez went to her seat and began collecting her things. Mr. Marlow came to Eden’s side and gave her a clearly uncomfortable smile. “I think we have everything we need from you today, Ms. Dawson.”
