Mock Trial

Innocent Until Proven Guilty…that was the saying. That’s what the criminal justice system abides by. It was up to the prosecutor to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that the defendant was guilty of the crime or crimes they were being charged with.

In this case, I was the defendant.

I glanced over at my lawyer. He wasn’t much older than me; maybe he was even the same age that I was. He did well representing me, but I already knew I was going to be convicted despite his best efforts. I knew there was just enough evidence to convince the jury that I was guilty of the crime. How unfortunate for me. Well, really unfortunate for him…there goes his A.

I thought I had been so careful covering my tracks. I thought I had wiped away any bit of evidence that could tie me to the crime scene. I was wrong. The investigators were very thorough, too thorough for my liking, but I knew it was their job. I couldn’t be angry at them. I could only be angry at myself for getting sloppy. For getting too confident in myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I had not been as thorough as I thought. If I had I might have remembered to clean the room a little more thoroughly. They might not have found my hair if I had. A loose strand that clearly would not have belonged to the male. I bit down on my lip, shaking my head at my own stupidity. I would be failing if my part was being graded, lucky me.

It didn’t take long for the twelve jurors to return, which is exactly what I was expecting to have happen. There really wasn’t much to cause doubt. Did I have a motive? Yep. It wasn’t a known motive, though. There was nothing there to indicate I had a motive to do what I did, but in my own mind, I knew my motive. The paper I had picked from the hat provided me with one. Did I have an alibi for the time of the crime? Yes, but being home with my dogs was not enough to cut it. I knew it wouldn’t be the moment the DNA evidence came into play. Way to go, Pamela, that was definitely not on the paper.

My lawyer had tried to argue that it was a set-up, that the ‘evidence’ had been planted to make it seem like I had committed the crime, but to no avail. He probably hates me.

The judge turned her emerald gaze onto the twelve jurors, “Have you reached a verdict?”

One of the girls in front stood, casting her gaze in my direction briefly, almost looking apologetic, before turning her gaze back to our professor, “We have, your Honor.”

“What say you?” My professor inquired, sitting back in her chair at the front of the lecture hall.

My hazel hues shifted on to my classmates as they responded to our professor’s question,

“We, the Jury, find the defendant, Pamela Campbell, guilty of the charge of first-degree murder.”