Excerpt from Prima Facie by Suzie Miller, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

No, Tony, it's just a saying.

But you told me—

It's just lawyer talk.

His eyes are glued to my lips, trying to work out what I'm saying. I explain it.

It means 'the cops have a good case.'

But you said—

Tony, they won't actually let you take your toothbrush into prison with you!

They won't?

He's scanning me for any sort of hope.

Don't panic just yet.

Tony is scared. Like, little-boy scared. Of course he is. For him this is not an everyday thing, not a familiar place. He's been up all night, drinking and vomiting, he's had to iron that shirt, and ask his girlfriend or his mum to put the tie on for him. He probably caught the train in and ate Maccy-D's around the corner, not knowing where he'd spend the next night. This is big, he could go away for a few years if he goes down.

The truth is, keeping them afraid is useful. They listen more, tend toward being a bit in awe of you, and it acts as a buffer in case they go down. It means once they know jail is possible, you're all they have. If we walk out of here today, I am his favorite person; if he goes inside, it won't be a shock. I can see so much of my brother in Tony. Out of place, in a terrible situation that looks like it can only get worse. I head over to him.

Hey, Tony.

As he hurries to stand up, I see he is sweating.

You okay?

Yeah. Yeah.

Anyone coming to be with you?

His tongue moistens his lips. He's just twenty-five.

Mum's on her way.

Good.

I am the only thing familiar in this room. There is laughter from a group of barristers, another calling loudly for his client. Confidence and power surround Tony, but he has none of it. His eyes are soft and for the first time since I met him, he has neither gum nor cigarette in his mouth. I see the child in him. Not the asshole in the police brief, the thug who drank too much, lost his cool, and is in over his head.

Do you think there's any hope your witness will arrive?

He has an ex-girlfriend who witnessed it all, saw that it was not Tony who threw the first punch.

Dunno. Maybe. Shall I call her again?

Yeah, you do that. Tell her we're in the list for ten a.m.

I know there's no hope. She's been AWOL for the last month. Truth is she doesn't want anything to do with this case. She's scared to give evidence. No one likes to be cross-examined. At least calling her will give Tony something to do as he waits for his mum. Gives me a chance to review the main points, a trip to the loo, straighten my wig and makeup.

When Tony takes his seat in court, he pulls the chair up to the bar table beside me. I have to reprimand him. A look, 'no, you can't sit here.' I turn to him and explain he is to sit in the dock, I direct him over to the court officer. He complies meekly, he's shaking. The man described in the police brief as a dangerous, violent, drunken thug in a bar is this scared twenty-five-year-old shaking like a boy. The narratives do not reconcile. This is the truth of the law. Then, Tony's mum enters, takes a seat halfway down in the gallery. She is alone too. Texting. I gesture to her to 'turn off your phone.' She doesn't understand. I give up. I turn and look at the court clock. Court is starting to hush, judge is late but not much. It's just after ten. I hear the chatter in the gallery behind me, but now that I'm on the job I push it into background noise. Flick through my papers, pour some water from the jug on the bench into a tumbler, arrange my notes.

The energy in the room every case I run: this is the moment before—when the charged space around me has a current of excitement and dread. This is where my skill set gets to flex its muscle. I draw all my energy into the same place, make the bar table my own. Blinkers on; only focused on what is ahead. Face confident, giving nothing away. So much of this is theater. All the details of the case are in my head, no room for anything else. I am holding it together, holding back, keeping my blood at just the right temperature. Just below boil. Waiting. Waiting. Then bang.

Excerpted from Prima Facie by Suzie Miller. Copyright © 2024 by Suzie Miller. Excerpted by permission of Henry Holt and Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.