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

It's your witness, Ms. Ensler.

And this is the moment. The witness is mine, oh yeah, the witness is mine now. The witness breathes in, wary, sizing me up. He is computing everything about me, taking in what I am wearing, how I look at him, whether I am the sort of woman he can charm, or ridicule. My neurons are firing, words being formed; I'm carefully selecting phrases as tight as a drum. The courtroom is silent, charged, waiting for me. I drink up this moment. I stand and take a moment, move my robes and do up the button on my suit jacket. The courtroom is still. I can hear my own voice in my head. 'Keep it cool, Tessa, keep it cool.' I can see in my periphery the witness still taking the measure of me. I look small to him, young. But he can't quite figure me out. I let everyone wait just a second more than they expect, then I launch.

Cross-examination is the best part. It's all instinct. Yes, you need the information, the map of the journey forward, but once you're on your feet you need to be nimble. Need to be flexible. Turn on a beat.

I focus in on the witness. Inside I'm poised, ready for the play ahead. But the witness has no idea who I am, perhaps he was warned by someone of my various techniques, but by now he has forgotten it all.

I ask the witness a question, he turns to the judge and answers the question quickly.

I ask the same question in a different way, watch his face, a flicker. He repeats his answer, a dismissive wave at me, before quickly eyeing the judge. I repeat his answer. I don't look but I feel the prosecutor stir slightly at the bar table next to me.

I repeat the answer again, quizzically. The witness looks right at me, thinks I am getting mixed up. I flick through some papers, let him think I've lost my way.

He jumps in, tries to explain his answer, his voice patronizing. He lets it be known with the pacing of his words that he thinks 'this one is a bit slow in understanding.'

I hear myself breathing, then a barely audible snicker from the prosecution.

Good. Very good.

Again, I flick through pages in my file, check Tony in the dock, he moves uncomfortably.

Good.

I ask a similar question and watch the witness relax. His shoulders roll back, eyes dart around, a smirk. 'This one doesn't seem to know what she's doing.' Check the judge. Expressionless. But this judge has seen me before, he's seen the likes of me. He's quietly observing the performance. Question one.

Question two.

Look worried about the answers. This emboldens the witness. He looks around the gallery, looking for an audience. Flashes me a look and condescends, then … is that a hint of flirtation? I nod at his answers, flicking through pages, fumbling. I watch him, yes yes, here he goes.

I let the witness talk, overtalk. I let the witness 'clarify.' Good.

Thanks for that, sir, I wasn't sure …

And he goes further. He's in his element. His eyes dismiss me; 'This one must be straight out of uni or something; she's not that good,' he thinks. He's putty in my hands now. He relaxes, thinks he has the upper hand. And so now he is not careful, not afraid, no longer vigilant.

He says something inconsistent.

I nod, and look confused, let him explain it to me, but inside I am on alert. This is the break in his serve, this is where I take my lead. He's explaining and I'm nodding as he digs himself in more deeply.

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.