One of the panel members, an elderly woman wearing wire-rimmed glasses, gestured toward the podium at the center. “We don’t have all day.”
“Right,” I muttered under my breath, tightening my grip on the case file in my hand.
The file was labeled: State v. Daniel Vetrov (2018), a high-profile bombing of a shipping warehouse that killed six people and left a dozen injured.
I reached the podium, placed the file down, and exhaled softly. I raised my head, swept my gaze across the room, and began, my voice a bit shaky at first. “My name is Eliza Hendy. Third-year Criminal Justice student.”
A pause.
“This review is part of a reform module that focuses on wrongful convictions and systemic failure.”
My voice began to steady by the second—my racing heart too.
“What case were you assigned?” a man from the panel asked me.
I faced him squarely. “State v. Daniel Vetrov: a 2018 conviction tied to a terror-linked bombing at a shipping warehouse that resulted in six fatalities and multiple injuries.”
They stared at me with rapt attention, and some were already scribbling down God-knows-what.
“That’s an open-and-shut case,” another panel member said, his voice calm and nonchalant. “Fingerprint evidence was found at the scene. Not to mention a financial motive and a full confession within forty-eight hours.”
Lucas Bradford. That’s this man’s name. His reputation preceded him.
He was known for always interrupting and pushing students to their limits. Dr. Bradford had a knack for twisting people’s words and leaving them confused. He was every Criminal Justice student’s nightmare.
I pulled myself together, refusing to cower under his intense gaze. Instead, I looked him straight in the eye andsaid, “True. The culprit came clean less than two days after the incident. But that’s exactly the problem.”
“Please, enlighten us,” he replied, leaning back in his chair, as if eager to hear what rubbish I was about to spill.
“Daniel Vetrov used to work at the docks,” I began, my voice audible and steady. “The man had no prior records. No known affiliation with extremist groups. He had no history of violent behavior.”
The retired judge gave a faint nod, like I was onto something impressive.
What a confidence booster.
“Tell me, how can a man with such a clean record turn into a mastermind behind a coordinated bombing?”
“Inmyexperience, theinnocentones are usually the worst,” Dr. Bradford said, his voice cutting through the momentary silence.
“Even in situations where the family contacted a legal aid reform, claiming their son was either framed or paid to confess to protect someone bigger?” I paused. “I don’t think so.”
Silence.
I continued, “Yes, on the surface, it looks like an open-and-shut case. But the deeper I looked, the more flaws I found. Like this one, for instance.” I picked up a remote and clicked it.
The screen behind me came alive.
“What you’re seeing is CCTV footage showing Vetrov near the warehouse at about 21:14,” I explained, my gaze shifting between the audience and the screen. “The issue is that mobile tower pings from his device place him about three kilometers away at that exact time.”
Glances were exchanged.
I faced them again. “So it’s either someone went to a lot of trouble to tamper with the tape, or Vetrov somehow had theability to be in two places at once.” I let the words sink in. “Which is more likely to be the case?”
Murmurs rose amongst the panel members, and Dr. Bradford wouldn’t take his eyes off me. He looked at me in a way that was rather unsettling, especially because I had no idea what was going on in his head.
I cleared my throat and moved on. “The explosive materials were traced back to a private company that just happened to shut down less than a year later.”
Another pause.