Page 130 of The Devil's Advocate

‘Thank you,’ said Taylor. ‘It’s strange though.’

‘Strange?’

‘That they should put in a bid and application now, while I’m on this jury.’

Korn leaned over, put his hands on the armrests of Taylor’s chair, their faces just inches from one another.

‘I’m a shareholder in Maxx Developments,’ said Korn. ‘I persuaded the board this was a good investment, and that the county would be open to our application. I can shut this down, at any time. You bring home the guilty verdict in the case, and all of that goes away. You’ll be left in peace. Your land protected. But have no illusions, if you fight me you’ll be on the street in a month.’

Korn straightened up, and Taylor caught another whiff of something. Not bullshit. Something bad. Something decayed.

He watched the prosecutor leave without another word. There was no more convincing to be done. Taylor took the man at his word. He was telling the truth. Taylor knew what would happen if he defied him, and what would happen if he played along.

He sipped at his tea, looked down at the book on the porch.

It was a choice he never thought he would have to make. Principles have a cost. While Taylor was willing to pay the price, he didn’t want his family to lose their home because he did the right thing. If doing the right thing hurt his family, well, was it really the right thing to do?

Rubbing at his forehead, he decided there was no choice.

He knew the other jurors on the case by name. They were part of his community, and it was clear they listened to him. He could get every juror to vote guilty. Of that there was no doubt.

Korn had picked the right man for the job. No juror would vote against him if he put his name to a guilty vote.

Taylor picked up his book, walked down the porch steps to the trash, threw the book on top of the garbage bags and closed the lid.

It was only a book.

This was the real world. He stared up at the window of his son’s bedroom. The lamp was on. His kid was up there now, reading.

Avery swore, lifted the lid of the trashcan and retrieved the book.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

EDDIE

Kate had done her prep on Deputy Leonard. She was ready when Korn called him to the stand at ten o’clock that morning. She stretched her back, turned to a fresh page on her notebook poised to write down every word of Leonard’s testimony. He would testify that Sheriff Lomax faithfully recorded Andy’s confession.

There was a freight train of problems headed Leonard’s way. It was clear Lomax had beaten the confession out of Andy before he had seen the report from the medical examiner. In the signed confession Andy stated:

My shift finished at twelve midnight, and I followed a fellow employee, Skylar Edwards, into the lot. I know Skylar. We have worked together for a while. She is pretty and I liked her. I wanted to kiss Skylar, but she pushed me away. I grabbed a hold of her and squeezed. She struggled and I made sure she stayed quiet. I didn’t mean to hurt her. She stopped struggling and I squeezed harder. Afterward I felt real bad. There’s a stretch of marshland beyond the parking lot, and I took her there and buried her so no one would find her.

The medical examiner said that Skylar Edwards’ body had been burned by the sun. If Andy says he killed her at midnight, and then buried her, then she can’t have been sunburned. Or Andy’s confession is bullshit.

Kate was well armed, and she had written out some questions to bury Leonard in his lies. Man, she couldn’t wait to get Leonard on the stand.

Harry didn’t look so fresh. Neither did Bloch. There had been little sleep that night, but Kate was used to all-nighters. I had put on a fresh suit and tie and the management of The Chanterelle laid on fresh coffee for me that morning. I wondered if they would be as accommodating if they’d known Harry had helped himself to a case of bourbon.

I guessed not.

Patricia and Andy were about done. Neither of them had slept and Andy looked even thinner in that big suit. They held hands, like always. Only this time, there was a tremor in their grip. I couldn’t tell if it was Andy’s or Patricia’s arm that was shaking.

Korn stood to address the judge. He buttoned his jacket, chin held high and his back straight. Like a man who’d already won. As if not a single thing we’d done mattered to him at all. I saw his witness, Leonard, fidgeting in the front row behind Korn and Wingfield. He had the excitable energy of someone about to take the stand. Deputy Leonard had combed his hair, trimmed his moustache and worn a shirt that didn’t stretch across his stomach like he was about to have an alien burst out of it.

‘Your Honor,’ said Korn, ‘the People call Deputy Sheriff …’

But he didn’t finish his sentence. No one interrupted him. His voice simply tailed off as his gaze was drawn to the jury stand.

I looked over and I saw one of the jurors standing.