Page 94 of The Devil's Advocate

‘There’s only one fancy New York attorney in this room, and it ain’t me.’

I was surprised when I heard a few laughs from the gallery, and even saw one or two jurors smile.

It was going well. I’d made the jury think about Korn, instead of Andy.

Things were about to go disastrously wrong.

I was counting on it.

‘But this case is not about me. It’s not even about Skylar Edwards. And it’s certainly not about Andy Dubois. This case is about the district attorney for Sunville County, Mr. Randal Korn—’

I was expecting it, but I was still surprised at the speed at which Korn got to his full height and called outobjection.

‘Objection sustained. Mr. Flynn, you are not permitted to use this court to launch a personal attack on the district attorney for this county, is that clear?’ said Judge Chandler, his nose wrinkled, and his lips drew back over yellowed teeth. He flicked his gaze to the jury before settling his ire on me. He wanted the jury on his side. The judge is supposed to guide the jury to making their own fair and impartial decision.

He was trying to shut me down. I’d expected it and now I was going to lean into it, by spelling it out, straight and true to the judge, and making sure the jury would hear every last word.

‘I am permitted to frame the context for the evidence that will be presented in this case, Your Honor. It’s highly irregular for the prosecutor to object to the defense’s opening statement. That’s not the only irregularity in Mr. Korn’s career, by the way. In this case, we will show Andy Dubois was framed for this murder by the district attorney and the late Sheriff Colt Lomax. We will show that Mr. Korn has the highest death-penalty conviction rate in modern history and that he will use the administration of justice as a weapon to kill whomever he pleases, for his own personal enjoyment. He is an evil in this county, and he is asking the jury to be complicit in his crimes. I think the jury needs to hear this, and if you are trying to stop me from alleging police and prosecutorial corruption in a death-penalty defense thenyouare part of the problem too. Go ahead, tell me I can’t make that argument and I’ll have you and your decision roasted, slowly, by an appellate judge before you’ve got time to take your head out of the district attorney’s ass.’

The cells below the courthouse were spotlessly clean. Certainly better than the county lock-up. They were brighter too, and didn’t have the stench of human waste running through them. It’s always the same. Courthouse cells are the cleanest because eventually the stench travels and all it takes is one judge to catch a whiff of piss and there will be a cleaning crew working up a cloud of soap suds within the hour.

My sneaky speech to the jury hadn’t gone down too well with Judge Chandler. He whispered to the court security officer and I was arrested right at the defense table and taken away.

I thought I had pushed the envelope too far by swearing in court, and as a rule I never do it, but on this occasion my blood was up. I’d been down here for the best part of two hours and that was enough to cool my head.

As defenses go, this wasn’t a bad start.

I’d had worse.

There’s not a lot to do in a jail cell but think. And I had a lot on my mind. One thing that kept occupying me was Lomax. I’d read the letter from his wife and I was more and more convinced that Lomax had had a change of heart. I imagined his conscience getting the better of him, and instead of keeping his mouth shut, he vented at Korn. And that would have been the end of him. Any redemption he could have sought had been taken from him. People change. The road can have unexpected turns before you get to the end. Alexander Berlin had taken that turn, sending me here to save Andy Dubois. Korn, on the other hand, was too sick to make that change. He was the exception. The two percent. One of the people who had been built wrong, or became twisted early in life and can’t even see the turn coming, never mind feel the need to take it.

I heard a key in the lock of the blue steel door.

Kate came in, sat down on the painted concrete bench and waited for the door to close behind her before she started speaking.

The door slammed with a clang that shook the fillings in my teeth.

‘Well?’ I said.

She held a finger to her lips, waited. After a few seconds we heard the faint sound of boot heels disappearing out of earshot. The guard, returning to his station, disappointed that he couldn’t hear our conversation. There were no cameras or mics in this cell. Nowhere to hide them.

‘It’s bad. There will be a hearing after the trial finishes for the day so Chandler can decide what to do with you. He shouldn’t be hearing the case at all, but I didn’t want to push it too far. Unlike you,’ she said.

‘I know, sorry. I was just worried I wouldn’t get the reaction from Judge Chandler that we needed. I guess I overdid it.’

‘Just a little,’ said Kate.

‘So, apart from that, are we good?’

‘We’re good. I take over for today.’

‘You got your speech ready?’

‘Good to go.’

We had shouted fire in a crowded theatre. And there was a real fire. There’s no doubt of that. It was a simple deception. It doesn’t matter what Korn says, or what evidence he calls to the stage for the crowd. If we can convince them the building is on fire they’re not going to listen to a goddamn word of the play.

‘How are you feeling about taking on the medical examiner, Miss Price?’