Page 27 of Witness 8

Before she was a lawyer, she was a working-class Jersey girl, growing up in Edgewater with her best friend, Bloch, and a view from her bedroom window right across the river. She had a good family. Loving parents. In the evening, her mom would knit in her La-Z-Boy chair in the living room. Kate would listen to theclick,clackof the needles and stare out of the window. At night, the yellow office lights from the skyscrapers of Manhattan were like fallen stars on the dark waters that separated her from the island. She had always wanted to be one of those women, in the office late at night, working hard. If it got past eleven thirty, and her father had not come home yet, the young Kate couldn’t help but notice the increase in the pace of her mom’s knitting needles. Her pop’s shift as a New York police officer finished at ten thirty. If he wasn’t home by eleven thirty, that could mean one of two things. Either he’d hit a bar for a drink with his buddies, or something bad had happened to him. Her mom’s fraying nerves were driving those needles at a furious pace by midnight. Kate could even see the Jersey bridge from her room. She watched the headlights of the cars as they drove across and said a silent prayer that one of them was her father’s car.

That he was coming home safe.

In the end, he always did come home. Kate would hear the front door banging closed. And then the silence filled with absence of theclick-clackof the needles. If he was late, there would always be the same joke too.

Her mother would scold him: ‘Why didn’t you call to say you’d be late? I was worried sick.’

Her father’s reply was always the same. ‘Darlin’, this is a dangerous job. Lots of cops don’t make it home to their wives. Sometimes they stay the night in their girlfriend’s house.’

Then more reassuring noises would float up the stairs. Kate would hear the creak from the oven door, the clink of cutlery and glasses on their little kitchen table and her parents would sit down to eat at midnight. Kate never went downstairs. She could have. Could’ve sat on her daddy’s lap and he would’ve held her and tickled her and told her she was a bad girl for staying up so late.

But she let her parents have their time alone. It was enough to know he was home safe.

Now, Kate sat beside Harry at the conference table in Al Parish’s lush, million-dollar offices, across the table from a rich man facing life in jail. Kate was still that working-class Jersey girl. They had taken a break when Eddie and the assistants left around a half hour ago. The Jacksons got some refreshments while Al went with Eddie to get the cash from the firm’s vault. Now, they were all back in the room. Al at the head of the table, the Jacksons on his left. Kate and Harry pulled up chairs across the desk from the Jacksons.

Where you sit in relation to your client is important. Al Parish knew this as much as any lawyer. Putting himself at the head of the table was a power play.

You are in my house.

This is my office.

My client.

My case.

You’re just the help.

But you don’t fuck around with Kate Brooks.

It seemed as though Al hadn’t yet read that particular memo.

‘John, you know Kate. Now, Eddie will be our main courtroom warrior. We needed a battler for this case. Kate will be doing some of the prep work . . .’

Harry raised a finger, opened his mouth as if to object. He knew how good Kate was, and he felt protective of her. Even though Harry was an elder statesman, and former judge, and an utter gentleman who would defend Kate with his life, he also understood Kate didn’t need him to fight her battles. He paused. Closed his mouth. Put his hands on the table and smiled at Kate.

She didn’t need Harry fighting for her. But it was nice to know he was available should the need arise.

‘Can I interrupt, Mr. Parish,’ said Kate, then directed her voice to the Jacksons. ‘Al is unfamiliar with the precise way that Eddie and I work. I’ll be handling the opening statement in the trial, and I’ll be cross-examining witnesses alongside my partner. Eddie has a . . .creativeapproach to the law. That’s what he’s doing right now,’ she said, and nodded toward the TV in the corner. It was a live news feed. After Eddie had left along with the associates, one of Parish’s assistants had turned on the local news channel.

Castro was going to start his news conference any minute.

‘Al, would you mind getting up for a second?’ asked Kate.

A look of confusion spread over Parish’s features, but he got up.

‘I want to sit next to John for a moment,’ said Kate as she moved round and took Parish’s chair.

Sitting across the desk from a client puts distance between them and you, as well as a physical barrier. If Kate was going to get this man’s trust, she wanted to use every available weapon in her arsenal. When Parish sat down beside Harry, and now found himself across the desk from his client and Kate at the head of the table, his confused look soon turned to irritation.

He coughed. Looked at Harry. He had been put firmly in his place by a woman thirty years his junior. Either he would deal with that, or Kate would have to deal with him.

Harry beamed Parish a knowing smile.

Parish didn’t smile back.

Kate focused on John. She opened her arms, leaned back in the chair and kept her eyes on his – concentrating, making sure she had his full attention.

‘John, this case is going to take some time to come to trial. Thankfully, it won’t be too long. District Attorney Castro has an election coming up and he has a serious challenger for the job. Morgan Montgomery is a popular civil-rights lawyer – lot of people in this town will vote for him. If Castro wants to win, he will fast track this case to trial and ride your conviction to an election victory. So you’re not going to have to wait for years. That’s the first piece of good news. Here’s the second – we’re not going to let Castro win. You have to trust us to defend you. But that trust goes both ways. We have to trust that you’re going to get through this. We need you strong for the trial.’