AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Thirty-One
AFTER I HAVE BEENdressed down by Judge Jackson Prentice III in his chambers to the delight of Kevin Ahearn, we go back into court. It’s a few minutes after five o’clock, but before he calls it a day, Prentice wants to reiterate to the jury that they are to disregard my last exchange with Otis Miller. Right before I go out to face the media.
They throw some punches this time, because of the way the day ended, but none land, or knock the smile off my face. I tell them, in different ways, that lawyers are allowed to present an alternative version of events, and that today underscored what I’ve identified as the core of our case:
Reasonable doubt.
Then, on heavy legs, I walk down the steps and toward the parking lot. I wouldn’t admit this to anybody, not even Jimmy, certainly not Dr. Sam Wylie, but I am starting to feel fatigued at the end of the long days, what I suspect is a lot more than normal courtroom fatigue. Sam told me it might start to happen, sooner rather than later. I feel it happening now.
I am talked out, at least for this one day, and am thinking only about a hot bath and a cold beer.
When I see Claire Jacobson standing next to my car, my first thought is that getting into the barrel with the ice maiden is the last thing I need.
Or maybe it’s the perfect time, as tired as I am, for the conversation I’ve been putting off having with her.
She opens with a friendly smile for a change, though it’s frankly not her best look.
“We had a good day.”
We.
“Congratulations.”
“You know, Claire. There’s an old legal expression that I think might go all the way back to Oliver Wendell Holmes: if you keep throwing shit against the wall, maybe some of it will stick.”
“I’m not sure I ever heard that one attributed to him.”
“Google it.”
“Well, anyway,” she says, “I just wanted to tell you myself how well I think you did. And that perhaps I was wrong about you.”
“Get a grip.”
She shakes her head, as if I’ve somehow disappointed her again. As if they should have stayed with one of the white-shoe firms they originally hired.
“Before you go,” I say, “is there anything that you know that I don’t? Anything that might help your husband?”
“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Anything that might possibly compromise the prosecutor’s case?”
“You’re the one who’s supposed to be defending my husband. Not me.”
“So there’s nothing.”
She stares at me. “I’m not one of your witnesses.”
“Well,” I say, “not yet.”
The next sound I hear in the parking lot is theclick, click, clickof her expensive and extremely high heels—the kind I never even attempt to wear—as she heads for her Bentley.
But she’s not quite done with me, as it turns out, and suddenly she wheels and comes walking back to where I’m searching my bag for my keys.
“While you’re being so vigilant,” she says, “and so concerned about my husband and what might or might not help him, why don’t you askyoursister what she was doing withmyhusband the night of the murders.”
Thirty-Two
THE NEXT MORNING BEFORE WORK,I finally take Rip in to see Dr. Ben Kalinsky. The reason is obvious. I don’t know enough about dogs—don’t knowdogshitabout dogs.
