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It seems silly to call her by her married name.
“Rob and I were together that night.”
I think about the story she told that day at Bostwick’s, the opposite of the one she’s just now told under oath.
“She’s lying!”I hear from behind me.
Just not from the district attorney.
From my client.
Fifty-Seven
THE ROOM IS GRIPPEDby a brief, stunned silence.
Starting with me.
Only because I’ve just heard my client basically act as his own rebuttal witness against the witness who has maybe, just maybe, gift wrapped a credible alibi for him. Or at least given him one that the jury has to consider.
When I look over at Kevin Ahearn, even he appears speechless. When he catches my eye, he just shrugs and puts his hands out as if to say,You want to object to what your own client just yelled, have at it.
He seems perfectly content to sit this one out for the time being.
It is Judge Jackson Prentice III who shatters the silence in his courtroom by slamming his gavel onto its block, making even a couple of jurors jump.
“Sit down, Mr. Jacobson,”Prentice snaps.
“But, Your Honor…”
Prentice points the gavel at him.“Not…another…word.”
Up until now, the only place where Rob Jacobson, who truly does love the sound of his own voice, especially with me, has been able to keep his mouth shut is here.
He won’t do it now, despite the way he has royally pissed off the judge.
“I have a right to defend myself,” he says.
“It seems to me that you have Ms. Smith for that,” Prentice says, then turns away from him to face the jury, telling them to ignore the defendant’s outburst, before addressing Brigid, apologizing to her for the interruption, asking her to please continue.
Rob Jacobson, though, won’t give it up. Or can’t make himself give it up.
“But that’s my lawyer’s sister, Judge, and I don’t see how she can allow her to lie like that when she’s under oath.”
Now Prentice bangs his gavel down much harder than before, the sound like a thunderclap in his courtroom.
“This is your last warning, Mr. Jacobson. I have muzzled defendants in my courtroom before, and I will quite happily do it with you.”
Prentice’s gavel remains hovering over its block, as if he’s ready to swing away again.
“Don’t speak,” Prentice says, still glaring at him. “Just nod your head if you understand what I have just told you.”
Finally,I’m thinking,Judge Jackson Prentice and I are on the same side of something.
I am looking across the room at Rob Jacobson, imagining how much of his adult life he’s managed to live without somebody talking to him the way the judge is talking to him right now in open court.
Only now his circumstances have changed, rather dramatically. Now this judge is the boss of him.
Jacobson nods.
