The Best Friend

by Adam Mitzner

  For Maggie, the revelation came out of left field. Probably no less a shock than if I had admitted to killing Samantha Remsen myself.

  “Clint,” she said, “when you say betrayed, do you mean like having an affair? Our client and your wife?”

  I’d put myself in the most compromising of positions. No matter how much I believed that I was the aggrieved party in this situation, Maggie was looking at it from an ethics perspective, and there I was 100 percent in the wrong.

  “It was a long time ago,” I said.

  “I’m not sure there’s a statute of limitations on the ethical rules,” she said. “You shouldn’t have taken the case.”

  “What’s done is done. If nothing else, I’ve given him a surefire appellate argument if he loses.”

  “I’m not sure that’s going to be much comfort to him in jail.”

  “Do you want to take over from here?”

  It was the only thing I could think of that might ameliorate the situation. But I knew it was an empty gesture.

  “We don’t have any other witness aside from Nick, and we can’t put him on the stand to say that she accidentally died, then he dumped her body in the ocean and lied to the entire world about it. And if I close, that sends a terrible message to the jury.” Maggie sighed. “Unless you want to make an already completely fucked-up situation a thousand times worse, you’ve got to see this through.”

  “You mean I have to get him acquitted.”

  She shrugged. “I honestly don’t see how you avoid being disbarred unless he’s acquitted.” She smiled, at a private joke, it seemed. “It does seem almost poetic, though.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, you said you two were soul mates.” Another shrug. “Now your fates are joined forever.”

  After Judge Sloane took the bench but before the jury returned, I told her that the defense had no witnesses to call.

  “Not even your client?” she asked.

  “No. Mr. Zamora is going to assert his constitutional right not to testify,” I said.

  This waiver is deemed so important that it is the one time in a criminal case that the judge actually addresses the defendant to make sure that he understands the ramifications of the decision. Judge Sloane went through the script, eliciting from Nicky his understanding that he had the right to testify, that he was freely choosing not to testify, and that no one had made him any promises or assurances or offered any inducements regarding that decision.

  “Okay, then,” Judge Sloane said when that part was finished. “What say I call in the jury and we do closing arguments?”

  A few minutes later, Ethan was at the lectern, going through the reasons that the jury should convict. It was more or less a rehash of his opening, but this time he was able to point out that the witnesses had said exactly what he’d promised they would.

  “Mr. Jefferson is the key,” he told them. “He has no reason to lie to you. He freely admitted a sexual relationship with Ms. Remsen, whereas someone acting in a calculated fashion might have denied it. So you should believe him when he said that Ms. Remsen was returning home on the night of her murder to end her marriage to the defendant. And we know to a certainty that no more than a few hours later—and likely much sooner—Samantha Remsen’s neck was broken and she was discarded in the ocean like a piece of garbage.”

  For my part, I gave a reasonable-doubt closing, arguing that the prosecution had failed to meet its burden. “If you think there’s any reasonable possibility that Mr. Jefferson is lying—for example, that maybe something did happen between Tyree Jefferson and Ms. Remsen that caused a fight, and that in anger he killed her—or even that Ms. Remsen suffered a terrible accident while she was with Mr. Jefferson, and he lied to cover that up—then you must acquit, because, by definition, that means that you have reasonable doubt that Mr. Zamora is guilty of murder.”

  The prosecution gets the first and last word in closing arguments. As a result, the jury heard my recitation of what-ifs after Ethan claimed that only Nicky had the motive, means, and opportunity to murder Samantha Remsen. Then they heard him say it again after me.

  The last point Ethan made was to rebut my theory of reasonable doubt.

  “Reasonable doubt is not any doubt, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Mr. Broden could tell you that aliens came down from Mars and murdered Samantha Remsen, and just because the prosecution couldn’t prove that didn’t happen, it’s not grounds to acquit.”

  A quick verdict is almost always a guilty finding. So, when that first day came and went without a jury note indicating their unanimity, I knew we had at least one holdout among the jurors. The following day also ended without a verdict. When we still had no decision by late Thursday, Maggie predicted that the jury would hang.

  Friday is often make-or-break in jury deliberations. Jurors know that if they fail to reach a verdict before the weekend, they have to return on Monday, and that often convinces the holdouts to switch sides.

  Even though we had been, more or less, shoulder to shoulder for a week with absolutely nothing else to do, Nicky and I hadn’t said anything of consequence to each other. Our last substantive interaction had been when I’d confronted him about Anne. Nothing I could say now would matter in the least to Nicky. The only truth that mattered now was the verdict.

  At noon, word came that the jury had reached a verdict.

  “Good luck,” I said to Nicky as we waited for Judge Sloane to take the bench.

  Nicky didn’t reply, but if looks could kill, I’d be a dead man.

  Judge Sloane summoned the jurors to the courtroom. After everyone was seated, the process that would end with a pronouncement of guilt or acquittal began.

  Nicky sat ramrod straight beside me, his eyes focused straight ahead, taking in the theatrics occurring before the judge’s bench. The bailiff had just completed his four-foot trek from the jury box to the judge to deliver the jury’s verdict slip.

  “Will the defendant please rise?” Judge Sloane said.

  Maggie, Nicky, and I did as directed. I looked over to Ethan. The prosecution team remained seated.

  The foreperson was the oldest woman on the panel. I hadn’t wanted to select her, but Maggie had thought she’d side with us in the end. We’d know in a minute which of us had been right.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Maggie had taken Nicky’s hand in hers. For my part, I couldn’t summon the will to engage in any physical contact with my client.

  In a clear, strong voice, the jury foreperson announced the verdict. Oddly enough, it did not register with me. In fact, the full import of what had just occurred hit me only when I saw Nicky embracing Maggie.

  Before hearing it announced, I had imagined the aftermath of both outcomes numerous times. Guilty or not guilty? My mix of emotions now that Nicky had been acquitted was not any different from how I had imagined I’d feel. Even so, I doubted I would have felt any more satisfaction had he been convicted.

  Judge Sloane broke the courtroom roar with a strike of her gavel. “Back to order, everyone.”

  Once quiet was restored, she turned to the jury and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your service. As soon as you leave this courtroom, you are free to act as you please regarding this trial. Talk to the media or not. Stay in touch with your fellow jurors, or never speak to them again. All of that is entirely your prerogative the moment I excuse you. But before I do that, I’m going to let you all in on a little secret. If I remember the jury selection correctly, this was the first time being a juror for each of you. Well, it was my first time being a judge in a trial too. And, if I do say so myself, I think we rocked it.”

  The jurors made a hasty exit out of the courtroom, like students after the bell. Almost all of them were smiling, although few met Nicky’s eyes. That told me they had voted to acquit because the prosecution had not met its burden rather than out of any belief in Nicky’s innocence.

  After the last of the jurors had left, we remained standing to allow Jud
ge Sloane to exit. As she made her way toward the door, she wore a broad smile on her face.

  If Nicky had been convicted, every ruling Judge Sloane had made against the defense—especially her decision to allow Jefferson to testify about Samantha’s state of mind—would have been scrutinized on appeal, subject to rejection by appellate judges. But there can be no appeal of an acquittal, so now the judge’s conduct was beyond anyone’s reproach.

  That was not true of me, however. My performance was still a matter to be reckoned with.

  50.

  A blockade of press awaited us at the mouth of the courthouse. A podium was set up, complete with microphones. A narrow passageway had been created by court officers to allow us to bypass, but doing so would have made it seem as if we were running away, and that was not what winners did.

  The first thought I gave the words I would deliver was when I walked toward the lectern. “On Mr. Zamora’s behalf, we thank the jury for their service, and Judge Sloane for hers. We are, of course, thrilled beyond belief that the jury reached the correct verdict and acquitted Mr. Zamora of this crime. He is still in mourning over the death of his wife, and now he can at least grieve without the ugly specter that he was, in any way, responsible for her death.”

  The press started shouting questions the moment I stopped speaking. Did Tyree Jefferson kill Samantha Remsen? Is the verdict truly an exoneration? Why didn’t Nick Zamora take the stand? Would the verdict have been different if the judge had allowed evidence regarding the death of his first wife?

  I stepped away from the podium without responding. Nicky and Maggie followed me while the reporters continued shouting.

  We returned to my home, the three of us. When we arrived, Maggie’s support staff—Kevin and Jessica—was already there. Maggie must have alerted them to the verdict and invited them to the celebration, which was their victory too.

  I was surprised, however, by the presence of Ella and her boyfriend. After what must have been a hundred invitations, my daughter had finally taken me up on my offer to spend some time in East Hampton.

  I made the introductions. Ella and Gabriel shook Nicky’s hand, as they would that of any other stranger. I looked for some suggestion Anne had told Ella of her affair but didn’t see any. I couldn’t imagine that she had, but once a secret invades a marriage, anything seems possible.

  “You look just like your mother,” Nicky said.

  It was a compliment Ella had heard many times. She smiled and thanked him.

  I recalled vividly the celebration after Carolyn’s trial. Anne, Nicky, and I in our apartment. The bottle of champagne that Anne had purchased. My mental images were replaced with the real-time pop of the champagne cork; this time, Maggie had done the honors. She filled the flutes, and everyone took one. I nodded that she should deliver the toast.

  “Clint and I want to thank Kevin and Jessica for their assistance on the trial, and I want to thank them for helping me every day,” she said. “We also want to thank Nick for the trust he put in us. This is to Nick Zamora. Justice has been done.”

  I quickly scanned the room, watching Nick and Maggie and Maggie’s staff sip the champagne. Gabriel too downed his glassful. Ella, however, left her flute untouched, and when the party resumed, I saw her put it on the table and walk away.

  At five, Kevin and Jessica went home. They thanked me for the experience, and I said that I looked forward to working with them again someday.

  Maggie’s departure came not long after. “Ollie misses me,” she said. “Tomorrow I’m going to spend the entire day in the park with him to make up for how much I’ve been away lately.”

  I walked her to her car. Before she got in, I said, “I couldn’t have done it without you, Maggie.”

  She smiled. “I don’t think that’s right, but it is nice of you to say it.”

  “It was the result I wanted,” I told her. “I want you to believe that.”

  “I know you do, Clint. But how can I when I’m not even sure you do?”

  She was right. I still wasn’t sure what I’d wanted. My desires had been all over the map for so many years when it came to Nicky.

  “But it doesn’t matter,” she said. “All that matters is that he’s been acquitted. And you did that. And what I do believe, really and truly, is that you were working toward that, and only that, from day one.”

  It was kind of her to say, and I wanted to believe she felt that way. I also hoped that it was true.

  “So what’s next?” she asked.

  For the entirety of my professional career, or at least since Nicky’s acquittal in 1986, each verdict meant only that I moved on to the next case. Although it would have been easy to rely on my rote response and tell Maggie that more clients awaited me in New York, the words stuck in my throat. Her question reminded me of Nicky’s musings about his life becoming Benjamin Button–like, counting back from the end to see how many novels he still had left to write.

  “Not entirely sure, to be honest with you.”

  “Well, whatever tomorrow brings, I hope it brings more time for us to spend together. The best part of this case for me was getting to share an office with you again.”

  She leaned in to kiss me goodbye. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d kissed a woman on the lips, but fortunately for me I had not forgotten how. It was not a lascivious exchange, but it was enough for Maggie to convey that we could be more than we’d been, if that were my desire.

  Not long after dinner, Ella and Gabriel excused themselves and adjourned to the guest bedroom, leaving Nicky and me alone. In the hours since the verdict, others had formed a buffer between my friend and me, preventing us from conducting any type of postmortem. But the time had come to say the things that needed to be said.

  “Let’s sit outside,” I said.

  He knew what this was about, apparently. “Sure, just let me get a bottle to lubricate this discussion.”

  “With two glasses,” I added.

  The air was cool enough to forget that it was still summer, and the sunset was the way it always seemed in your mind. I couldn’t help but smile at how Anne would have enjoyed this view, the ocean as blue as it gets in the east, the sun a fireball touching it, the rolling waves providing the soundtrack.

  “Are you still my lawyer, Clinton?”

  “Do you still need a lawyer?”

  “I have a legal question about double jeopardy. Does it cover the fact that I put Samantha’s body in the ocean?”

  It was a good question. One that required legal research if I were to provide a professional opinion.

  “There’s a provision in the double jeopardy protection that includes lesser offenses. I suspect obstruction of justice is one. But, honestly? I don’t see how you’d be prosecuted for it.”

  “I was thinking about admitting it. Telling Samantha’s family what actually happened.”

  “If I were your lawyer, I’d advise against that.”

  “What if you were only my friend?”

  “Even more strongly, in that case. They won’t believe you. On top of which, I don’t think it’s a more comforting version of events that their loved one fell to her death in a drug-addled, drunken stupor. Telling them serves only one purpose: it transfers the blame from you to her.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said. “So that’s the end of it, then.”

  “Not completely. I have a question for you.”

  He nodded to tell me he was ready. I’m sure he expected me to ask about Anne.

  “Did you kill Carolyn?”

  He blinked at the implied accusation, but to his credit, he didn’t dodge it. In a quiet voice, while looking into my eyes, he said, “I did.”

  “Did Anne know?”

  “Not before, if that’s what you’re asking. We never talked about it after. I took that to mean she knew.”

  That made sense. During the trial, Anne would have known Nicky was lying about being faithful to his wife. So she probably realized he was lying about other thi
ngs as well. Maybe Nicky had known Carolyn was pregnant. Maybe he’d shared that information with Anne.

  I could have followed up on those parts. If I had, I was reasonably sure that Nicky would have told me the truth. There was no point in him lying to me about small things, now that his bigger lie had been exposed.

  But I went in a different direction. There was something more important that I wanted to know.

  “How do you go on after killing someone who loved you?”

  He thought for a long moment, as if he had never pondered the issue, though I couldn’t imagine not thinking about it every second of every day.

  “You carry on as best you can. At some point, you kid yourself into thinking it’s over, but it never really is. So then, you try to make use of it somehow. To help you be a better person. For me, in my work, I suppose. Because what else could I do?”

  It was a fair answer. Fairer than I had expected.

  “At least tell me you regret doing it.”

  He nodded emphatically. “Every day. It wasn’t premeditated. Carolyn and I had this terrible fight that evening, and . . . well, I just snapped. I know that’s what people say all the time, but it happened so fast and I felt like it wasn’t even me doing it. Sometimes it still feels that way. Like someone else killed Carolyn. Like a murderer somehow got in my head and made me force her under the water. I guess it’s easier to tell myself that’s what happened than to admit that I am capable of such horror.”

  I finally had my answer. Deep down, I’d always known it had to be Nicky. Anne was not capable of such horror, as Nicky had put it.

  “Anything else you want to know?” he asked.

  “No. I think I know everything now.”

  “At least that makes one of us.”

  I raised my eyebrows at that. “Then ask.”

  “When did you learn about Anne and me?”

  I told him it was the necklace.

  “So since before the verdict in the first case, then?”

  “Yeah.”