by A R Kennedy
Abigail headed upstairs to the master bedroom, reviewing the elements of making a good impression. “Demure makeup. Simple hair. Small accessories. No watch. Nervous people look at a watch and jurors think they’re bored. Not good.” Cecilia nodded at each order. “Nothing flashy. Nothing sexy. You need to be a simple grieving widow. Can you do that?”
“I’m guessing you’ll tell me how.”
Cecilia couldn’t remember anyone shopping for her since she was a child. She also couldn’t see how jurors could decide her fate, based on her fashion.
“Isn’t it a little…sexist that Wyatt has you doing this?” Cecilia asked.
“Do you want Michael doing this?” Abigail answered. Cecilia shrugged. She didn’t want either of them doing this.
Abigail pulled out a few of the items she had purchased and held them up for Cecilia to see. “Trust me, I’m better at this than Michael.” Cecilia shrugged again. “Oh…I’ll show you what happens when Michael does this.” She pulled out her cell phone and pulled up a photo.
Cecilia’s eyes bulged at the image. A woman in a mini skirt with a colorful tight shirt and big hair. Cecilia didn’t know where to look and only wanted to look away.
“Wyatt doesn’t see color, sex, religion. He only sees ways to win.”
The next morning, Abigail picked Cecilia up at her house and drove her to the courthouse. Other than hellos when she got in, they didn’t speak. Cecilia realized she didn’t know anything about Abigail, other than she was a lawyer. But now was not the time for small talk. She stared out the window, not taking in any of the scenery, and not noticing when Abigail parked and got out of the car.
“Cecilia, let’s go,” she said, tapping on the glass. Cecilia jumped and got out of the car.
Abigail cringed when she looked Cecilia over. “Jeez, you have dog hair all over the new suit.”
“I have a dog, Abigail.”
Out of her briefcase, Abigail pulled out a lint roller. She manhandled Cecilia and removed the golden hairs.
There was one media truck outside the courthouse.
“People have lost interest, I see,” Cecilia commented.
“Yes, those reports on Gabbert really decreased the sensationalism of the story. Now to them, it’s just a self-defense case.”
Cecilia didn’t know if she should be relieved or worried. Abigail seemed neutral.
They entered the courtroom. Wyatt and Michael huddled over a legal pad. Wyatt appraised Cecilia. “Very nice,” he said to Abigail.
Everyone stood when the judge entered. Judge Lowe signaled for everyone to sit. He called the first twelve potential jurors to the jury box.
“Your Honor, to spur the process, I gave the potential jurors here a short questionnaire,” Briscoe announced. He pointed to the over thirty people in the room. Briscoe cued Marcy to get the filled out papers from them.
“Your Honor,” Sewell interrupted. “I did not have advance notice of this.”
“Just standard stuff, Your Honor,” Briscoe said before handing a copy to the judge and the defense team.
Sewell looked over the list. A list of twenty questions. Some standard—name, occupation, age. Some that Sewell would agree to: Do you know anyone associated with the case? Do you have any family members in law enforcement? Have you heard of this case? Wyatt couldn’t imagine anyone is this county, or in the state, not knowing about the case. Mixed in with the innocuous questions was the one Briscoe wanted answered most.
“Are you allergic to domestic animals?” Sewell read aloud. He looked to Briscoe. “Really? I would not consider this standard, Your Honor.”
Cecilia saw the lone newsperson scribble in her pad.
They all knew Ferris would come out sooner or later but all parties thought it would be the defense team that raised the issue.
“Are you trying to have a jury with no dog or cat owners, Mr. Briscoe?” Wyatt asked. Briscoe mocked shock but didn’t answer.
Wyatt returned his attention to Judge Lowe. “Your Honor, the prosecutor is actively trying to weed out pet owners from the jury pool for obvious reasons.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Cecilia saw the newswoman scribble more on her pad. Her initial boredom in being assigned coverage to jury selection on a case everyone had lost interest in was gone. She would be on her phone, calling police contacts and her producer within seconds of exiting the courtroom.
Sewell glanced at the paper Abigail handed him. “Your Honor, Mrs. Chandler has the right to a jury of her peers. According to the American Pet Products Association, thirty-seven to forty-seven percent of all households in the United States have a dog, and thirty to thirty-seven percent have a cat. We can’t have a jury of no pet owners.”
“I agree, Mr. Sewell. Briscoe, your questionnaire here is out.”
The jury selection lasted through the day, with twelve jurors and two alternates selected. Wyatt, Abigail, and Michael seemed pleased by the group. Briscoe wore his usual stern face. Cecilia had no opinion on the group, except they looked at her too much.
As the defense team, with Cecilia, exited the courthouse, the newswoman ran up to them. “Mr. Sewell, why the questions about domestic animals?” she asked.
“You’ll have to ask Mr. Briscoe. He was the one with the questionnaire.” Sewell pointed to Briscoe as he exited a doorway away.
She ran after Mr. Briscoe. Marcy trailed behind, scribbling down the orders he barked at her.
“Mr. Briscoe, why the questions about animals?” the newswoman asked.
“No comment,” he answered.
She reworded the question and asked again. “Are animals an important part of this case?”
“No comment.”
“Do you have a dog or cat?” she asked.
“Good God no,” he muttered. “No comment,” he corrected himself. But the cat was already out of the bag, as they say. She had her sound bite for the evening. She’d have until Monday when the trial started to learn more.
She directed more questions at him while he descended the stairs. He muttered “no comment” after each of them. Briscoe hailed Owens, who was standing by his patrol car. “Do something about this, will you?”
Holden smiled at the newswoman and escorted Briscoe to his car, in silence.
The defense team resumed their walk to their car. “I do like to see him squirm,” Wyatt told them.
Cecilia tried to catch Holden’s eye as they got to the parking lot but thought better of it. She watched Briscoe and Marcy depart, leaving Holden behind. Cecilia watched him give a little wave to the departing vehicle.
No one heard him mutter “you’re welcome” as they drove away.
Holden snuck a look at Cecilia when he didn’t think anyone was watching.
CHAPTER 40
Holden sat at the bar and drank a beer. Liquid courage, he thought. It might be the last evening he could sneak over to Cecilia’s. When the trial started he didn’t know what chaos would ensue.
“I thought a police officer should never have his back to the door,” a woman said, from his right.
Holden pointed to the bar’s mirror, which gave him full view of the bar and both entrances. He hadn’t missed the newswoman’s arrival five minutes ago and had watched as she scanned the crowd, looking for someone. When she sat down on the barstool next to him, he feared she had found her target.
She stuck her hand in front of his mug. “Cheryl Milson, KRTV.” He ignored it and took a sip of his beer. “Interesting day in court, wasn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t in the courthouse.” Holden resumed his observation of the bar. Looking in the mirror, he saw the townsfolk he usually saw here during his brief visits.
“But I’m sure you heard what happened. Small town. Small courthouse. Only one case going on.” She watched him watch the mirror. “This is big news,” she added, making eye contact with Holden in the mirror.
Holden shrugged and took a sip of beer. The bartender walked up. “What can I get your lady friend, O
wens?”
“She’s not with me. She’s with the media,” Owens explained.
Cheryl leaned into Holden to view his beer. He leaned away from her. “I’ll have what he’s having. And another one for the chief here too,” she instructed the bartender.
She returned with one beer and handed it to Cheryl. “The chief wouldn’t take a beer from you, honey. You freshened your makeup and opened an extra button on that blouse for the wrong target.”
Holden tried to hide his smile while Cheryl tried to hide her embarrassment. She took a sip of her beer and grimaced. She called the bartender back over. “White wine, please.”
Holden finished his beer, paid his tab, and got up to leave.
“Come on, Chief. Give me something,” she pleaded before he walked away. “I’m stuck in this small town. I have nothing to do. Give me a story. Any story. Please make my time in the boonies worth it.”
“That strategy won’t work either, Ms. Milson,” Holden said before departing.
The beer hadn’t worked but the conversation with the reporter had. She was desperate enough to go to Cecilia’s house to get a story. One more glass of wine and she’d probably realize that too. He couldn’t be caught over there. That was a story his career couldn’t survive.
Holden grabbed his coat and waved goodbye to the bartender, leaving Ms. Milson with her glass of wine and empty barstools on each side of her. She was blonde and pretty and the flirting approach probably always worked for her. Especially on a small town cop.
As he left the bar, he waved to Vinnie, who was getting out of his car and heading toward the bar.
Holden awoke Saturday morning to a text from Marcy. A summons to Briscoe’s office.
Owens didn’t bother to ask why and headed over to the prosecutor’s office. When he arrived, he found Briscoe pacing. He regretted not stopping for coffee.
“What is this?” Briscoe yelled when Holden entered.
“A newspaper,” Owens answered.
Briscoe slammed the paper down. “They found out about the dog! Who told them about the dog?”
It was a short list that knew about Ferris.
“Leaked from Sewell?” Holden asked. All Holden knew was that it wasn’t him.
“Doubt it. Not his style. He wouldn’t leak this.” He shook his head vehemently and continued his pacing. “If he were going to leak this, he would have done it earlier. He would have done it right away.” Briscoe stopped briefly, considering it, then resumed his pacing. “No, not his style. Not his style to leak this. He’d give an interview. He’d have the dog there. They’d have all these shots of the mongrel running around. The All-American dog, Ferris.” He looked at Owens when he turned around. “You know he’s going to use it in his opening statement. That’d have more impact for him.”
Owens couldn’t comment on attorney strategy. He picked up the paper and skimmed the article. It sourced KRTV as the first to report that Cecilia Chandler had killed Robert Gabbert in an attempt to save her dog.
“I want an investigation into this!” Briscoe ordered.
“It just as easily could be someone in your office as someone in the department,” Owens told him.
“It wasn’t my office!” Briscoe yelled.
Owens knew a yelling match about whose office had leaked the news was pointless. He kept himself from yelling back, “It wasn’t my office!”
“What does it matter?” Owens said instead. “You said yourself this would have come out during his opening statement. That’s Monday. So the media learned of it two days earlier.” Owens thought Briscoe would like the renewed interest in the trial. And in the prosecutor.
Briscoe didn’t look pleased when he answered. “We’ll see Monday if you feel the same way.”
CHAPTER 41
Like any good son, Daniel Briscoe visited his mother regularly. He always arrived with flowers. Mother’s Day. Her birthday. His birthday. All the big events. And in his life, the big events included a trial.
He rarely had cases that went to trial. He pleaded out most of his cases. Everyone won that way. Taxpayers didn’t bear the burden of a costly trial. The victims weren’t subjected to the stress of a trial. Marcy wouldn’t develop an ulcer.
“Hi, Mom,” he said when he arrived. “Big case, the one I told you about, it starts today.” He sat down and commiserated with her over the trial. “I’ll never understand how someone could choose an animal over a person.” He looked away before adding, “But you of all people could explain it to me, couldn’t you?”
His mother always loved animals. The Briscoes owned a beagle when he was growing up. Dan played with Pepper for hours after school each day. Every day after school they’d walk in the woods together. They’d play all day on the weekends. Except the day of his school play. After school that day, he went home and put on his costume. Even though the play wasn’t until eight.
He’d earned the lead role, King Roland, in the school’s play. He stood in front of the mirror, regaling his costume. His mother had spent hours making his golden crown, his long maroon cloak, and his black shirt with the family crest. She fashioned a scepter out of his father’s golf club. His father hadn’t been happy about it but smiled when Dan entered the living room, with all the regality of a king.
As he recited his lines again, his mother ran in. She put on her hiking boots and a hat. It wasn’t the outfit he expected his mother to wear to his stage debut. “Mom, where are you going?”
“Pepper’s missing,” she answered, while tying her shoes.
“But, Mom, the play,” he reminded her. “We have to leave. Pepper will come back. Sometimes he runs in the woods. He always comes back.”
“Well, he’s not home yet and it’s getting dark.” She checked her watch. “He’s always home by now.”
Dan couldn’t understand her anxiety. Sometimes dogs ran away. Pepper would be waiting for them when they got home from his play.
“But, Mom, we have to leave.” They didn’t have to leave for another thirty minutes but Dan wanted to be early.
“Your father will take you.” She kissed him on the head. “I’ll be there by the time the curtain rises. I promise.”
“But, Mom!” he yelled out as she walked down the driveway. Her calls for Pepper got softer as she made it to the end of the driveway. In the darkness, he couldn’t see which way she turned onto the county road.
As Dan walked down the stage’s aisle for the coronation scene, he looked out into the audience. He found his father. To his right was his younger brother. To his left, the aisle seat, where his mother should have been, was empty.
While Dan sang his first song, Pepper sat on their front doorstep, waiting for their return. Neighbors could hear his howls for his family.
During the wedding scene to Queen Anne, he watched his father keep looking over his shoulder and checking his watch. His queen had to prompt him his lines of “I do.”
The police arrived on the scene of the accident as Dan belted out his finale. The driver never saw her. Focused on finding Pepper, she never heard the car’s approach.
While Dan gave a final bow, the sheriff pulled up to their home. While his queen received flowers, he stood on stage staring out at the empty seat, hearing his mother’s voice in his head. She had promised she’d be there.
“I’ll never understand, Mom. How could you choose Pepper over me?” He got up, said goodbye, and placed the flowers on his mother’s grave.
CHAPTER 42
As explained to her on Friday, the defense team would pick her up at her home and they would drive over to the courthouse together. She took an extra glance at herself in the mirror before going downstairs. Ferris made to jump on her and she sidestepped the greeting. “No fur on me today, Ferris.”
She patted him on the head. He sat patiently at her feet while she got him a biscuit. “I’ll be back later.” There was a growing knot in her stomach. How many more goodbyes would she have to say to Ferris? Wyatt and the team were confident they would win
but there were no guarantees.
Her cell phone dinged with an incoming text. She sighed when she saw it was from Janna. “You’re quite the star. Hope you look pretty today.” Attached was an emoji she couldn’t decipher the meaning of. She forgot about it when she got the text from Abigail that they were turning on her street.
The knot in her stomach grew when she got in the car and no one responded to her “Good morning.” They all nodded and returned to their phones.
As they approached the courthouse, Cecilia leaned forward in her seat, between Abigail and Michael. Janna’s text now made sense. She marveled at the crowd. “Why are there so many people?” she asked. There were even more than right after the shooting. She could count at least eight media trucks.
“They found out about Ferris,” Michael answered.
“Found out what about Ferris?” she asked.
“That Gabbert was threatening Ferris and that’s why you shot him,” Michael clarified.
Cecilia had no idea if the increased news coverage, the renewed interest in her trial, was a good or a bad thing. Wyatt’s face remained neutral.
The driver pulled up to the courthouse. Wyatt turned from the passenger seat.
“You two,” Wyatt directed Abigail and Michael. “Go out that door”—he pointed to the back driver’s side door—“and stay on both sides of her. Hustle her up the steps. Do not talk to anyone.” He looked at each of them. “Agreed?”
He waited until each of them had nodded agreement.
The defense team, and Cecilia, ran up the courthouse steps, flanked by media on all sides. The reporters shoved their microphones and cameras in their faces. They spat questions at them. The defense team, and Cecilia, said nothing. Cecilia only prayed she wouldn’t fall, running up the stairs in the new high heels she wasn’t used to.
Wyatt opened the courthouse door and closed it once Abigail, Michael, and Cecilia were inside. Wyatt stayed outside to talk briefly to the media.