by A R Kennedy
“You’re going to need to get more security, Briscoe,” Wyatt told him as they entered the courthouse together a few minutes later.
“What? For this?” Briscoe asked. “I thought you’d love this. These are your people.”
Marcy and Briscoe didn’t look like they loved it. Their faces were red by the exertion of running from the media and the stress of the media’s onslaught of questions.
“It’s dangerous, Briscoe, and you know it,” Sewell continued.
Briscoe shrugged and walked into the courtroom. Wyatt glared at him as he followed him in. It was the most emotion Cecilia had ever seen from Wyatt. Both teams headed to their respective tables in the courtroom, trying to ignore the overpacked gallery.
“Quiet,” the bailiff commanded as they entered.
After a few moments to settle in, Judge Lowe arrived. He could not hide his shock of the size of the crowd.
Wyatt remained standing after everyone else was directed to sit. “Your Honor,” he began, “may we speak in chambers before you call in the jury?”
Briscoe stood. “Your Honor,” he said, “he’s stalling. The state is ready to begin its case.”
There was a bristling in the crowd. “Quiet!” Judge Lowe commanded after slamming his gavel down. “My chambers now.”
The three men gathered in Judge Lowe’s chambers. He had feared the publicity about the trial in the initial weeks but it had all died down. Jury selection had been quiet. Only one reporter had even attended. Now, it was back to the circus he had feared. And one to which he didn’t want to be the ringmaster.
“This is his doing and now he’s complaining,” Briscoe started.
“How is this my doing?” Sewell asked.
“He did this on purpose to get a continuance, Your Honor.”
“I did not tell that reporter about Ferris. If I wanted to I could have, but I didn’t.”
Judge Lowe interrupted the dueling lawyers. “Fine, well now you can’t. I’m putting a gag order in effect now. Neither of you will speak to the media.”
“Fine with me. I’m not fighting this case in the media. I don’t need to convince them. I only need to convince those twelve jurors.” Sewell turned to Briscoe. “Although it does seem that the press is on my side, Briscoe.”
“You’ll address me and only me in this office, Mr. Sewell,” Judge Lowe said.
“Yes, sir.”
“And wipe that smirk off your face, Dan,” Judge Lowe instructed, as the corners of Briscoe’s mouth edged up.
With any hint of pleasure gone from his face, Briscoe said, “Your Honor, the state wants to continue this case.”
“As does the defense, Your Honor,” Sewell quickly added.
The judge ignored them. “I’m postponing the case for a day. We need to get security. We need to limit the number in the gallery.”
“Your Honor, I request that the jury be sequestered,” Sewell asked.
“That’s it, Your Honor,” Briscoe balked. “He doesn’t like the jury. He did some rethinking over the weekend and now he wants a mistrial.”
“That is not what I said”—Sewell turned to look at Briscoe and then, remembering his earlier rebuke, turned his attention to Judge Lowe—“Your Honor.”
“They’ll blame me for the sequestering and take it out on the prosecution,” Briscoe explained.
“No, they won’t,” Judge Lowe answered. “I’ll explain I’m mandating it. And I’m neutral.”
Briscoe shook his head in disgust at the loss.
While the two lawyers waited to be dismissed, Judge Lowe called the station. “I need Chief Owens in here now.”
A call directly from a judge, during the biggest trial this county had ever seen, got Chief Holden Owens in the courthouse in minutes. He had been around the courthouse all morning, helping the officers direct traffic and corral the media.
Part of him feared the judge would also want to know who leaked the story. Owens had put no effort into an investigation and hadn’t planned to. Now, with the renewed media attention and subsequent traffic, he knew he’d have no time to.
He didn’t notice Cecilia sitting outside the judge’s office with the rest of the defense team as he entered.
Owens found the three men sitting in silence. He remained standing as he greeted the judge. “Yes, Judge Lowe, you called?”
“Yes.” He looked up from the paperwork he was working on. “We need more security.”
“Yes, sir,” Owens agreed. “I’ve called in everyone I can for today. We seem to have it under control now.” With the day’s proceedings cancelled, the media had become more manageable. But he knew that was temporary. Tomorrow would be a repeat of the day, unless his department was better prepared. “My next stop is going back to the station to call in the auxiliary officers for the week.”
Judge Lowe nodded approval. “Can you be ready tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir.”
Judge Lowe signaled to dismiss him but Owens paused. “Are you ready in here, sir?”
“What do you mean?” the judge asked.
“I can control the crowd outside but what about inside? The court officers and courthouse security can’t let everyone in like they did today. I heard the gallery was jammed. The fire marshal has already called me about it.”
Owens looked to Sewell. Of the three, he was most accustomed to these types of proceedings.
Sewell said nothing. He wouldn’t speak until asked. He couldn’t tell Judge Lowe how to run his courtroom.
Judge Lowe rolled his eyes. “You’re right. I’ll make some calls.” He mentally went through his list of colleagues who would have had experience with high-profile cases. “I’ll let you all know later what the plan will be.”
He waved them all out.
CHAPTER 43
Cecilia sat in her office, staring at an empty inbox. She had told all her clients she’d be on vacation this week, with limited access to emails and the internet. Some vacation, she thought.
Her vibrating phone broke her trance. She didn’t know who would be calling. The defense team was in her dining room, working. They would yell if they needed her.
Cecilia cringed when she saw her sister’s name on the phone’s screen. Three missed calls. Three waiting voicemails. She didn’t want to hear her sister’s voice today. Then a text appeared on the screen. “Where can I pick up my ticket?”
Her initial thought was her sister must have contacted her by accident. But three voicemails and a text could not be a misdial. Cecilia tapped to listen to the first voicemail, continuing to hope Janna had meant to call someone else. Maybe she had met a new friend named Cecilia. That hope was quickly dashed.
“What time does the trial start tomorrow? I’m not sure if I should leave tonight or in the morning.”
“Oh, God,” Cecilia mumbled.
She tapped on the second voicemail. “I can stay with you, right? If you’re under house arrest can you have visitors? Or would I be under arrest too?”
Cecilia tapped on the third voicemail. “What should I wear? You looked pretty meh today.”
Wyatt had said he didn’t want Janna at the court proceedings. She never thought it would be an issue. Now the trial was an event and Janna wanted an invitation.
Cecilia quickly typed three short messages to her sister, answering all of her questions and hoping to prevent her arrival.
“We do not know when the trial for my freedom starts tomorrow. Thank you for your interest in my well-being.”
“No, you cannot stay here.”
“There are no tickets for the trial.”
Janna’s response appeared within seconds. “But I’m sister to the defendant. There must be a ticket for me.”
Cecilia got up and headed to the defense team. Another text pinged as she entered their office. “Are there tickets to the trial?” she asked.
The three were huddled over their computers, busy working. Only Abigail looked up. “Yes, Judge Lowe sent an email a few minutes ago regarding
court proceedings for tomorrow. Are people asking you for tickets?”
Before Cecilia could answer, Abigail’s phone rang and she answered it. It was a one-sided conversation. She tried to interrupt several times but the caller wouldn’t allow it. The call ended with Abigail saying, “Yes, I’ll call Judge Lowe if I have any questions.”
Wyatt and Michael looked up at the mention of Judge Lowe. “Cecilia, can you give us a few minutes?” Abigail asked.
Cecilia knew that couldn’t be good and she left. She let Ferris out into the backyard and watched him run around for a few minutes before he ran back into the house for a treat. As she took a biscuit out of his jar, Michael yelled, “We’ll be right back.” They left through the front door.
Cecilia watched from the front window as the three of them, arguing, got into their car.
When Cecilia paced the house, Ferris paced it with her. She had closed all the shades in the front of the house after they left, fearing the media trucks would return.
The doorbell rang and she froze. Ferris walked into her, then froze as well. The doorbell rang again and Wyatt called out, “Cecilia, it’s us.”
She and Ferris walked to the front door.
Wyatt, Michael, and Abigail stood on her front porch. Their suitcases next to them.
“This is unconventional but out of our hands. The hotel kicked us out,” Wyatt explained.
Cecilia stepped to the side and let them in.
“The jury has been sequestered and they needed our rooms,” Wyatt continued.
“Judge Lowe told them they could have our rooms. Our rooms,” Michael said. “I still say we could fight it.”
“Do you really want to fight Judge Lowe?” Wyatt asked. “Is that in our best interests?” He looked at Cecilia for emphasis.
Michael looked up at Cecilia and agreed. “I’m just saying…”
Abigail walked up the stairs, dragging her large roller case behind her. “I’ll take the front bedroom.” Cecilia smiled, knowing the men did not know that was the guest bedroom with the attached bathroom. “You boys can have the other ones…” Her voice trailed off as she added, “And share the bathroom.”
Ferris followed Michael as he headed to his new bedroom. He carried a much smaller garment bag compared to Wyatt’s. She realized he probably couldn’t afford as many suits as Wyatt could.
“I’m sorry about this,” Wyatt said as they stood in the entryway alone. “It is unusual.”
Wyatt laughed when she asked, “Does your room and board fees come off my bill?”
Cecilia found it difficult to sleep. She wasn’t surprised considering the mounting stresses over the past year. From the bed, she stared at Joey’s closet and realized it was silly to keep his clothes when someone else could wear them. She jumped out of bed, glad to have something to distract her racing mind. Ferris jumped out of bed, as well. He watched as she grabbed the hangers of all his fine suits, shirts and ties. He followed as she carried them to the guest bathroom. It took three trips and she hung them on the bathtub’s rod. She left a note, “For Michael.”
Cecilia had hoped the work would tire her and she went back to bed. Ferris sat on the floor, staring at the empty closet. Cecilia gazed at the ceiling, still unable to find sleep. Frustrated, she got up again and went downstairs to pace the main floor. Ferris paced with her. She looked out the front windows, admiring the Christmas lights her neighbors had put up. Three doors down, she saw the Jewish family’s home. One candle lit on the menorah for the first night of Hanukkah.
Joey would have put their Christmas lights up by now. But not this year. There would be no Christmas lights. No decorations. There was nothing to celebrate.
As she paced, Ferris at her feet, she contemplated the reason for her insomnia. Was it the stress of the trial? Or the three other people now living in the house with her? For the last year, she had lived in the house with only Ferris. Before that, it had only been her and Joey, and Ferris.
The evening had been uncomfortable. She had become accustomed to the defense team’s presence in her house during the day. But her only nightly visitor had been Holden. And that had been too long ago.
She had grown used to seeing the defense team in their work clothes. Now she saw them in their nightclothes. And they in hers. It seemed too familiar. Cecilia sensed they felt the same uneasiness with the situation. They were used to retreating to their own rooms at the hotel each night.
Ferris checked on each of them as they prepared for bed, until each said goodnight and closed their bedroom’s door. Cecilia called Ferris into her room and closed the door before getting into bed.
The morning light started to drift into the house and she knew she should shower and get ready for the day. The others would be up soon.
When Abigail came downstairs an hour later, she found Cecilia staring at her coffee cup. Cecilia pointed to the waiting coffee and coffee cups for Abigail and the others. They sat in silence until Michael came in the kitchen.
“Whew! Look at you! Is that a new suit?” Abigail asked, looking him up and down. “Very nice. Did Wyatt give you a raise and not me?”
Michael laughed and looked at Cecilia. She was surprised that Michael had chosen to wear it. As the night had worn on, she thought maybe he’d find it creepy that she’d given him her dead husband’s clothes. But it’s not as if he died in them.
“It looks good on you,” Cecilia told him. “Joey would be happy.”
“Thank you,” he answered before pouring himself a cup of coffee.
At eight thirty, the driver arrived and the defense team, with Cecilia, exited her home. They arranged themselves in the sedan as they had done the day before.
Cecilia stared at her shoes. The cobalt blue heels. The ones Ferris had attempted to destroy. The ones Joey had fixed. They weren’t the shoes Abigail had set out for her to wear but she felt she needed Joey and Ferris with her today in court.
They arrived at the courthouse and the scene was worse. Pandemonium was the word that came to mind.
“Oh my word,” Wyatt mumbled. Michael and Abigail just stared. Cecilia was shocked as well, but was most concerned that the defense team was surprised by it. They’d worked high-profile cases before hers. They were known for it. But the scene before them was not anything they’d ever expected or seen before.
In addition to the news trucks, there were now protestors. Hundreds of them.
The police were doing the best they could to keep them apart. To Cecilia, it looked like the protestors were winning.
The driver parked in front of the courthouse and waited for them to get out. “Let’s go,” Wyatt told all of them and got out of the passenger seat. Cecilia followed Michael out his side of the car, the back passenger seat.
Michael headed to the courthouse stairs but Cecilia froze. The chanting could be heard, but not understood, when she was in the car. Now, it was decibels louder and overwhelming. And also clear.
“Dogs are family. Set Cecilia free!”
“CeCe. Put her in jail where she should be!”
The chants went back and forth. Cecilia stood listening, shocked by what she heard. “Are…are they calling me CeCe?” she asked but no one could hear her over the chanting.
Only people who knew her called her CeCe. And these were all strangers who wanted her in jail.
“There she is,” someone yelled.
“Murderer!” another yelled when they saw Cecilia.
She stood frozen as people pointed at her and strangers called her CeCe. Wyatt put his arm around her and pushed her toward the stairs. “Cecilia, move!” He kept his hand on her back as they hustled up the stairs. Michael and Abigail waited for them inside the courthouse.
“Well…” Wyatt started.
“That was worse than I expected,” Abigail said.
“Worse than any of us expected,” Michael added.
The four of them stood looking out the window onto the crowd.
CHAPTER 44
Cecilia watched as the ju
ry filed in. They were male, female; tall, short; fat, thin; young and old. They were all neatly dressed. “Sunday best,” her grandmother would have said. Especially the oldest man, who wore an old brown suit with a bowtie. She couldn’t imagine they could agree on anything, never mind agree on her future.
Daniel Briscoe walked up to the jury and placed his hands on the jury box. He glared at each of them.
“You need to know one thing. Cecilia Chandler murdered Robert Gabbert. Yes, he did attack her. Yes, she sustained a few injuries. But she got away. She got back into her home. The safety of her home. She was inches from a phone. A phone she could have used to call for help. To call for the police. But that’s not what she did.
“She ran back into her house.
“She ran to the safe.
“She got a gun.
“She ran by the phone again.
“She exited her home.
“She shot one time.
“She killed eighteen-year-old Robert Gabbert, when he was no longer a threat to her.
“She killed Robert Gabbert with one shot.
“She is guilty of second-degree murder.”
He held up a photo and showed it to each juror. A close-up shot of Robert Gabbert’s dead face.
The jurors recoiled.
Wyatt Sewell strode to the jury box. Michael placed an easel to their right, by the witness stand. It held several placards. The first one was blank.
“Mr. Briscoe is right. Mrs. Cecilia Chandler killed Mr. Robert Gabbert.
“On her property.
“Her sanctuary.
“Mr. Briscoe said Cecilia sustained a few injuries.
“These are the injuries she sustained.”
The jury and the courtroom gasped when he removed the blank whiteboard.
He slowly showed three photographs of Cecilia’s beaten body. The first was the wide shot of her standing in her dining room. Her body riddled with bruises. The second was a close-up shot of her torso. Purple and black. The last was of her bruised and swollen face.