Myra shrugged. "No worse off than we were a few days ago," she said. "Latrice's evidence is collateral, Yolanda's shaky in three different ways, and Lester Bailey's a lying snitch. I guess the question is whether we've given the jury enough for them to think Yolanda's lying. She was an eyewitness, after all, and she made the ID right off the bat. The problem is, we never came up with a reason why she'd pin it on Lorenzo."
"Why would she?"
"I don't have the faintest idea," Myra answered. "Nobody ever gave us anything between them suggesting why she would."
"Well, if she was just looking for a fall guy, she knew Lorenzo did business with Devin," I said. "One way or another, that would've led the police to a motive. Or maybe Yolanda heard something about Lorenzo coming to look for Devin earlier. She could've known Devin owed Lorenzo money, known a charge on him was likely to stick."
"You never know," Myra said. She'd finished packing up her bag and was putting on her coat. I realized that I didn't want her to leave, not yet. My earlier resolve not to broach the subject of the other night crumbled. I lacked her apparent ability to wall off doing the job from everything else. I didn't know whether I should admire her for it or take it as a sign of just how fucked-up she was.
"So," I said, trying to keep my voice playful, "anything else we should talk about?"
"We've got to go back to court tomorrow, Joel," Myra said. "Isn't that enough drama for now?"
"Why does anything else have to be drama?"
"You think you and me wouldn't be drama? I'm not the easiest person in the world, and I'm guessing you still can't put one foot in front of the other without looking down."
"I'm doing fine," I protested. "I even fall asleep most nights."
"I was raised by someone in recovery, Joel," Myra said. "And you don't look to me like someone who's there yet."
"It doesn't have to be drama," I said. "At least, not anytime soon."
That at least got a smile from Myra. "I don't need an office fuck buddy," she said.
"I wasn't offering to be your office fuck buddy. All I was going to say was, after the trial—"
"Let's deal with after the trial after the trial," Myra said.
38
IT WAS a little after ten on Monday morning, and nobody knew what was about to happen.
Detective Franklin had arrived alone at Judge Ferano's chambers at nine o'clock. The detective had done his best not to tell us anything, but he'd said enough that Judge Ferano had decided to reopen the case so that we could call him.
Judge Ferano had addressed the jury briefly, merely informing them that he was suspending their deliberations to allow the defense to call a new witness. The jurors looked to be visibly unhappy with this turn of events; no doubt they'd been hoping their service had been nearing its end.
Myra began by asking Franklin some innocuous background questions, trying to give the jury time to settle back down and focus on what was happening, while also giving herself a chance to get a sense of the detective's courtroom demeanor.
"Detective Franklin," Myra said, "are you testifying here today because you want to be?"
Franklin appeared slightly surprised by the question. "I don't know many people who come to court for fun," he answered. "Except lawyers, of course." This got a small laugh from the jury.
"You're here at the instruction of the judge, correct?" Myra said.
"That's right."
"And do you know why Judge Ferano asked you to be here today?"
"Malik Taylor was killed last Thursday night," Franklin said. "I'm investigating his murder."
Myra paused, letting the detective's words sink in. She had positioned herself near the corner of the courtroom behind the jury box, so that the detective was looking in the jury's direction. I was watching the jury as Franklin spoke, and the effect was electric: we finally had their full attention.
"Thank you, Detective," Myra finally said. "And are you aware that Malik Taylor testified in this case?"
"Yes, I am," Franklin said.
"Are you aware whether or not Devin Wallace was present in this courtroom when Malik Taylor testified?"
"Objection," O'Bannon said.
"I'll allow it," Judge Ferano said.
"It was my understanding that he was," Franklin said.
"Is it your understanding that Devin Wallace watched much of this trial here?"
"Your Honor, the witness has no direct knowledge of this," O'Bannon protested.
"The witness has been conducting an investigation," Judge Ferano said. "He can answer as to what his understanding is."
"I've been told that he was present, yes," Detective Franklin said.
"Tell me, Detective," Myra said, "have you questioned Devin Wallace regarding Mr. Taylor's murder?"
"No," Franklin said. "I haven't."
"You never tried to talk to Mr. Wallace?"
"We haven't been able to locate him," Franklin said quietly.
"Have you tried his apartment?"
"Yes."
"More than once?"
"Yes."
"Are you keeping an eye on his apartment?"
O'Bannon stood and started to object, but Judge Ferano cut him off. "We don't need to get into the nitty-gritty of an ongoing police investigation, Counselor," Ferano said to Myra. "Let's move on."
Myra nodded. "How about Yolanda Miller, Detective?" she asked. "Did you talk to her?"
"Yes."
"Did you talk to her before you tried to talk to Mr. Wallace?"
"Yes."
"Did Ms. Miller tell you things that made you want to talk to Mr. Wallace as part of your investigation of Mr. Taylor's murder?"
Franklin took his time with that one, clearly wanting to think it through, or perhaps hoping for an objection. "Yes, she did," he finally said.
"After your conversation with Ms. Miller you considered Mr. Wallace a suspect, didn't you?"
"We were interested in talking to him."
Myra held the moment, looking at Franklin. He looked back at her impassively. "Nothing further," she finally said.
O'Bannon did only a cursory cross of Franklin, confining himself to establishing the obvious. He had Franklin say that the police did not know that Wallace had killed Taylor, and had no direct evidence linking Wallace to the murder. His strategy appeared to be to try to minimize the importance of Franklin's testimony by having his cross be as brief as possible.
The judge had agreed to allow the parties limited additional closing arguments solely to address the new evidence presented. "If you're thinking this all seems very strange," Myra began as she walked toward the podium, "you're right. This hasn't happened on any other case I've ever had. New evidence isn't just supposed to arise at the very end of a trial. But that's what happened here, and it's now going to be your duty to put aside any conceptions you had before and reevaluate this entire case in light of this new information.
"That isn't an easy task. But if you don't think you can do it, you need to take yourself off this jury, because it's what's required of you. There can't really be any doubt, can there, that this new evidence changes the outlook of this case?
"It is now clear that the police are investigating Devin Wallace as a suspect in the murder of Malik Taylor. Ladies and gentlemen, Devin Wallace sat in this very courtroom and listened to the evidence we put on that it was Malik Taylor who shot him," Myra said, pointing toward the spectator section of the courtroom as she spoke. "He was right there, taking it in. I have no way of knowing whether that evidence convinced you, ladies and gentlemen, but I have reason to suspect that it convinced Mr. Wallace.
"I'm sure you noticed that Detective Franklin wasn't exactly enthusiastic to be called here to testify. I don't blame him. He's in the middle of his own investigation, plus he's not in the business of coming to testify on behalf of criminal defendants. I'm not saying anything bad about the detective; I'm just saying I don't think he was happy to be here, which I understand. As he said, nobody likes coming to court
but us lawyers, and to tell you the truth, even we aren't thrilled most of the time.
"But despite the fact that he didn't enjoy his time in the witness chair, Detective Franklin still made it entirely clear that Devin Wallace was his only real suspect in the killing of Malik Taylor. He also made it clear that Devin Wallace hasn't been seen since that killing.
"I've already talked to you about reasonable doubt, and what that means," Myra said. "The judge has also instructed you on what it means as a matter of law. I won't say all that again; I'll just tell you how important it is that you evaluate this new evidence when you consider whether the state has met its burden of proving its case beyond a reasonable doubt.
"I submit to you that, regardless of whether that was possible before, it is no longer possible here today. Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I suspect your doubts about this case are not just reasonable; I suspect they are severe. For that reason, this new evidence makes it clear that the only just verdict in this case is not guilty."
Myra took a moment, looking from juror to juror, before turning and heading back to her seat.
"THERE'S NO doubt that Malik Taylor was just recently murdered," O'Bannon began his rebuttal. "There's no doubt that his death is a tragedy and a shame.
"But that doesn't mean that there's any doubt in the case you are here to decide. Because, ladies and gentlemen, you are not here to decide what happened to Mr. Taylor, or who might have murdered him. And from the evidence you heard in this courtroom, you do not know much of anything about what might have befallen Mr. Taylor. You don't know who might have wanted him dead, or why, how likely it might be that this was a random killing, that Mr. Taylor was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. You just don't know. And that's okay, because you are not here to decide who killed Mr. Taylor.
"The detective who testified here today told you that the police do not know who killed Mr. Taylor. He told you that he did not know if Mr. Taylor's murder had anything whatsoever to do with this case. And even if—just supposing, because there's no evidence that this is actually the case—even if Mr. Wallace did have some role to play in Mr. Taylor's murder, that wouldn't mean that the defendant didn't shoot Mr. Wallace and Mr. Lipton. We have no actual basis for thinking these crimes are related.
"It's important to remember that this new evidence does not have any special weight just because it was brought in at the eleventh hour. You need to look at the evidence in the case as a whole, not just what you were told today. When you do so, you will find that you have more than enough evidence to convict the defendant. Thank you."
39
AGAIN WE were waiting. It was late afternoon; the jury had renewed their deliberations just over four hours ago. After the closings Judge Ferano had briefly addressed the jury, instructing them that they were not to give this new testimony any more or less weight than if it had been presented earlier in the trial, but that they were nevertheless to begin their deliberations anew, ignoring anything they had previously discussed.
I was spending the afternoon returning the many client phone messages that had piled up over the last couple of weeks. I was in midconversation with a chronic shoplifter when Myra appeared in the doorway of my office. When she caught my eye she drew a finger across her throat. I got off the phone quickly, grabbing my suit jacket. I didn't even need to ask: one look at Myra's face had told me that we had a verdict.
"Why'd you slit your throat?" I asked her on the walk over to the courthouse.
"I just meant for you to hang up," Myra said. "It wasn't anything other than that."
"I took it to mean bad news."
"Just for you to end the conversation," Myra said. "It's not like they tell us the verdict over the phone."
"It kind of freaked me out."
"I got it," Myra said. She was walking so fast it was an effort for me to keep up with her. I got the distinct impression she wished we weren't talking.
I had felt sure the jury would be out at least a couple days. That they'd reached a verdict in just a few hours had me worried.
"What does it mean that the jury came back so fast?" I couldn't resist asking.
"I'd say it's more good than bad," Myra said. "But you never know."
"THEY BACK with a verdict?" Lorenzo asked once he'd been brought up to the court from the holding cell in the basement.
"That's right," Myra said.
"Thought you said they gonna be talking for a couple of days," Lorenzo said to Myra, a hint of accusation in his voice.
"I said that's what I thought would happen," Myra said with a shrug. "Juries are unpredictable. Remember, if they convict, it's not the last word. We'll appeal. If they acquit, that's the end of it."
There were three loud knocks on the door behind the judge's bench, indicting that Judge Ferano was about to enter the courtroom. "All rise," the bailiff intoned. Looking over my shoulder as I stood, I realized there were at least half a dozen reporters present, Adam Berman among them, all bunched together in a row. The judge took his place slowly in the silent room, then peered out into the well of the court. The bailiff called the case, counsel stating our appearances for the record.
"I understand we have a verdict here," Judge Ferano said. "Let's bring the jury in."
I studied the jurors as they took their seats, though I didn't know what I was looking for. They appeared tired, slightly withdrawn, not looking at anyone. The jury didn't look to me like a group of people who had just agreed upon anything, and I quickly gave up trying to read the verdict from their expressions. As for Myra, I noticed that she didn't even glance in their direction.
As I sat there with my hands gone clammy, my heart skipping around in my chest, I had to remind myself that it wasn't me who was on trial. I thought about what Myra had said the other night, about how being a lawyer allowed her to live vicariously through other people's troubles. There was a part of me that wanted to be judged and found not guilty—to be absolved, I suppose. Or perhaps there was just something in me that felt the need to stand accused. Whatever it was, it flooded through me now; I felt as though my life was on the line as starkly as Lorenzo's.
"On the first count of the indictment, murder in the second degree of Seth Lipton, how does the jury find?" the bailiff asked.
"Not guilty," the foreman said.
The bailiff, without missing a beat, began asking them about the second count—the attempted murder of Devin Wallace—but everyone in the courtroom was already reacting. We all knew that the rest of the verdict was contained in that first not-guilty. Lorenzo Tate was a free man.
40
AFTER THE verdict, we waited around for Lorenzo to be processed, then left the courthouse with him. Lorenzo had never had any visible supporters in court, no sign of friends or family. He'd remained a stranger to us.
"That it then?" Lorenzo said once we were outside. "I'm done?"
Myra smiled. "You're done," she agreed. "It's over."
"Damn, y'all," Lorenzo said. "Ain't like I even know what to say. You did right by me."
"That's what we do," Myra said. She looked every bit as embarrassed as I felt. Lorenzo didn't seem like he was enjoying this either.
"So I just get on the subway and go back home," Lorenzo mused, looking baffled by the prospect, as if the idea of going back to his old, free life was unfathomable. "Ain't no more to it than that."
"That's right, Lorenzo," Myra said. "You've got your life back. Use it wisely."
"No doubt," Lorenzo said, not looking at us. "No doubt." After a moment he turned and headed for the subway entrance. I watched as he descended the stairs without looking back.
Myra and I headed over to the office in silence. Winter was threatening to emerge: the temperature was approaching freezing. As I braced myself against a stiff, chill wind, the feeling I'd had while waiting for the verdict vanished entirely. I'd felt a momentary elation when the verdict had been read, but it had quickly faded. Any illusion that I was being judged alongside Lorenzo, that we were connected in some
fundamental way, had disappeared the second the case was over. The rush of it had been fierce, but it had also been fleeting. The endorphin flood, the quick elation, followed by the sudden empty crash—it was, I thought, much like a drug.
Myra was again walking quickly, cutting through the weave of pedestrian traffic, using the cigarette in her hand as a weapon to clear space in front of her. "You okay?" I asked as we approached our building.
Myra nodded without looking at me. "Just tired," she said.
I stopped walking, and after a moment Myra noticed, stopped, and turned back toward me. "We should celebrate," I said, trying to fight off the sudden gloom that had covered both of us. "An acquittal in a murder trial doesn't come around every day. Let's go out to a nice dinner."
"I don't know, Joel," Myra said.
"You don't know what?" I asked.
"We work together," Myra said.
"We just won a big case," I said. "A murder case. I'd like to take you out for a fancy meal to celebrate. What's the problem?"
"Sorry," Myra said. "I'm sorry, Joel. I'd love to have dinner tonight, okay?"
"Great," I said, though I wasn't sure if I still meant it.
I'D BEEN able to get us a last-minute reservation at the River Café, one of Brooklyn's fanciest restaurants, best known for its wall of windows that looked out on the East River, the Brooklyn Bridge, and Lower Manhattan. The food at the River Café was excellent, the atmosphere romantic and elegant, but Myra still didn't seem quite herself. She had changed out of her suit and into a black dress that clung to her angular body. It was the loveliest I'd ever seen her. I was still in my suit, this being the sort of restaurant where men dined in jacket and tie.
Despite the restaurant's best efforts, our conversation throughout dinner was strained and fitful. Even when we hadn't gotten along in the past, we'd never been at a loss for conversation. But Myra was quieter than I'd ever seen her, and nothing I said seemed to fully capture her attention. I ignored it for as long as I could, hoping that sooner or later she'd relax and things would go back to normal, but finally I gave up and asked her what was wrong.
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