by Noel Obiora
“How’d you figure that?” Kenneth asked.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard a Black woman’s opinion of what O. J. got himself into and whether he wins or not?”
Omar smiled. “But they’ve got a few of them on O. J.’s jury,” he said.
“And, like I told Kenneth before, O. J.’s got a Heisman trophy and a few charities to his name—your client doesn’t.”
“I don’t know. They kinda like me and have always been good to me on my cases,” Cassandra said.
“Good for you, but Ken has struck out with just about every African American woman he’s hit on since I have known him. So, I’d still stay away from them,” Anthony said.
“Ha, funny,” Kenneth said tersely.
Anthony had more criminal trials than all of Paul’s team combined, so they listened. No one told him that some of his recommendations were at odds with the recommendations of their jury consultant.
•••
By the three o’clock break on this first day of the trial, only the faithful remained awake. Only four jurors had been selected. Another African American man, Mr. Tyrrell, joined the selected jurors before the lunch recess. There were still eleven more to complete, twelve jurors and three alternates. The audience shifted restlessly on their chairs.
Alana, who had relocated to Los Angeles for the duration of the trial, arrived after the recess and sat next to Helen Silberberg. Amy had talked to her during the recess and mentioned how the most difficult part of the trial was seeing Ms. Silberberg looking so lonely in the courtroom while Paul’s family filled the courtroom and persecuted her with accusatory stares. Without asking Amy, Alana invited herself to the proceeding. It clearly changed Helen Silberberg’s countenance. She smiled often as she chatted with Alana and seemed livelier. For once, Amy was glad Alana had interfered in her affairs without asking her permission. Amy and Alana had grown closer since Amy told Alana that she was pregnant. They were perhaps even closer than they had ever been. Amy had taken a limousine to the Bay Area with Angela and called her parents just as they got close to arriving to say she wanted to have the most important conversation of her life with them, and she wanted them together for the conversation. She had chosen her father’s office for the conversation rather than the dinner table or the living room, recalling how much weight that space brought to the dynamics of conversations she had with her father growing up, and seeking to turn the tables on him. Alana and John thought she wanted to give them her thoughts about the divorce. Instead, Amy told them she was pregnant. She was not ready to discuss who the father was or whether she would make the decision to marry him. She only wanted to focus on making herself well and ensuring the safety of her baby. Lately, she had had bouts of nausea and fatigue. So concerned was she that she and Angela opted to drive from Los Angeles rather than fly, though her physician had told her she would be fine flying, given her age. What troubled her the most, she told her parents, was her mental health. The sense she disappointed both of them profoundly had kept her up for nights, and for weeks kept her from taking a pregnancy test, wishing the tell-tale signs would just disappear. On saying this to them, she began to cry because as soon as she accepted that she was pregnant after the test came back positive, she had looked forward to being a mother. This was in fact what she was created for, she felt. Alana also began to cry, and Amy could swear her father wiped a tear or two. No one said anything for a while. They just sat silently, wiping their tears with tissues John brought to them.
“How would you like us to support you, honey?” John asked.
“I only came to say I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t come to ask for anything. But if you could take the weight of this guilt off me, it would really help this baby and me.”
Alana came and embraced her and rested her head on Amy’s back.
“Consider it done,” John said and joined the hug.
Before she left that weekend, she and Alana had seen the family doctors for a battery of tests, prescriptions for the most recent nausea medication that was safe for pregnant women, and supplies of doses of vitamins, B-6 especially. More importantly, it seemed to Amy they had seen these doctors to reassure her that it was safe to fly back to Los Angeles rather than drive. Every night since she got back, she and Alana had spoken, sometimes for hours. When trial preparations began in earnest, Alana took up residence in the Hollywood Hills and got a spare key to Amy’s apartment. She would often fly back on weekends and leave Amy and Neda, and sometimes Angela, at her new place. Not once did she broach the subject of Thomas or Kenneth, though Amy was certain she was in touch with her favorite amongst them, and when she began adorning Amy’s apartment with flowers, and Amy in jest told her they reminded her of Thomas, she stopped.
•••
Kenneth wondered what to say to Amy when the inevitable moment arrived. Neither of them had been close enough during court recesses to say anything to each other, and after he noticed her watching him with his father, Amy had averted her eyes whenever their glances met. Besides this shyness, it seemed evident to Kenneth that both of them were fully focused on the trial.
At the end of the day, Judge Barney reminded the jurors to remember their parting instructions, especially the instruction not to discuss the facts of the case with anyone or read news materials that might affect their judgment on the case. He recessed the court for the day. Only five jurors had been selected.
Cassandra went to Amy’s table as soon as the judge left the courtroom. “Officer Gonzalez, could you give us a moment with your counsel in the conference room?”
“Sure, but I wanted to talk to her for a minute, too. I’m sure I’ll be done before you guys get to the conference room and she’ll just meet you there.”
“That’s fine,” Cassandra said.
“What is this about?” Kenneth asked Cassandra in the conference room.
“Bury the hatchet. I need your full concentration on this case. You are meeting her alone.”
“Are you kidding? I am fully focused.”
“Right, still, this is your chance to be alone with her for the only time that will happen in this trial. I’ve got an early class before court tomorrow. My colleague is covering for me, but I want to catch what I can.”
Kenneth looked at Cassandra, but she only shrugged. The door opened and Reverend Brown came into the room.
“Sorry, I should have knocked,” he said.
“Oh, no, you are fine,” Cassandra said.
“I was going to head to my hotel, but I wanted to tell you that this has been one of the proudest days of my life,” Reverend Brown said to Kenneth.
“You are staying for the whole trial, aren’t you?” Cassandra asked.
“Yes, I plan to do so, but might have to run back in a day or two,” he said.
“Thanks, Dad,” Kenneth said. They shook hands this time.
“I better be going,” Reverend Brown said to Kenneth.
“I’ll come with you,” Cassandra said, picking up her bag. Amy knocked and opened the door before they got to it. She offered Reverend Brown her hand with a smile. “Thank you,” Reverend Brown mouthed, with his back to Kenneth.
“My co-counsel will hopefully be able to make arrangements to obtain the additional information we need.”
After Cassandra and Reverend Brown closed the door behind them, Kenneth and Amy stood, with the conference table between them, looking at each other with longing neither would acknowledge. She was carrying files, which she clutched to her chest with both hands while her handbag hung over her shoulder. They both began to speak, apologized simultaneously, stopped again.
“Go ahead, you first,” Kenneth said.
“I was going to ask how you were,” Amy said.
“I’m fine, I suppose. And you?”
“I’ve been better,” Amy said. “I really hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”
“That was my dad, I was not expecting him.”
Amy smiled. “I know he is your dad.”
“He introduced himself to you?”
“Hmmm, earlier, yes. And I’m not blind.”
Amy placed her files on the table, and her handbag on top of the files. “You wanted to talk about something concerning the case?” she asked.
“No, this was Cassandra’s idea. I think she feels that we both might want to clear the air before the case fully gets into gear,” Kenneth said. Amy nodded. “She didn’t give me time to tell her that you won’t talk about anything concerning us until after this case.”
“Maybe she’s right, but this isn’t the right place for this conversation,” Amy said.
“I just don’t understand what happened this time. You know I had nothing to do with Mallam Jackson and Mr. Jones going to your boss. At least level with me. Is this about your family again?”
Amy shook her head.
“I thought we agreed to trust each other with the truth?”
“But you are not trusting me now,” Amy said.
“You are not telling me anything,” he said.
“I am telling you that I need time,” Amy said.
“For what exactly?”
“Keep your voice down,” Amy said. She paused and contemplated how to proceed, then appeared to change her mind. “I don’t want to take any chances with the case again.”
“At least tell me what happened after that weekend to make you suddenly tell Neda to tell me not to even call, because I don’t believe it was just about this case.”
“I knew you wouldn’t believe it was just about the case.”
“Is it?” Kenneth asked.
“This isn’t helping, Kenneth. I suggest we just drop it for now and walk out of that door as professionals,” Amy said.
He picked up his brief case and walked to the door, but she was standing closer to the door and blocking his way. After a few seconds, she stepped aside to let him through.
“Don’t leave looking this way. The whole world doesn’t have to know what’s going on between us,” Amy said.
“No, they don’t. And I’m not sad or mad, Amy. I just spend so much time thinking about what the hell happened, wondering what I had done this time, wishing I didn’t feel this way about you, and just really struggling with everything. I hope that wasn’t part of your trial strategy.”
“It wasn’t…in my plans,” Amy said and looked down at her hands to keep from smiling. She wanted to tell him she missed him, too, but feared it would lead to another compulsive embrace and make her emotional in a manner she was powerless to resist.
“Do you want to leave first?” he offered.
“Let’s leave together,” she said.
“That’s fine,” he stepped back to let her through, but she did not move.
“I have missed you, too,” Amy said, when someone knocked on the door.
Amy picked up her files and handbag and opened the door to find the clerk standing behind it.
“Are you guys almost done?” she asked.
“Yes,” Amy said and stepped into the courtroom, leaving Kenneth behind.
“We’re closing up,” the clerk said to Kenneth, who felt rooted to the spot where Amy had left him, never having heard what the clerk said, but only Amy’s words.
“One minute,” Kenneth said and closed the door. He put his briefcase down and leaned against the table, unsure why what Amy said had taken him by surprise. Soon afterward, he collected his briefcase and went out of the conference room.
Big was sitting on a bench in the hallway with one hand in a fist gently grinding into the palm of the other hand.
“What did she want?” Big asked, as if to explain his reason for staying behind.
“Nothing, the Prof called the meeting, but she had to go,” Kenneth replied.
“Anything new?”
“The thing is, Big, there are things in this trial that I can’t discuss with you because of attorney-client privilege. I can’t even discuss them with Sister Ramatu, and she’s Paul’s mother. You gotta cut me some slack.”
“I hear you. I just thought she was telling you the record company released Goldie’s first single,” Big said. Kenneth stopped walking. “It’s supposed to drop this week. And guess what the title of her record is?”
“What?”
“Footsie.”
“You heard it?” Kenneth asked.
“I heard all her damn songs. Paul wrote half of them, but I ain’t heard the album yet. This whole shit started because Paul was giving her the best songs he wrote. I told Paul our first big artist has got to be Black, but he had to give it to his old lady.”
“Cool Jo’s Café has a recording company?”
Big looked at Kenneth like he was searching for clues of intelligent life.
“What the hell you think we running down there? And I hid the master of all her songs her record company don’t have yet.”
“So, you’ve got a CD of the song on her single?”
“I’m sure we’ve got it somewhere.”
“What is the single called?” Kenneth asked.
“A Past That Breathes.”
34
The Twelve
When Amy saw Kenneth the next morning, he seemed more affable and she did not feel antagonized every time he looked at her. In court, the pace of jury selection improved on the previous day’s drudgery. By the morning recess, two additional jurors had joined the panel, both women, Ms. Pollock and Mrs. Cole. Kenneth and Omar had gambled on Mrs. Cole because the pool of remaining potential jurors seemed worse for their case.
Anthony, Tiffany, and Jed had come into the courtroom shortly before the recess.
“Your jury seems balanced for both sides,” Jed told him, but he was the only one among them who had no experience with criminal defense practice, except for his time on a jury.
“Well, a balanced jury is a complement to the defense, so that’s good,” Tiffany said.
“Cassandra won’t make it before noon,” Anthony told Kenneth, “but you don’t need her.”
“Is she teaching a class?” Tiffany asked.
“She’s writing a Writ Application to the court of appeals,” Kenneth said.
“For what?” Jed asked.
“To direct Judge Barney to admit evidence of the semen on the bed and other evidence of sexual activity found at the scene of the crime.”
“He excluded that?” Jed asked, astounded.
“He left the door open for the DA to try again and exclude it, by which time it would be too late for us to do anything to keep it out,” Kenneth explained.
Cassandra arrived during the noon recess with copies of the Writ Application. Judge Barney’s ruling, Cassandra argued, was too vague and ambiguous a denial of a valid request and justice delayed until a remedy was moot.
•••
After lunch on Wednesday, the lawyers took their seats as the twelve jurors and three alternates they had selected filed into a hushed courtroom. “Make eye contact,” Kenneth told Paul. “Look right into their eyes so they’ll see yours, too, and know you are human, and look confident.” Paul had simply clasped his hands together and shifted his gaze from juror to court staff as the jurors walked by him.
The clerk had placed note pads with pencils on each juror’s chair, and each juror picked up the note pad like it was a sacrament and sat down. They appeared to look at Paul as though they were obliged to do so. Their postures depicted various cultural manifestations of humility and sincerity. Heads bowed or tilted in readiness to listen, backs straightened in preparation for an intellectual exercise. None of the chosen twelve had ever served as a juror in a criminal trial before.
Cassandra sat behind Kenneth and Omar rather than at the table with them, and tried to match each juror�
��s chair with the name and number on the jury list Kenneth had given her. Mr. Hooper, Mr. Rossiter (the one Anthony had called a disaster), Mr. Gale, Ms. Crosbie, Ms. Pollock, Mrs. Cole, Mrs. Tewson, Mr. Tyrrell, Mr. Mellinger (about whom Omar expressed a lot of concern), Mr. Davis, Mr. Lynch, Mr. Birrell, Mr. Kilgariff, and Mr. Phillip (a fireman whom Cassandra argued would be critical of the LAPD’s rush to judgment in the investigation, even though he might have law enforcement sympathies for the police as well). Kenneth had not written the name of one attendant. Thus, Cassandra labeled him Alternate No. 3. It was not a typical Downtown Los Angeles jury filled with minorities, but more like a representation of a small-town community. Six of them were white, four Black, and two Hispanic. The three alternates were white. Tiffany and Jed sat with Cassandra behind Kenneth. In the row behind the district attorney’s table Helen Silberberg sat next to Alana and a paralegal attendant from Amy’s office.
“All rise,” the bailiff bellowed, and Judge Barney made his entrance.
Judge Barney went straight to reading the preliminary jury instructions addressing what the jurors were to expect, including the order of proceedings, what was evidence and what was not evidence, objections by counsel and rulings on those objections, side-bar conferences between counsel and the judge, the defendant’s presumption of innocence, and the jurors’ duty to keep an open mind until all the evidence had been presented.
The full courtroom listened in silence. On concluding his opening jury instructions, Judge Barney sat reviewing the papers in front of him as though he was certifying that he had said everything the law required of him. Kenneth’s anxiety level rose with each second of silence. Judge Barney was taking an eternity to arrange his papers. Then came a faint sound of sobbing. Helen Silberberg could not take it any longer.
Judge Barney cast a long hard look at Amy, who turned to the attendant behind her and indicated that Ms. Silberberg be ushered out of the courtroom. Alana took Helen out instead. After their exit, Judge Barney turned to the jurors again.