by Donna Hill
“Yes.”
“Why were you giving your ex-wife money? Was it an alimony payment?”
“Something like that.”
“Just answer yes or no.”
“No.”
“Then would you explain to us why you were there to give her money.”
“She said she needed it.”
Gamer ran a hand across his cheek and turned to the jury. “I see. So you went to her house to give her money. How much was it?”
“A thousand,” he answered in a low voice.
“Could you repeat that?”
“A thousand dollars.” His stomach clenched.
“That’s an awful lot of money to give to an ex-wife. You must have had some relationship.”
Chuckles wafted through the courtroom.
“Did she have reason to tell you why she needed money?”
“No, she did not.”
His voice rose throughout the court. “Could it be that she was blackmailing you, Mr. Michaels?” He turned and stared at Sean, waiting to pounce on him.
“Objection, your honor! Mr. Gamer is asking my client to provide a motive for the victim’s actions.”
“Overruled. The defendant will answer the question.”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you? Well, I’d like you to take a look at these pictures and tell the court what they are.”
Khendra saw everything crumbling at once. She had to find a way to salvage this case before it was too late.
“Objection! Objection!” She jumped up from her seat. “The prosecution is entering evidence that we were not privy to before trial. I demand a mistrial, your honor, based on prosecutorial misconduct.” Her face registered stark outrage and icy fear.
“But your honor, this evidence was just brought to our attention minutes before the start of today’s proceedings. We had no time to discuss this with counsel,” Gamer said in a patronizing tone. “I feel that these photos are very relevant to this case.”
“Objection overruled, and your request for a mistrial is denied. Please have a seat, counselor.”
Gamer puffed out his chest and laid out a series of photos showing Sean having lunch with, taking packages from and getting into a car with Leroy Gantz, one of the most notorious drug lords in the country.
Sean’s heart pounded. For years he had dreaded this moment, and as much as he knew his innocence, these pictures were as damning as if what they reflected was accurate. He knew he was finished. Gamer now had his motive.
“They are pictures of me making drug transactions,” he finally replied in a low, tight voice.
An audible roar went up in the courtroom, and reporters raced out to nearby phones.
Khendra lowered her head.
The next twenty minutes of questioning were more ruinous than if Sean had confessed. Her hands were tied. All of her objections were overruled, and the courtroom was nearly in a state of pandemonium by the end of the day.
The assistant D.A. had questioned Sean about his marriage, his wife’s drug addiction and the ensuing scandal of their divorce. Even though Khendra was able to redirect and have him explain what those pictures really meant, she was certain it was too late. She’d made a fatal error in not introducing this information herself through Sean’s own testimony.
With no more evidence and no more witnesses to call, she rested her case with a heavy heart. Tomorrow she would have to make her summation, and it would take every iota of know-how and passion in her plea for his acquittal to undo the harm that had been done.
They stood silently in the parking lot facing each other each knowing what the other was thinking. Khendra was the first to speak.
“I’ll do everything I can tomorrow. I think you know that,” she said softly.
“I know. We guessed wrong when we decided to put me on the stand. But things could still work our way.” His dark eyes looked at her, filled with hope.
She pressed her lips together and merely nodded her head. “I’d better be going. I have a long night ahead of me. It’s not too late to make a deal with the D.A., you know.” It was a last-ditch effort, but she was desperate.
“No deals! We agreed. I didn’t do it, Khen, and I’m not going to cop a plea. If I can’t get a full acquittal then—”
“All right.” She placed her hands on his shoulders, wanting instead to hold him in her arms, but she knew that she couldn’t. Then a frightening thought gripped her, and he seemed to read her thoughts as his eyes bored into hers.
This may very well be our last night together. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her blood seemed to boil, as he lowered his head and brushed her lips with a feather-soft kiss.
“No matter what you think,” he said huskily, “I’ve always loved you.” He turned and strode away, his long legs carrying him swiftly across the pavement, and her heart went with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
She waited the appropriate amount of time after the assistant district attorney’s summation before she rose from her seat.
She stood before the jury, her eyes and her voice full of conviction. She knew that everything hinged on what she was able to make the jury feel. She smoothed the lapels of her dark green wool blazer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, in order for you to find my client guilty, the evidence must show beyond a reasonable doubt that my client murdered Carol Gordon-Michaels. You were presented with the facts of this case. You were given evidence that has been negated. You have an eyewitness who cannot positively identify my client as the man he saw. You heard my client testify, under oath, that Gordon-Michaels was alive and breathing when he left her. His only crime, ladies and gentlemen, is being at the wrong place at the wrong time. You cannot, in good conscience convict a man for that.
“The state has yet to prove that blackmail was the motive for this crime. My client is innocent until proven guilty. It was the state’s responsibility to prove guilt, and they failed. Can you, in good conscience, deny the possibility that someone else entered the victim’s apartment and murdered her after my client left? It has been documented that the victim was a drug abuser. There was plenty of evidence to attest to that. Isn’t it possible then that her supplier is the culprit?
“When you go into deliberation, ladies and gentlemen, think. Think that the wrong verdict could put an innocent man in prison and the real murderer will still be among us. Thank you.”
She gave the jury one last look and returned to her seat.
Judge Abramson instructed the jury on the laws and what their responsibilities were, then sent them into deliberation.
Exiting the courtroom, Khendra and Sean were bombarded by reporters and cameramen. The eager news hounds pushed microphones into Khendra’s face, demanding her attention.
“Please, Ms. Phillips, what do you think your chances are for an acquittal?”
“I believe we have presented a solid case, and now we have to let the jury do its job.”
“If your client is convicted, will you appeal?”
“Of course. But we’re not looking for a conviction, the D.A. is. Please excuse us.”
They pushed their way through the crowd and walked down the corridor to a vacant office. Khendra leaned against the door, breathing deeply.
“You did the best you could. That’s all I can ask.” He waited for her response.
She pushed herself from the door and walked to the window.
“This could take a couple of days,” she said for lack something better.
“I know that.”
She felt him move up behind her. She held her breath. He pressed his temple against her head, deeply breathing the fresh scent of her hair. A thousand thoughts crashed through his head at once. There was so much he needed to say, but he didn’t dare. He couldn’t take the rejection. Not again.
I’m willing to listen this time, she thought. I’ve been a stubborn fool. Please talk to me.
“I guess I’d better be going,” he said in a tight voice.
“When do you think you’ll be coming back to New York?” Cliff asked as he tapped an impatient hand on his knee.
“I–I’m not sure. It’s already been five days and the jury hasn’t reached a verdict yet.”
“How are you holding up?” he asked gently. “As well as can be expected.”
“Khendra, I—”
“Listen, Cliff, I really appreciate all your patience,” she said gently. “It’s more than I could ever repay. And I’ll be back on the job as soon as this is over. I promise.”
“I just want you to know that I’m here if you need me.”
“I know, and thank you. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you in a few days.”
Cliff briefly shut his eyes as he hung up the phone wishing that—oh hell, he didn’t know what he wished.
On the seventh day, word came that the jury had reached a verdict. Khendra got the call at her apartment and immediately notified Sean to meet her at the courthouse. She was never so overwrought with a case as with this one. Everything was all mixed up—her emotions, her legal responsibilities, her future.
She gunned the engine of her car and sped out into the teeming street, her heart feeling as if it were clutched in a vise. Snow flurries had begun to drift from the sky; as if to foreshadow an impending storm.
She met Sean in the parking lot, and together they walked to the courthouse. Silently, they entered the courtroom and took their seats.
“Would the defendant please rise?” rumbled Judge Abramson.
Sean stood with Khendra at his side. He straightened his maroon tie and buttoned the jacket of his navy-blue pinstriped suit, inhaling deeply.
“Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?”
“We have.”
The bailiff took the folded piece of paper from the foreman and brought it to the judge. Abramson looked at the verdict impassively and returned it.
“What are your findings, foreman?”
“We, the jury, find the defendant…”
Everything was moving in slow motion. Sean heard his pulse pounding so loud in his ears he wasn’t sure if he could make out what was being said. It seemed at that moment his entire life loomed before him, braced to be altered, amplified, shared, lived. He looked briefly at Khendra, and she instinctively turned to look at him. She touched his shoulder.
“…guilty of murder in the first degree.”
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. The word pounded through his head. Although he had thought he was prepared for the worst, the reality was almost more than he could withstand. He felt as if his whole being was plummeting into a nothingness, a dark void. He felt numb, alone, afraid.
The courtroom went wild. The judge pounded on the bench, demanding that the courtroom be cleared. Reporters swarmed through the doorway, pushing their way to the nearest phones. Several spectators were taken into custody, and after what seemed like an eternity, order was restored.
A suffocating sensation gripped Khendra by the throat. She still could not believe what she had heard. How could they not find reasonable doubt? She looked around the room in a daze, blaming herself. Every muscle in her body was stretched to the breaking point, and she felt that at any moment she would fall apart.
She had let him down. Just like she’d let Tony down. What made her think she could win this case? Cliff was right all along. She was too close. She wasn’t able to look at it objectively. And she had sent Sean to prison as sure as if she’d cast the final vote herself. Oh, God, what had she done?
She swallowed the knot that had lodged in her throat and dared to look at Sean as the judge announced when sentencing would take place.
He stood straight and tall, staring directly ahead, but his hands were balled into tight fists, the only outward sign of the torment she knew hovered on the edge of overflowing. His once dark, beautiful eyes were completely vacant.
She tried to clear her head, to think quickly to try and fix it. But she couldn’t. The shock of defeat was paralyzing. “Sentencing will take place three weeks from today. Until such time, the defendant is remanded to the state correctional facility. Take him away.”
Sean! her mind screamed. Please forgive me.
Her eyes followed him as he was escorted out. He looked over his shoulder, and she could barely make out the words he mouthed as flashbulbs burst in her eyes.
“It’s all right.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Stacy stared at her office phone. She had been struggling with her conscience for several days, ever since the verdict.
Maybe her suspicions were wrong, but she was usually on target when it came to seeing people for what they were. And Alex Counts was the original S.O.B. All of her years spent hustling on the street had taught her to spot them a mile away.
He played a real good game, she thought, absently biting a pink nail, but she had seen through him from day one. What was worse, she had unwittingly helped him with some of his underhanded dealings. She had typed the false documents he had drawn up for clients and for the large sums of money that were transferred in and out of his accounts. It was she who always went on the little shopping trips for his continuous string of mistresses—always under the guise it was just another trinket for his “loving wife.” The woman had to be a saint.
He thought he had picked the stereotypical “dumb blonde” for a secretary when he hired her, and she played the role to the hilt, always acting none-the-wiser. But this was going too far, and the implications frightened her. She couldn’t sit back and pretend anymore.
She pulled her curly blond hair away from her face and reached for the phone just as Alex marched through the door, giving her his usual grunt of a greeting.
“Damn!” She swore under her breath, while trying to look nonchalant. He was hours early. He wasn’t expected back until late that evening. Now she would have to sit in his office and update him on what had occurred since his departure.
She would just have to make the call as soon as she was free. She knew she wouldn’t rest easy until she got her suspicions off her chest.
Her intercom flashed.
“Yes, Mr. Counts?” she said sweetly.
“Bring in your notes from the trial and a cup of coffee, will you, Stacy?”
“I’ll be right in, Mr. Counts.” She made a face at the phone and rose from her seat.
Mistakenly, she thought that if she could keep her eyes closed, she could keep reality at bay. Yet, even in sleep, nightmarish visions of the guards leading Sean away played havoc with her nerves. The visions hung on the edge of her conscience, tormenting her, ridiculing her for her failure. All of the jeering faces laughed at her, pointed fingers at her, and Sean stood in the midst of them all, sober, accusing with those eyes of sable.
The torturous shadows loomed closer, and she felt herself struggling to fight them off. One dark hand reached for her, and she sprang up in her bed, a cold sweat running down her back. She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, trying to force the relentless dreams back into the shadows.
The phone rang, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She quickly gazed at the bedside clock. It was already noon.
The phone rang again. She even imagined it was more insistent this time, forcing her to respond.
“Yes?” she breathed, trying to draw on her last bit of strength.
“Ms. Phillips, this is Stacy Jeffries, Mr. Counts’ secretary,” she said in a husky whisper.
The hair on the back of Khendra’s neck bristled.
“I can’t talk now,” Stacy said, “but I need to meet you somewhere. I know things.”
“What is this about, Stacy?” she asked, suspicion replacing animosity.
“It’s about Sean Michaels.” Her heart skipped a beat.
“I have some information that I think can help you.”
“Can’t
you tell me anything now?”
“No. I really can’t. Please—just meet me. You name the place.”
Khendra thought for a moment. “The Parrot Club. Do you know where it is?”
“Yes. I’ll be there at one o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.” Khendra absently hung up the phone, her brain rapidly trying to disseminate this latest development.
What could Stacy possibly know that would help Sean? Unless—
The jazz club/restaurant was dimly lit. Had it been later in the evening, it would have been full of customers and jazz aficionados. The Parrot Club was notorious for spotlighting some of the best jazz artists in the Atlanta area as well as the renowned greats.
Khendra had ordered a bottle of spring water and a chef’s salad while she waited for Stacy’s arrival. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until the scents of the home-style cooking drifted to her nostrils.
She took a bite of the salad, which was covered in bleu cheese dressing, just as Stacy slid into the seat facing her. “Ms. Phillips, we’ve never formally met, but I’ve seen you around the building,” Stacy said, extending her hand, which Khendra shook. “I’m Stacy Jeffries.” She quickly looked around as though expecting someone to walk up behind her at any moment. “I know that my phone call sounded real cloak and dagger, but I was just trying to be careful.”
Khendra inhaled and leaned back in her seat, gauging Stacy with quiet caution.
“You said you know something about my client,” she said in a low voice, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “Would you like to tell me about it?”
Stacy took another glance around the room and took a quick sip of ice water. “I know things about Alex Counts.”
Khendra’s pulse began to escalate. “Yes?”
“That scarf that the woman was strangled with…”
Khendra nodded.
“…Well, about two months ago—”
Khendra sped across the freeway, her brain traveling faster than the lightning-quick Volvo. She finally had a lead that made some sense. It was a slim lead, but at least it was a start. Now all she had to do was fit the rest of the pieces of the puzzle together. She pulled up in front of the Mirage Boutique that Stacy had told her about, pushed through swinging doors and headed for the accessories counter.