Her Kind of Case

by Jeanne Winer

  He glanced at the clock and yawned.

  “I’m beginning to feel bored, Lee.”

  In a second, he would tell her to scram. She needed to surprise him again.

  “What if I call you first?”

  “As a witness for the defense?” He was smiling for real now.

  “Yes.”

  He nodded approvingly, sat up straighter.

  “Now that would be ballsy.”

  “Would you confirm my client’s innocence?”

  “Now why would I do that?”

  Why would he? Appealing to his sense of right and wrong would be useless.

  “Imagine the look on the DA’s face,” she finally said.

  “Imagine the look on yours if I say he’s guilty.”

  “But he’s not guilty and you know it.”

  “Boohoo. A miscarriage of justice.” He yawned again. “Well, this has been fun. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

  They stood up simultaneously. Rab was a couple of inches taller and almost a hundred pounds heavier. Lee made no move to leave. Nothing had been resolved, she still had no answers.

  “Cheer up,” he told her, “you gave it your best.”

  She took a deep breath, let it out, and said, “I think I’m going to call you first.”

  “Hmm. Have you ever played Russian roulette with a loaded gun?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve played it half a dozen times. It’s a gas. The rush is incredible. Drugs pale in comparison. Would you ever want to try it?”

  Lee shook her head.

  He turned his back to her, walked to the door, and began to knock on it.

  “Then don’t call me.”

  Monday morning arrived like an uninvited guest with piles of luggage. No sense shutting the door on her; she wasn’t going to leave. Lee had slept poorly all weekend, spending most of her time smoothing out potential jury instructions and drafting four different closing arguments. The first assumed the best scenario, that Rab testified for the defense and saved his little brother; the second assumed he didn’t testify at all; the third assumed he testified for the prosecution; and the fourth assumed the worst, that she played Russian roulette with a loaded gun and lost.

  On Saturday morning, she’d sparred for almost an hour with Michael, who kept complaining she wasn’t totally there, which was obvious, but she stubbornly disagreed. By the time they bowed out, she’d barely escaped a broken nose and another cracked rib. Or maybe the rib actually was cracked and she was simply refusing to acknowledge it. On Saturday night, she begged off dinner with Mark and Bobby.

  “Too much work,” she told them, but in truth she just didn’t feel like talking. They would have wanted to discuss the case and the decision she had to make, but it wouldn’t have helped. The decision would come from a deep and silent place. The trick, as usual, was to get there.

  After an unusually long shower, Lee picked out her gray silk pantsuit and a rose-colored blouse. Without any hesitation, she chose a pair of sleek black boots with a two-inch heel that made her look tall and imposing. Today, absent any more surprises, she’d be delivering her closing argument. She made herself sit down and eat a large bowl of oatmeal, then brushed Charlie, and walked calmly out the door.

  She drove south on Broadway and took a right on Canyon Boulevard, eventually pulling into the courthouse parking lot. Not even eight, and it was already warm out. Beyond the parking lot, a group of joggers were running along the creek path. And beyond the joggers, a stand of brilliant orange poppies that always seemed to bloom around Lee’s birthday. Which—go on and say it—was in two days. Yikes.

  She took a deep breath and regretted it. Okay, so her rib was probably cracked, but maybe only slightly. Perhaps the healing time would be faster than the usual two months. She twisted to the right and stopped. No, it wouldn’t be. Ten minutes later, she’d unpacked her rolling briefcase and was dragging it toward the Justice Center.

  Carla was standing outside the courtroom waiting for the rest of the defense team. She’d ditched her eyeglasses and her hair was red again.

  “Hey, Lee,” she called. “I brought you a cappuccino from Spruce Confections.” Her smile was warm and tired.

  “Thank you,” Lee said. Good old Carla. What would she do without her? Find another investigator, she supposed, but no one else would be half as good, half as dedicated, or—she might as well admit this too—half as fun.

  “Did you break another rib?” Carla asked, handing her the cappuccino.

  All of Lee’s kindly thoughts disappeared.

  “What makes you think I broke a rib?”

  “I don’t know. It’s kind of obvious if you’re paying attention.”

  “Like how is it obvious?”

  “Well, you’re pulling your briefcase with your left hand, you’re listing slightly to the right, and your other hand is holding your rib.”

  “Oh.” Lee dropped her hand. “Well, I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  “Okay … if you say so. But when you fight with people, can’t you wear something?”

  “No,” Lee said firmly. “And I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t mention it to anyone.”

  Carla took a few steps back, placed her thumb and forefinger on her mouth, and turned them like a lock.

  “Hey, guys,” Phil called to them. He and Dan were neck and neck hurrying down the hallway. Dan looked smartly conservative in the tailored black suit he always chose for his closing arguments. Phil, on the other hand, was wearing a western-style leather blazer and fancy cowboy boots. He’d tamed his blonde flyaway hair with something that made it look wet.

  Dan arrived with a grin.

  “Well, well, the gang’s all here. So, will you be putting the defendant on again?”

  “Nope,” Lee said, “he’s done.”

  “Will you be resting then?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?” Dan, of course, knew. It was rare and delightful, a sudden double rainbow, when he didn’t.

  “On whether you’re going to call Rab on rebuttal.”

  “You know I will. Thanks to your client’s half-decent performance, I have to.” He was trying to look sorry.

  “Has he told you he’ll testify?”

  “No, but he’s thinking about it. He’s down in the basement holding cell. I told him I’d pull the deal if he refuses.”

  “What was his response?”

  “That sticks and stones could break his bones but words could never hurt him.”

  “Sounds like he might refuse.”

  Dan shook his head and chuckled.

  “I think he’s having a grand time playing with all of us. By the way, he said you mentioned the possibility of calling him as a witness for the defense.”

  Carla and Phil both nodded. They’d talked to Lee on Saturday, but she sounded doubtful.

  “Probably too risky,” she’d said, and they’d agreed.

  “Actually,” Lee told them all now, “I’m seriously considering it.”

  Dan burst out laughing and said, “Yeah, right.”

  “No, I am.” She thought for a couple of seconds before seeming to make up her mind. “But I’m willing to make a deal. I won’t call him if you won’t.”

  “Nice try, Lee.”

  “Then maybe I’d better call him.”

  Phil was looking worried now.

  “Didn’t he warn you not to?”

  “He did,” Lee admitted and rubbed her eyes. “How much time do we have?”

  “Less than a minute,” Dan said. “Hey, maybe you should call him.”

  “He’s pimping you, Lee,” Phil warned.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. And yet, I still don’t know.”

  “Why do you think he’d help us?” Phil asked, not even caring that Dan was standing next to them.

  “I’m not at all sure he will, but if I don’t call him, I think he’ll lose whatever respect he has for me.”

  “So call him then,” Dan said, clearly
enjoying himself.

  “Maybe I will.” She frowned. “Or maybe I won’t.”

  The courtroom door opened and the judge’s bailiff stuck his head out.

  “Judge Samuels would like to begin. He wants to know whether the defense has any more witnesses.”

  “Carla?” Lee asked. “Do you have a quarter?”

  Without a word, Carla fished in her purse, pulled one out, and handed it to Lee.

  Both Phil and Dan looked incredulous. No one said a word as Lee flipped the quarter and then placed it on the top of her left hand. Her right hand immediately covered the coin. “Heads I call him,” she proclaimed. “Tails I don’t.”

  Phil wiped some sweat off his forehead.

  “Lee, are you sure?”

  Lee lifted her hand just enough to see the coin.

  “Heads,” she said, shrugging. “I guess I’ll call him.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Before returning to the courtroom, Lee made a quick detour down the hall to the women’s bathroom. On her way out, she glanced in the mirror, stopped, and decided to comb her hair. Suddenly, she wanted to slow things down. Catch her breath. Let everyone wait for her. After putting her comb away, she leaned in closer to see if any new wrinkles were visible. None since the last time she checked, about a week and a half ago. Good. When she was fifty, she’d rarely inspected her skin because the rate of deterioration had been slow. Now it was speeding up, requiring vigilance and, what? Equanimity, she supposed. As she turned to leave, the word “dowager” came to mind. A hundred years ago, would Lee have qualified? Maybe not, because Paul hadn’t left her a dime. So, just a well-heeled old widow then.

  Carla was waiting outside the bathroom.

  “There you are.” She pointed to Lee’s rolling briefcase. “Do you want any help with that?”

  “No,” Lee said, feeling cranky again.

  “Didn’t think so. You’d made up your mind already, hadn’t you?”

  “Of course. But did you see Dan’s face?”

  “Phil’s too. I guess he still doesn’t know you well enough.”

  Neither did Carla, really. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.

  They headed down the hallway. When they reached the courtroom, Lee stopped and put a hand on her investigator’s shoulder.

  “What?” Carla asked.

  “Three things,” Lee said quickly before she could change her mind. “First, we’ve worked together almost ten years and I just want to say how much I appreciate your faith in me. It never seems to waver. Second, you’re a terrific investigator and I really enjoy working with you.”

  “Wow. Thanks. You’re my favorite lawyer and I love working with you, too. And the third thing?”

  “That whenever you’ve tried getting to know me, I haven’t made it easy. I’m sorry. I don’t know why, except I’ve always been a very private person. Still, you shouldn’t give up.”

  “Never occurred to me, but thanks for saying it. So, does that mean you might go out drinking with me some night?”

  “Absolutely not, but maybe we could meet now and then for coffee.”

  “I’d like that very much. Would it be up to me to make that happen?”

  “At least to begin with. Well, shall we go in?”

  “After you,” Carla said, pushing the door open.

  There were at least two hundred spectators in the room, but the judge, prosecutor, and jury were missing. Phil came up behind them, looking agitated.

  “Where have you been?” he asked. “Dan told the judge you were calling Rab. It’ll be a little while before they can bring him up. Are you sure about this?”

  “Chill out, bro,” Carla said. “She’d already made up her mind.”

  It took a moment to sink in.

  “Oh,” he finally said. “Ah, yes, of course.” His shoulders sagged with relief. “So you think he’ll come through then?”

  Lee raised her hands, a gesture that was normally painless.

  “I’m not at all sure. But if I don’t call him, I think he’d feel so contemptuous, he’d testify for the prosecution.”

  “Just to fuck you?”

  “Yup.” She glanced toward the front of the room. “Where’s Jeremy?”

  “Leroy took him to the bathroom.”

  “All right, then.” Lee squared her shoulders. “I guess I’ll go set up.” She dragged her rolling briefcase up the aisle toward the defense table, careful to stand up straight although it hurt more that way. A few minutes later, Leroy brought Jeremy to the table. Jeremy had showered and was wearing one of his last new shirts. Someone, probably Mr. Clean, had leant him a belt, which would of course be confiscated later.

  “He’s all yours,” Leroy said, unlocking the cuffs. “He’s a lot calmer than I’d be.”

  “What choice do I have?” Jeremy asked.

  After Lee had arranged the table, Jeremy leaned in close to her.

  “So you’re going to call Rab?”

  “I am,” she said and waited for her client’s reaction.

  “Does he know I’m gay?”

  “Yes. The others must have told him.” She pulled out a new yellow pad and placed it directly in front of her.

  “He really hates gays,” Jeremy said.

  “Do you think he’ll help you anyway?”

  “Maybe.” His expression was an equal mix of hope and despair. “It’ll depend on his mood.”

  Lee shook her head at the thought. What a strange and arbitrary world.

  “Well, let’s hope he’s feeling benevolent.”

  “Yeah.” Suddenly, his eyes were shining. “Hey, guess what? On Saturday night, I started praying again.”

  “That’s wonderful, Jeremy. So you decided that an incomprehensible God was better than no God at all?”

  “No. I decided that he’s not incomprehensible, that he’s kind and wants the best for everyone.”

  “Really? But in the Book of Job, he causes Job to suffer terribly just to test his faith.”

  “Yeah, well that’s my father’s God, not mine.”

  “I see.” Should she leave it at that? Probably, but she was genuinely curious. “So what about suffering? Is everything that happens part of God’s plan?”

  “No, it can’t be. I think that God is sad when bad things happen and wishes he could fix them, but-but mostly he can’t.”

  “Well, that’s definitely not the God in the Book of Job.”

  “No,” Jeremy agreed.

  “Can I ask an obvious question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why have a God if he isn’t powerful enough to fix things? Why bother praying to him?”

  Jeremy nodded as if it were a great question.

  “For the company I guess. God is a really good listener and-and he has a sense of humor.”

  “That’s probably essential. Actually, I kind of like your God. If I were going to believe in one, I think I’d pick yours.”

  “Really?” He had a sweet, lovely smile. In another few years, he’d be handsome—a nice advantage if he was free, and a dangerous handicap if he wasn’t.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  A moment later, Judge Samuels took the bench. Dan and Detective Bruno rushed in from the back of the room. Dan looked confident as usual, but his advisory witness was scowling.

  As soon as Dan sat down, the judge announced he was calling in the jury.

  Dan poured himself some water and said, “Mr. Seaman will be here shortly.”

  “Who’s Mr. Seaman?” Jeremy whispered.

  “Rab,” Lee answered.

  Jeremy’s knees began bouncing up and down.

  To distract him, she asked, “So how do you know God has a sense of humor?”

  “I tell him jokes.”

  “Oh.” Lee closed her eyes and saw it: Jeremy in his small dark cell, sitting on the edge of his cot, whispering jokes to God, and imagining His amused reaction. Dear Jeremy’s God, she thought, please get him out of there.

  The jurors filed in, looking
relaxed and rested from the weekend. They took the same seats they’d occupied for the past two weeks, six in front, six in back. They greeted one another and made themselves comfortable.

  “Ms. Isaacs,” the judge said, “I understand you have one more witness?”

  Lee stood up and answered, “Yes, Your Honor, Richard Seaman. He’s the third co-defendant in the case. For the jurors’ information, he’s been referred to many times by his nickname, which is Rab.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Isaacs. That’s helpful.” The judge looked toward the entrance of the courtroom. “I think he’s here.”

  Rab shuffled slowly up the aisle, clearly enjoying the attention. He wore the same dark blue uniform as the snitch and the other co-defendants. Somehow, despite the shackles and handcuffs, he managed to look dignified. The two guards escorting him were as big as professional football players. After he took the witness stand, the guards unlocked his handcuffs and with obvious reluctance, removed them. They left the shackles on, though, which was fine with Lee; she wasn’t trying to convince anyone he wasn’t dangerous.

  “Wait a minute,” Jeremy whispered, grabbing hold of Lee’s hand. “How do you know this is right? Maybe it isn’t.”

  She leaned down and said, “My gut says it is.”

  “Your gut? What’s that? You mean your stomach?”

  “No, it’s different than my stomach. It’s kind of behind it, in a much deeper place.”

  “Can you see it on an X-ray?” He was completely serious.

  “No, it’s something you imagine. But it’s real.”

  “So, like, how do you find it?” He was still holding onto her hand.

  “I close my eyes, get very still, and wait. Sometimes it takes a while, sometimes it’s instantaneous. But eventually, it talks to me.”

  “And-and you trust it?”

  “I have to.”

  “Okay.” He let go of her hand.

  Lee walked to the podium and greeted her witness by his formal name. Rab remained silent. After a long moment, he raised his right hand and made the shape of a gun with his thumb and index finger, pointing it at his temple. Lee nodded her understanding. And then he smiled, benignly or perhaps not. Lee took a deep breath, the pain in her left side actually steadying her.

  “Mr. Seaman,” she began, “you were charged with first-degree murder for the death of Sam Donnelly?”