Juror #3

by James Patterson

  “Looks like your client will be a guest of the Warren County jail for a while,” he said with a snotty smile on his face.

  Suzanne didn’t return the smile. “Lee will be out today,” she said, opening her purse and stuffing her pen inside with an angry thrust.

  I followed suit, pulling my Coach briefcase onto the table and placing the file folder inside.

  The ADA said, “That’s brave talk. You got a million bucks in your purse, Miss Greene? Or maybe your colleague stuffed the money in her briefcase.”

  I clutched the briefcase to my chest in reflex. No danger that he’d find a stash of cash on me. I had less than twenty dollars in my possession.

  Suzanne pulled up to her full height and eyed the lawyer. She cut a formidable figure: six feet of affronted southern dowager. In a tone of voice I’d never heard her use before, she said, “Young man, don’t underestimate us. And don’t insult me.”

  A property bond, I thought. The ancestral Greene estate, outside of Jackson. It was worth well over a million. I glanced down at Lee in his orange suit and thought: Good God, I hope he doesn’t run off. If Lee jumps bail, his parents will be homeless.

  He caught me staring. “Ruby, you have to help me.”

  I sat again, and placed a hand on his arm. “Your aunt Suzanne and I are going to do everything we can.”

  He bent his head close to mine. I had to steel myself not to back away from the smell.

  “Ruby, I wouldn’t hurt a fly. You know me.”

  The ADA had moved on, so we weren’t in danger of being overheard. I said, “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Lee. Tell me: What happened with this woman—Monae Prince?”

  He gave me a glassy stare. The white of his right eye was so bloodshot, it was hot pink. “I can’t tell you.”

  I patted his arm. “Of course you can, Lee. I’ve entered my appearance as your counsel. You can tell me anything. It’s privileged. What do you remember?”

  He let out a sound that was a cross between a giggle and a groan. “That’s just it. I can’t tell you because I don’t remember. Anything.”

  His gaze drifted sideways, and he said again: “I don’t remember anything. Anything at all.”

  Chapter 34

  THE FOLLOWING MONDAY I sprinted across the courthouse lawn in Rosedale, racing to the Ben Franklin. The Greenes were due at my office any minute, and I didn’t want them to cool their heels in front of a locked door.

  Once inside, I did a quick pickup, stuffing loose papers into a desk drawer and wiping dust from my desk with a wad of Kleenex. My office was a humble spot to hold a meeting, but they were driving to Rosedale to accommodate my court schedule. I’d had a first appearance on a new child custody case that morning, and I’d asked the Greenes to meet at my office rather than Suzanne’s in the next county.

  I checked the time, relieved to see that the Greenes were running late. It occurred to me that it would be wise to run a brush through my hair. The heated exchange earlier in court had probably made me look frowzy.

  When I walked into the bathroom behind the office area, I froze. It was a disaster. I’d rushed out at 8:50 that morning, leaving my makeup strewn across all surfaces. I snatched up my cosmetics bag, spilling loose powder in the process. Cursing, I picked up the can of Comet cleanser and shook it over the sink, then dumped some green powder into the toilet bowl for good measure. Working fast, I cleaned the sink, and was scrubbing at the rust-stained bowl with a toilet brush when a voice caused me to look up.

  “Ruby?”

  They were standing in the bathroom door. All of them: Suzanne, Lee, and Mr. and Mrs. Greene. I dropped the brush into the toilet bowl as if it had burned me. Mr. Greene looked away, embarrassed. His wife stared at the toilet like she’d never seen one before.

  Suzanne said, “Honey, we just wanted to make sure you were here. We’ll wait out front.”

  I nodded. As they turned away, I spoke. “I’ll just wash my hands.” I tried to look poised when I joined them a moment later. Suzanne was seated at my desk. The Greenes sat in the folding chairs I’d lined up in anticipation of the meeting. I slid into the chair beside Lee. Looking up, our eyes met.

  He was himself again: his hair was precisely parted, and a perfectly folded pocket square peeked out of his jacket. I gave him a reassuring smile, which he did not return.

  His eyes shifted to the damp spots on the sleeves of my blouse where the toilet water had splashed me.

  Suzanne rummaged in her purse. “Ruby, honey, can you get me an ashtray?”

  I paused, taken aback. I didn’t own an ashtray, not anymore. Racing into the back room, I found a dirty coffee mug that could serve. It took a minute to wash it out. When I returned to the office, Suzanne was smoking a Marlboro. Lee had a box of cigarettes in his hand: Nat Shermans. He opened it, extending the box to me. “Want one?”

  When I shook my head, he lit one for himself. I placed the mug where both Suzanne and Lee could reach it.

  Suzanne adjusted her reading glasses and shuffled through pages in an open file folder on the desk. “Ruby, did you look over the results of the blood test we did on Lee?”

  “I did.” The printed copy of the test results was in the top drawer of my desk, but I felt awkward moving Suzanne out of the way to retrieve it. “The blood alcohol was lower than I expected.”

  She puffed on the cigarette, looking at Lee over her spectacles. “He was locked up for well over twenty-four hours before we were able to get a sample drawn. I’m surprised they found anything at all.”

  I turned to him. “Lee, did they take a blood sample while you were in custody?”

  He barely gave me a glance. “I don’t know.”

  There it was again: his lack of recall. I heard Mr. Greene speak in an undertone. “No one in our family line has ever been a drunk.”

  Lee turned on him. “I am not a drunk, sir.”

  “Well, you’re saying you don’t remember anything that happened that night. Clearly, you were drunk. Blind drunk. Or were you high on drugs?”

  Though Lee’s head was turned away from me, I saw a cord of tension rising in his neck. “I don’t do drugs of any kind.”

  “Well, you must have been doing something of some kind. Consorting with a streetwalker at the Magnolia Inn in Vicksburg, where anyone could have seen you.”

  Suzanne broke in, to my relief; the father-and-son battle was not advancing our cause.

  “Brother Lee, you need to focus. Our problem isn’t that Lee employed a streetwalker. It’s that she was found dead in bed with him. That’s the problem we’re dealing with here. I have a task for you. Since my nephew can’t fill in the blanks and the blood test is inconclusive, I’d advise you to hire a detective.”

  Mrs. Greene’s voice piped in, a high soprano. “The police will surely look into this and find out that Lee didn’t do anything bad.”

  “Sugar,” Mr. Greene said, “the police in Vicksburg are not on Lee’s side.”

  “How can that be?”

  Suzanne ignored her. To her brother, she said, “Lee, get the best private investigator in the South. I can give you some leads.”

  Mr. Greene nodded and squeezed his eyes shut.

  Mrs. Greene leaned sideways in her seat and caught my eye. Making a vague gesture with her manicured hand, she said, “Ruby, do you really live here? In this old dime store?”

  My spine stiffened. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  Lee interjected, “Ruby’s lived in worse places.” He lifted the cigarette to his lips and took a pull, then exhaled a plume of smoke.

  Lee’s father’s complexion was turning a dangerous scarlet shade. “Good God almighty, what does it matter where the girl lives? My family is in crisis, our good reputation in tatters.” He slammed his fist on the top of my desk, and I jerked in surprise. “Suzanne, what do you intend to do about this? How will you clear my boy’s name?”

  Suzanne slapped a file onto Mr. Greene’s clenched fingers, and he hastily removed his hand from the desktop. W
hen she spoke, her voice was stern.

  “I’m going to do it one step at a time. This isn’t a magic act; it’s the legal profession. We’ll put one foot in front of the other.” She dropped her cigarette into my coffee mug. It was still burning. A white snake of smoke wafted out. “Now do I have your attention? Can we get back to a reasonable discussion?”

  No one spoke. Suzanne barreled on.

  “Lee, have you been in touch with your firm in Jackson? Are they standing by you?”

  “The law firm has suspended me. Indefinitely.” The hand holding his cigarette trembled.

  “That won’t do. We’ll have to come up with something to occupy you. When we go to trial, we don’t want the DA to paint you as idle.”

  I spoke up. “Maybe Lee could do pro bono work. Take cases for free.”

  He snorted as Suzanne shook her head. “I think Legal Aid would be hesitant to take him on, considering the charge he’s facing.”

  Lee’s mother clapped her hands like a child. “I know just the thing. Lee can spend his time at Big Brothers Big Sisters. We donate every year.”

  Her husband grasped her hands and gently pushed them into her lap. “Honey, they won’t entrust a child to his care.”

  The cigarette in Lee’s hand shook until he dropped it into the cup, but his expression was stony. “Daddy’s right, Mama. No one is seeking out my company. The only creature who’s glad to see me right now is old Georgie.”

  I remembered Georgie well: he was Lee’s aged golden retriever, his longtime pet. During our courtship, I sometimes wondered whether Lee preferred Georgie’s company to mine.

  But it gave me an idea. “Lee loves animals. Maybe he can work gratis at an animal shelter.”

  Suzanne snapped her fingers. “Bingo! I’ll call the Humane Society in Barnes County.”

  His father muttered, “My only son, working at the dog pound.” When Suzanne pinned him with a look, he cleared his throat and said, “Have you seen the medical reports?”

  “The blood test is negative for drug use and only shows residual alcohol. But his system could have flushed the drugs out before we got him to a lab. So it doesn’t explain the memory loss.” She shook another cigarette out of the pack. “Lee, what was the name of the man you met with in Vicksburg that night? The one you had dinner with?”

  “Cary Reynolds. An old frat brother. He wanted legal advice.”

  Suzanne made a note with her free hand, while the other brandished a fresh Marlboro. “We’ll talk to this Reynolds fellow, see if he can fill in some of the blanks.”

  Mrs. Greene spoke again. “If Lee doesn’t remember doing anything wrong, how can they put him in jail?”

  Lee’s head dropped, and he heaved a sigh. He knew the answer, even if his mother didn’t.

  Suzanne said, “Honey, if you think that’s a defense to murder, you’re wrong.”

  Mrs. Greene gasped and covered her mouth with a handkerchief. Mr. Greene squeezed his wife’s hand and asked, “This trumped-up charge about a streetwalker overdosing on drugs—how serious can they be? What kind of penalty are we looking at, Suzanne?”

  “Brother Lee, they’ve charged it as capital murder.”

  “But—a dead prostitute, for God’s sake. What’s the maximum penalty?”

  I lowered my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see the faces of Lee’s parents when Suzanne answered.

  “Death.”

  Chapter 35

  THE OFFICE SMELLED smoky after the Greenes departed. I opened the windows over my sofa bed, hoping the fresh air would clear the lobby.

  The effect was not immediate. I popped a nugget of nicotine gum and headed back to the courthouse, thinking I’d give the office a little time to air out.

  I cruised past security and was surprised to see Thomas Lafayette sitting on a wooden bench in the courthouse lobby, reading a newspaper. I walked over to say hello, since I had time to kill.

  “Hey, Lafayette. Is this the new annex for the DA’s office?”

  He looked up from the paper and made a face. “My clerk came down with a stomach bug. Didn’t make it to the bathroom. They’re cleaning the carpet.” He turned a page of the paper. “I wouldn’t go in there for a while if I was you.”

  “Enough said.” I sat beside him on the bench and pulled out my phone to check my email.

  The DA nudged me with his elbow. “You made the paper again.”

  I hadn’t seen it. I wanted to play it cool, but I was curious. “Which one?”

  “Vicksburg. It’s got a picture.”

  “Of me?” I leaned over to look, ignoring Lafayette’s mocking snort.

  “No, it’s not your picture; it’s your client. Lee Greene Junior, the prince of Mississippi.”

  He held the open page wide for me to see. “It’s a before-and-after shot.”

  The images on the page made me wince. Next to a black-and-white professional head shot of Lee, the paper had run a color shot of him in handcuffs in his orange jail scrubs, escorted into court by two Vicksburg policemen.

  “Lord help us. I hope Lee doesn’t see that. It will drive him crazy.”

  “He’s bound to see it. That picture has run in papers all over the state.”

  I made a face, pretending disinterest. “I wouldn’t know.”

  He folded the paper and looked at me with a wrinkled brow. “You mean you’re not following the media coverage on this?”

  I shrugged. “Not really. I’m super busy.”

  He stood so abruptly, I looked up in surprise. Tucking the paper under his arm, he started to walk away. Then he paused, turned around, and came back to the bench where I sat.

  Lafayette tossed the folded newspaper in my lap. “You should be cataloguing it.”

  “What?” I tried to hand the paper back to him, but he wouldn’t accept it. “Why?”

  With a hiss of disgust, he shook his head. “Why I have to counsel a defense attorney on strategy, I swear I do not know.” He took a step closer and whispered. “Venue.”

  “Venue,” I repeated.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said. “Is that where you want the case to be tried? In Vicksburg, where they’ve followed the case in the press every day?”

  Finally, I got it. The DA was right. We needed a change of venue to get the case transferred out of Vicksburg and into another county, where we could get a jury panel that hadn’t been exposed to so much pretrial publicity. I opened my briefcase and stuffed the newspaper inside.

  I needed to initiate an internet search for all the news stories on Lee and the Vicksburg murder case. So that we could get the trial out of Vicksburg.

  Lafayette was walking toward the staircase. I jumped off the bench and caught up with him.

  “Suzanne Greene probably has already thought of that. The change of venue.”

  He ignored me and started to climb the stairs. I took them two at a time so that I could block his path.

  Standing in front of him on the stairway, I said, “But I appreciate the advice. What I’m curious about, Lafayette, is why you’d lend me a hand. Why are you helping me out?”

  I searched his face as we stood, waiting for an answer. Finally, he spoke.

  “Do you know who y’all will be going up against in this case?”

  I paused, confused. “At the arraignment, the DA’s office sent a guy I remember from law school. So maybe he’s handling it.”

  Lafayette snorted again at my reply, and dropped his voice. “Isaac Keet. Keet will prosecute this case for the DA’s office in Vicksburg. Keet is going to eat you alive.”

  A chill ran through me, even though I’d never met the man. Keeping my voice nonchalant, I said, “He won’t be able to intimidate Suzanne Greene. She’s the toughest litigator in the state.”

  Speaking in a whisper, he said, “It’s personal for Keet. He despises people like Lee Greene.”

  “What do you mean, people like Lee?” But I had a sneaking suspicion.

  “You know. The old family name, old money, privileged so
uthern white man. He’ll try to cut him down to size.”

  He swung past me and continued up the stairs. To his back, I asked: “Yeah? How can you be so sure?”

  “Because he’s done it to me.”

  Chapter 36

  IN THE PAST, Thomas Lafayette hadn’t always shot straight with me. But he was right about one thing.

  Isaac Keet, the Vicksburg DA, was good. Terribly good.

  When we appeared in the Warren County courtroom before Judge Ashley on defendant’s motion for change of venue, Keet commanded the courtroom from the outset. He walked into court with erect military bearing, marched up to our counsel table, and tossed Suzanne’s motion next to her coffee cup.

  “Ms. Greene, you injure me. Do you really believe your client can’t get a fair trial in Warren County?”

  Suzanne gave him a measured glance over her glasses. “I’m dead certain he can’t, Mr. Keet. And I’ll prove it to the satisfaction of the court.”

  She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Mr. Keet, this is my co-counsel, Ruby Bozarth. I don’t think y’all have met.”

  I stuck out my hand and he shook it briefly. Though I started to say I was pleased to meet him, he cut me off before I could finish uttering the pleasantry.

  To Suzanne, he said, “Will your client be in court today?”

  “He’s sitting two rows back, with his mama and daddy. Mr. Greene will come to the table when the hearing begins.”

  Isaac Keet looked over our heads to the row occupied by the Greene family. With the ghost of a smile, he said, “Well, I’ll be. Sure wouldn’t have recognized him from his mug shot.”

  As he turned away, I heard Lee’s mother speak in her warbling soprano. “Who was that black man? The one talking to Suzanne?”

  A whispered hiss sounded in response, then I heard her speak again, her voice spiking in shock. “He’s the district attorney?”

  Mrs. Greene’s voice carried like an opera singer’s. I fervently wished that her family would shut her up or leave her at home.

  Mrs. Greene was interrupted by the judge’s appearance. Judge Ashley was a veteran of the bench. I’d done a little homework to get some background on him: he was over sixty and had served as judge for nearly twenty years. His thin hair was combed straight back over his scalp and looked as if he might have touched it up with Clairol for Men.