Every Reasonable Doubt

by Pamela Samuels Young

  We continued to hear rumors that Tina’s indictment was imminent, but so far, no word. Neddy and I had both put contingency plans in place to transition our existing cases to other attorneys in the firm in the event the Montgomery case went into full swing.

  I was trying to finish editing an opposition brief I had to file the next day in a sexual harassment case when my cell phone rang. I could see from the caller-ID display that it was Jefferson calling me from home. I glanced at my watch. It was 7:43 P.M. I reluctantly picked up, knowing he was about to berate me for working so late again.

  “Hey sweetie,” I said, hoping to soften him up. “Why’re you calling me on my cell? You know I’m at the office?”

  “Because,” he grunted.

  “Because what?”

  “Because I’m jealous of that place for seeing you more than I do and it kills me to even dial the damn number.”

  “Aw, baby, I’ll make it up to you,” I said, in a mock baby voice I’d heard Special use with one of her men. “I promise.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, promises, promises. So how’s it going?” he said, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

  “Slow but sure. So what’s up?” I knew he had a specific purpose for calling, but for some reason he was beating around the bush.

  “Can’t I just call to say hello to my woman?”

  “You could, but you rarely do. So what’s on your mind?”

  “I was just thinking,” he said, actually sounding nervous, “maybe we could get started making my son tonight.”

  I tried to speak, but I couldn’t. It had only been a week since our visit to Dr. Bell’s office. “Jefferson, the doctor told us I needed to be off the pill for at least a month, preferably three.”

  “Aw, that’s only a safety precaution. I was just talking to my sister. She got pregnant with Quentin a week after she went off the pill and he was perfectly healthy.”

  Jefferson’s excitement about fatherhood amazed me. Three days earlier, I’d caught him checking the package of birth control pills I kept in the medicine cabinet. I pretended not to notice when he shoved the container back on the shelf and picked up a bottle of Advil instead. At first I was angry because I figured he was counting them to make sure I had actually stopped taking them. Then I realized he was right not to trust me. Every time I opened the medicine cabinet, I was overcome with doubt about our decision to start a family.

  “Now get your ass home,” Jefferson said. “I got something big and juicy waiting for you.”

  “I bet you do,” I laughed nervously. Dr. Bell said it was unlikely that I’d get pregnant right away, but she didn’t know my luck. The minute one of Jefferson’s little spermazoids got loose, my eggs would be cooked.

  “We haven’t even gotten our fertility tests back yet. Shouldn’t we wait?”

  “Stop worrying. I’m sure everything’s fine. Come on home so I can prove it to you.” There was a sexy playfulness in his voice. “Besides, Jefferson, Jr. is anxious to get here and make his mark on the world.”

  “You know, I still haven’t decided to hang my son with that name.”

  “Ain’t nothing wrong with my name,” he said, offended. “It’s got presidential heritage written all over it.”

  “Yeah, right. Wasn’t President Jefferson the one making all them babies with his slave, Sally Hemmings?”

  “See, it’s no coincidence that I’m named after a white boy who was out getting his freak on way back in the day.”

  I laughed. “Boy, you’re nuts.”

  “Just hurry up and get home so we can make some babies,” he ordered.

  As I began packing up, I realized that Jefferson’s excitement about having a son was slowly growing on me. In my line of work, there was no perfect time to plan for anything, much less a child. There would always be another big case, another deposition to take, and another brief to write. There was really no reason to put off starting a family.

  When I walked through the door, Jefferson greeted me wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist. His body was all oiled up and he was wearing his favorite cologne, Jordan by Michael, which also happened to be my favorite. He took my purse and briefcase and sat them on the dining room table.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he shushed me. “I’m running things tonight.”

  Jefferson undressed me right there in the darkened living room, then helped me slip into a red silk robe. He took my hand and led me into the den where several layers of blankets were laid out on the floor and our gas fireplace was burning low. There had to be at least twenty candles positioned all over the room. An oil burner gave off a pleasing, sensual aroma and Luther Vandross was crooning If Only For One Night, real low.

  Though I was much too paranoid not to follow the doctor’s advice about waiting a month before trying to conceive, I found myself silently praying that God would bless us with the son Jefferson so badly wanted. I spotted a plate of tiny tuna sandwiches, cranberry juice and Doritos laid out on the coffee table.

  “Is this dinner?” I laughed, pointing at the display.

  “Nah, just a snack. I didn’t want you getting too full since we’ve got some important business to take care of tonight. I knew if I gave you some wine, your ass would be asleep in five minutes.”

  We crouched down on the floor and Jefferson positioned his body over mine and opened my loosely tied robe. “Your body’s beautiful,” he said, and ran his hands up and down my thighs. “Promise me you’ll look like this when you’re sixty-five.”

  “I promise.”

  “You lawyers lie about everything, you know that,” he said grinning. “I love you, girl.”

  As I stared at my happy husband, I thought about the men Tina and Neddy had fallen for and an overwhelming feeling of gratitude, affection, and desire took hold of me. I drew Jefferson to me. We held each other, then kissed for a long, long time, our bodies pressed hard against each other. He rolled over and pulled me on top of him and I could feel his heart beating hard against my chest. The stubble along his chin grazed my breasts as he kissed his way up to my neck and back down again. We drank from each other, with a hurried, ravenous thirstiness, both of us deliriously in love and anxious to make a life.

  Hours later, I heard the faint ringing of the telephone. I glanced at the clock. It was 7:15 A.M. Whenever my phone rang before eight o’clock it was usually Special. I fumbled around until I finally found the telephone sitting on a nearby end table. As I reached for the receiver, I felt a shot of pain streak down the middle of my back. We definitely wouldn’t be sleeping on the floor again anytime soon.

  I answered without waiting to hear what Special had to say. “I’m a married woman now,” I said groggily. “You can’t be calling me at all hours of the day and night just to brag about your sexual conquests.”

  “What? It’s me. Neddy.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” I sat up. Neddy had never called me at home. Not to mention this early in the morning. It had to be important. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “But I can’t say the same for our client. You need to meet me at Tina’s house right away. The police just showed up with a search warrant.”

  CHAPTER 20

  I showered and dressed in a flash and less than an hour later, I arrived at the Montgomery mansion to find the place crawling with L.A.’s finest. Judging from the hoards of black and whites parked haphazardly in front of the house, there could only be a handful of officers left to protect the rest of the city. I was surprised to see a respectable number of female cops milling about doing whatever it is police do at a scene like this.

  As I approached the steel gates leading to the walkway, I came face-to-face with a short, balding man wearing a navy T-shirt with LAPD tattooed across his chest in bright yellow letters. He raised his hand, palm forward like a crossing guard, motioning for me to freeze.

  “I’m sorry, miss, there’s a police investigation underway here at the moment. You’re gonna have to come back a little later.” Hi
s words were drenched in machismo. His job was obviously his life.

  “I’m Vernetta Henderson,” I said, distracted by all the activity going on around us. “I’m Mrs. Montgomery’s attorney.”

  A skeptical look spread across his face and he shifted his body weight from one foot to the other. “Her attorney’s already inside,” he grimaced. “You wouldn’t be a reporter looking for a story, now, would you?”

  I pulled out my State Bar card and driver’s license and flashed them at him. “She has two attorneys.”

  “From what I hear, she’s gonna need ‘em,” he said, snidely, then stepped aside. “Go right ahead.”

  As I plodded up the walkway, I saw police officers everywhere, combing the place like roaches. A thickly built woman with short auburn hair searched the shrubbery in front of the house. Two men carrying large plastic bags headed off in the direction of the backyard. A handful of officers stood in a semicircle in the northwest corner of the yard.

  When I got close to the front door, a commanding female presence at the center of another small gathering of men in blue caught my attention. I’d never met her before, but I immediately knew the blond Amazon had to be Julie Killabrew. Imposing was not an adequate description of her. Six feet tall and reed thin, she was dressed in a black pants suit with a long jacket that came almost to her knees, which had the effect of making her seem even taller. Thick, bleached-blond hair fanned across her shoulders and she wore no makeup except for a shocking red lip gloss. As she spoke to a team of officers, her index finger pierced the air with the speed of a guppy darting around a fish bowl.

  She spotted me and abruptly marched over, boldly blocking my path before I could reach the front door. “May I help you?” she asked, acting like the top cop that she wasn’t.

  “I’m Vernetta Henderson, Mrs. Montgomery’s attorney. I understand Neddy’s already here. Can you tell me where I can find them?” I was purposely pleasant.

  Julie didn’t answer right away. She looked me up and down and wasn’t the least bit discrete about it. Her gaze unnerved me, but that wasn’t something I wanted her to know. So I just gawked right back at her.

  “I’ll be prosecuting this case,” she volunteered without my asking. “I’m Julie Killabrew.” She extended her hand and I cautiously shook it. “You’ll find your client and your colleague in the backyard.” She pointed through the picture window.

  “Thanks,” I said. Before I reached the door, she called after me.

  “Nice work on the Hayes trial,” she said.

  When I looked back, she had already walked off.

  “Thank you,” I said to no one in particular.

  It felt strange opening Tina’s front door and not having Kinga there to show me in. I made my way through the living room, which was in complete shambles. The police had turned over tables, pulled the stuffing from seat cushions, and removed pictures from the wall in an apparent attempt to displace every single item in the place. I saw Tina’s cherished silver wine goblet on the floor near an end table. I guess she had been right not to let them into her home the first time they had come calling.

  One officer glanced my way as he jogged up the stairs, started to say something, but apparently changed his mind.

  I peered through the French doors and spotted Tina and Neddy in the backyard. Even though they were a good thirty feet away, I could see distress on both of their faces.

  “Just tell me I won’t have to spend the night in jail,” I heard Tina say in a panic as I approached.

  “That’s not an issue right now,” Neddy said, placing a hand on Tina’s shoulders. “They’re just here to conduct a search. Nobody’s said anything to me about arresting you.”

  That was good news. If they took Tina off to jail now, on a Saturday morning, she wouldn’t be arraigned before Monday. She’d have to spend at least two nights in the clinker before a judge would even consider whether she was entitled to bail.

  But it were as if Tina hadn’t heard a word Neddy said. “I don’t belong in jail,” she cried, her voice full of fear. “I didn’t kill my husband. This is crazy.”

  Neddy put an arm around Tina’s shoulder and ushered her to a nearby bench. We all sat down.

  “Look, Tina, I want to be straight with you,” Neddy said. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep you out of jail, but I won’t make you any false promises. The D.A.’s office thinks they have enough evidence to charge you and bail is very hard to get in murder cases. When the time comes, I’ll try to get the Deputy D.A. to agree to some reasonable bail amount, but I don’t know if she will.”

  Tears were streaming down Tina’s face now. “So it’s up to her?” she whimpered.

  “No, it’s up to the judge. But if the prosecutor agrees, the judge will likely agree.”

  Tina covered her face with her hands and started to sob.

  Neddy hugged her, but spoke in a firm, controlled voice. “Look, Tina, now is not the time to have a meltdown.”

  “I can’t handle going to jail,” she cried out.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Neddy said, “I’ll go speak to the Deputy D.A. right now.” She looked over at me, then stood up. “Don’t leave her alone.”

  Just as Neddy turned to leave, Julie marched into the backyard.

  “May I speak with you for a second?” Neddy said, meeting her halfway. They walked a few feet to the left of us, but were still within earshot.

  “I’d like a heads-up if and when you decide to arrest my client.”

  Julie eyed Neddy the same way she had stared me down. The woman definitely had some issues. Before Julie could respond, two female officers, one of them dangling handcuffs, rushed up to Tina and ordered her to stand.

  Neddy charged back in our direction and blocked the officers’ access to Tina. “Hey wait a minute! There’s no need for this.”

  “Oh sorry,” Julie said smiling, “I was just about to tell you the reason I came back here. We’re ready to take your client down to the station for booking.”

  “You’re arresting her? I haven’t seen an arrest warrant,” Neddy said.

  Julie pulled a folded piece of paper from the pocket of her jacket. “You can have my copy. You’ll get the original from one of the officers.”

  Neddy snatched it from her hand and quickly read it. “We’ll bring her down voluntarily,” she shouted.

  “What? You want special treatment for your client because she’s rich?” Julie asked.

  I looked at Tina, who seemed to be in shock.

  Neddy tried to keep her voice professional and humble, but the Chicago Southside in her was ready to rise up. “C’mon, Julie. I was hoping you’d be agreeable to a reasonable bail.”

  Julie tilted her head to the side and pressed her finger to her cheek. “Bail? What bail?”

  “So you’re opposing bail?” Neddy exclaimed.

  “Of course. I always oppose bail when the defendant is a murderer or a flight risk. Here we have both.”

  Neddy inhaled and exhaled in a single breath. “There’s no need for us to argue the facts of this case out here, Julie. But I can assure you Tina Montgomery isn’t going anywhere.”

  I wondered how Neddy could give that assurance. A murder suspect as rich as Tina was an inherent flight risk.

  “And just how can you assure me of that?” Julie asked

  “By giving you my word.”

  She grinned wickedly. “With all due respect, counselor, your word isn’t good enough. Your client’s loaded. If she decided to leave the country, her dead husband’s millions, not to mention the eight mil in insurance she’s about to collect, are enough to set her up for life. If she gets out on bail, it won’t be because I agree to it.”

  The two women scowled at each other. Neddy impatiently tapped her foot on the pavement. She was dying to get funky with Julie. I was ready to back her up if I had to, but with all the cops around, all three of us would end up in the slammer.

  “Are we starting fresh here, Julie, or are you still havin
g flash-backs from our last trial?”

  Julie laughed. “I never hold on to my losses,” she said confidently. “I hope it’s the same for you.”

  “If I remember correctly, I don’t think I’ve ever lost a case against you.”

  Julie smirked. “And if I remember correctly, I don’t think you’ve ever gotten an acquittal either. Hung juries don’t mean your clients weren’t guilty.”

  “Yeah, but they do mean you didn’t prove your case,” Neddy shot back at her. “If you did a better job of gathering your facts before running off and charging people, you could save the taxpayers a lot of money.”

  The old Neddy was back and this time I was glad to see her.

  “Whatever,” Julie said. She had the upper hand and was about to use it. “Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’m asking you nicely to step aside so the police can do their job.”

  When Neddy didn’t move, one of the female officers gently shoved her aside, and the other one pulled Tina’s hands behind her back and clasped the handcuffs around her tiny wrists.

  Tears, this time unaccompanied by sound, rolled down Tina’s cheeks and her whole body trembled violently. We all followed as one of the officers marched her through her now-wrecked house, toward the front yard. As soon as the door opened, blinding lights hit us in the face. There had to be at least a dozen TV cameramen and photographers crowding the doorway.

  “Clear out! Make some room!” the officer holding Tina commanded. The officer stuck out her chest and stood as erect as a Marine in uniform. She no doubt wanted to look her best when her family and friends saw her on the carting her rich, attractive suspect off to jail.

  “This is private property,” Neddy yelled. “These reporters have no right to be here!”

  Julie motioned toward one of the officers. “Get rid of the media,” she said. “Tell them to wait by the front gate. I’ll be down to make a statement in five minutes.”