by Terri Lee
Savannah took out her notepad as they sat back down at the defendants table. Phil said if she ever needed a job she could get one as a courtroom sketch artist. She flipped through the drawings she’s made these past three days: Judge Houser, glasses hanging off the tip of his nose. Nathan Briggs with a permanent smirk, and several of Phil. She ran her finger over this morning’s sketch, Phil’s hand holding a pencil in his fingers. She turned to a fresh page as Phil glanced down at her. Court was called to session.
“The people call Adam Vincent.”
The name caught her by surprise. She knew Adam would be called to testify at some point, but not today. Hearing his name ring out in the courtroom was having the royal decree of her guilt read in public. Her parents and her family would now hear the ugly details. She struggled to keep her composure as Adam walked to the stand.
When he looked over at the defendants table the corners of his mouth turned up in the faintest recognition. Savannah felt Phil stiffen beside her.
Nathan Briggs smiled at his witness. “Please state your full name, for the court.”
“Adam Jerome Vincent.”
Briggs led Adam through a series of innocent questions before he dug in.
“Mr. Vincent, do you know the defendant?”
“Yes.” Buttoned into a suit and tie, Adam looked uncomfortable, his free spirit chafing at the restraints.
“How did you meet?”
“She took an art class I was teaching at Chatham Community College.”
“I see. Did the two of you have any relationship outside of the classroom?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Savannah saw several jurors glance her way. Heat stung her face and began spreading down her neck.
“We were friends,” Adam said.
“Friends?” Briggs grinned. “Friends who met outside the classroom?”
“Yes. We met for coffee a few times.”
“Are you sure that’s all, Mr. Vincent?”
Adam stared back, refusing to offer up anything unsolicited. Briggs stood in front of the jury and looked back at Adam.
“Did she ever come to your apartment?”
The slightest hesitation. “Yes.”
Briggs signaled to his assistant who pulled the drop cloth off the large exhibit near the judge’s bench. The room gasped as the portrait of Savannah stared defiantly at the courtroom over her naked shoulder, her lips parted in a sensual tease.
Briggs was all business as he entered the peoples exhibit into evidence and she could hear Phil swallowing and pretending to write something important on his legal pad.
“It seems like you knew Mrs. Palmerton well enough to paint this picture.” Briggs walked slowly back across the courtroom, giving everyone time to stare at the painting. He let the heads swivel back and forth between Adam and Savannah. Let the truth settle around the room and squeeze between the jurors, like a fat latecomer angling for the last seat on a crowded bus. Savannah could see them moving sideways in their seats, making room for it.
Still, Adam said nothing. Offered nothing. Briggs moved to the next exhibit board and turned it around displaying enlarged photographs—the same ones the detectives had spread before Savannah all those months ago. She and Adam holding hands, laughing, kissing. They had caught her off guard then, and they had the same effect now, lined up next to her naked portrait, in a display of her guilt. Copies were handed to the jurors, so they could inspect her infidelity up close.
“Stare straight ahead,” Phil whispered out of the side of his mouth.
Savannah stared and wished the polished floor would crack beneath her and swallow her whole. The hairs were standing up on the back of her neck. Antennae picked up the sound of her family shifting in their seats.
Relishing the moment, Briggs asked the obvious. “Are these pictures of you and the defendant?”
“Yes.”
Savannah could almost hear the shrug of Adam’s shoulders in his voice.
“Do you know why we have these pictures, Mr. Vincent?”
“No.”
“Because the deceased, Mr. Price Palmerton, hired a private detective to follow his wife. He was certain she was being unfaithful to her marriage and he wanted documentation—“
Phil was on his feet. “Objection Your Honor, Mr. Briggs has a lot of talents, but I don’t believe even he can speak for the deceased.”
“Sustained,” Judge Houser said.
“No further questions, Your Honor.” Briggs walked back to his table, land mines strewn in his wake.
Phil stood, but didn’t approach the witness stand.
“I’d just like to clear up any false premises that Mr. Briggs might have painted for the jury,” he said. “Mr. Vincent, did the defendant, Mrs. Palmerton, pose for this portrait?”
Adam sat up straight. “No.”
“Did she pose for any photos you later used to paint the portrait?”
“No. Not at all.”
“How many times did Mrs. Palmerton come to your apartment?”
“Just once.”
“And on that occasion, did the two of you have sex?”
“No.”
“Did the two of you ever have sexual relations?”
“No.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.” Phil sat down as quickly as he had stood up.
Adam was dismissed from the stand. Savannah ducked her head as he passed, not meeting his eyes.
Phil asked for a short recess. Back in the war room, Phil paced and muttered.
“Jesus Christ what is he—some sort of male model? And it didn’t help he kept looking over at you with those big puppy dog eyes. He ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”
Savannah caught her breath as she sensed a bit of jealousy under the frustration.
“It could’ve been worse.” Kip said. “I thought he did pretty good. He kept his answers to yes and no. Didn’t give Briggs anything extra to work with. That’s about the best we can hope for.”
“Yeah, I just wanted to get him off the stand as quickly as possible and get him out of the room. Let the women stop gawking at him. Thank God we got a recess so the display can be dismantled before we go back in. That grandstanding son-of-a-bitch, Briggs.” Phil tore at his tie as if it had attacked him.
“I need to get some fresh air. If there’s such a thing in this goddamn city.”
He threw his tie on the table and swept out of the room.
After the recess, Phil sighed in relief to see the portrait had been removed from the courtroom. The photos remained on display.
“Let’s see what else Briggs has in store today with his conga line of witnesses,” Phil said as the bailiff called for order.
The D.A. called Mike Nesbitt, the private detective hired by Price. He testified about his original meeting with Price, relaying the information that Price indeed thought his wife was having an affair and looking for proof. The line of questioning could have been dispensed with in short order, but Briggs managed to drag it out beyond everyone’s patience.
“Nathan Briggs graduated Magna Cum He Who Talks The Longest Wins,” Kip once said.
Phil stood rifling through copies of photographs as if he’d missed something and then tossed them on the table as if they were unimportant. “Mr. Nesbitt,” he said. “Are these all the photographs you took of the defendant?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” Phil shrugged as if he couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. “No further questions.”
All Phil’s cross-examinations were short that day. “When you can’t impeach a witness, the best you can do is get him off the stand as quickly as possible,” he said.
DAY AFTER day, the Kendall family lined up in a row behind Savannah like baseball players on the bench.
Jack Kendall hugged his daughter each morning before court was called into session and at every break. Nothing he had heard made him think any less of her. Clasped in his arms, Savannah knew she could set that unfounded fear aside.
; When she looked at the little group behind her, her heart saw the missing seat with Neenie’s name on it. She took small comfort in knowing Neenie wouldn’t be called to testify against her. Forced to tell the story of the screaming match in the living room that night. I hate you landing on the wall along with broken glass. Neither one of them would have survived it.
“Cecily still not back?” Savannah asked. She’d been missing for a couple of days.
“Still on assignment,” Phil said, without looking at her.
Before Savannah could press further, Briggs called his first witness of the day. “The people call Lou Ann Graves.”
Price’s secretary walked to the witness stand and raised her right hand. She was a plain, capable, middle-aged woman who could never be accused of being a husband-stealer. Which was precisely the criteria Savannah had demanded after Price’s public fall from grace with his previous secretary.
Briggs did his usual dance with the witness, leading her through the boring steps of her daily duties before he moved into the tango.
“Did Mrs. Palmerton ever come to the office?”
“Occasionally.”
“How did their relationship seem to you?”
Phil hopped out of his seat. “Objection. Requires speculation.”
Judge Houser waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll allow it.”
“They seemed…like any married couple, I guess.” Lou Ann ventured a quick glance at Savannah.
“Isn’t it true you told a co-worker, Penney Brewster, Mrs. Palmerton came to the office just a week before the murder? And the two of them had such a heated argument, you could hear them through the walls?”
Lou Ann fidgeted in her seat. “I might have.”
“You might have or you did?”
“I did. But—”
“No further questions for this witness, Your Honor.” Briggs left her hanging in mid-sentence.
Phil approached the witness with his easy smile and gentle tone, as if she had been called to testify on behalf of the defense.
“Mrs. Graves, you’ve worked at Carnahan, Chase, and Palmerton for how many years?”
“Eight.”
“In all those years, did you ever hear raised voices coming from other offices? Arguments with wives, clients, partners?”
Lou Ann seemed relieved for the lifeline Phil tossed her. “Oh yes, many times.”
“And to your best recollection, have any of the lawyers involved in these loud arguments been found murdered in their office afterwards?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Of course not. No further questions.”
Phil smiled at Nathan Briggs on his way back to the defense table.
Savannah sighed, remembering the fight. She’d gone to meet Price for lunch, but arrived to find him furious about her alliance with the Preservation Society. The organization was attempting to block plans for a new downtown development while Price represented the builders.
“Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to have my wife opposing me and my client in a multi-million-dollar deal?” he said. “Must you always be on the other side of the issue?”
“Maybe you’re always on the wrong side. It’s not about the money, Price. The plans will destroy family businesses.”
It seemed they were always facing off across the yellow line running through their marriage.
The eyewitness from the night of the murder was called next. Phil told Savannah eyewitnesses were historically unreliable. She could only hope this one was.
Claude Irby was seventy-six years old and about as ornery as they come. Yet there was a certain charm to his crankiness.
Briggs circled him like he was the prize heifer at the county fair, making sure all the jurors had plenty of time to fall in love with his star witness. He let the old guy tell his story without much prompting from the sidelines. Which could only mean he was sure the story would end exactly where he needed it to.
“So, Mr. Irby, you saw the person leaving Mr. Palmerton’s office out the back way?”
“Sure I did. Plain as day.”
“Go on.”
“She came down the back stairs, looking around all nervous. Then she tore out of there in that little Thunderbird like a bat out of hell. Excuse my French.” He doffed his imaginary hat to the ladies of the jury.
“And what time was this?” Briggs asked.
“About midnight. My dog, Petey, is old, like me. I have to take him out a couple times a night.”
“Would you recognize this person if you saw them again?”
“Of course. She’s sitting right there.” Claude pointed a bony finger at Savannah and all eyes followed suit.
“Thank you, Mr. Irby.” This time Briggs smiled at Phil.
Phil stood up slowly, as if he were trying to make sense of the implausible story he’d just heard.
“So you saw this person, plain as day, Mr. Irby. Is that what you said?”
“Yes, sir.” Old Claude stuck his chin out at this youngster questioning his word.
“Except it wasn’t day. It was midnight. Correct?”
“Well, yes. I already said that.”
“There wasn’t a full moon that night. The nearest street lamp was two houses down on your side of the street. The light on the outside of the office building was a single sixty-watt bulb. So I wouldn’t exactly say it was plain as day.”
Phil walked away from the witness stand, rubbing his chin. “So how far would you estimate it was between where you were standing with Petey and the office building across the street?”
The old man rubbed his chin. “I reckon about maybe fifty feet.”
“Fifty feet. In the dark. At midnight.” Phil cocked his head at the old man. “I think you might have better vision than I do.”
“Well, maybe I do.”
“So you saw a woman get into a Thunderbird and drive off.”
“Yes, sir.”
“By the way, do you know how many of those Thunderbirds were sold in Chatham County?”
“Of course not.”
“Twelve.” Phil was astounded at his own number. “A very popular car. So you saw a woman from forty feet away, in the dark, running down the stairs and getting into her car. And you assume that woman is the defendant?”
“Objection. Leading the witness, Your Honor,” Brigg called. “Mr. Irby has already identified that person to be Mrs. Palmerton.”
Phil shrugged as if it didn’t matter, anyway. “I’ll withdraw the question.”
He walked to the defense table, picked up a folder, and walked through the gate to the end of the gallery. Everyone turning in their seats to see what he was up to.
“Mr. Irby, can you tell who’s in this picture?” Phil held up a large photograph of Nathan Briggs.
Claude squinted. Wrinkling his old face into a tight scowl.
“Mr. Irby? It’s broad daylight.”
After several long moments, the old man slumped in his seat. “No, I can’t see your dadgum picture.”
Phil lowered his arm and shook his head. “No further questions for this witness.”
Briggs called his final witness of the day. Price’s best friend, David Gaines. When Phil had asked her about his name being on the witness list, Savannah had been surprised.
“Can you state your occupation?” Briggs asked.
“I’m an attorney,” David said.
“Why type of law do you specialize in?”
“Family law.”
“Divorces?”
“Yes, sir.”
Savannah felt Phil tense up.
“And what was your relationship with the defendant?”
David caught Savannah’s incredulous gaze. His eyes narrowed before he looked away. “We were best friends.”
“Did your best friend seek legal advice from you in the weeks preceding his murder?”
“Yes he did. He came to my office to discuss getting a divorce.”
Phil slid a piece of paper over to Savannah: what th
e hell?
I don’t know, she scribbled and slid it back.
“Can you tell us about that meeting?” Briggs was salivating.
“Price said Savannah was having an affair. He wanted a divorce and full custody of the kids. We talked about what that would involve. He was gathering all the information about his assets and we were scheduled to meet again at the end of February.”
“So he retained your services?”
“Yes, he did.”
Savannah stared at this man who had been in her home countless times. They’d laughed together, celebrated birthdays together; he’d eaten at her table and teased her like a brother. Now he believed she killed Price. From the looks on the juror’s faces, they believed it, too.
What chance did she have now?
Phil called for a recess. Once Savannah reached the war room, she brushed past everyone and ran to the bathroom where she threw up. Heaving the news of Price plotting and planning his divorce, as if it were an indigestible sour meal.
“That conniving son-of-a-bitch,” she said, stumbling back out, a cool washcloth pressed to her forehead. She slumped into a chair and Kip handed her a glass of water. Beverly stood behind her, hands on her shoulders.
Savannah’s thoughts were racing, unable to stand still.
He was going to do it. He was really going to take the kids. But what about the Valentine’s dance? He said he wanted to start over. Was he playing me? Or had he really changed his mind?
Phil had dropped in a chair as well, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. “Briggs is going to assert that Phil told you about the divorce during your fight,” he said. “And that ladies and gentlemen, is motive.”
“LET’S TOUCH up your make-up,” Rebecca said before court as she dragged Savannah to the bathroom. She pressed powder over the dark circles under Savannah’s eyes.
“Are you eating at all?” Rebecca asked. “You look so thin.”
Savannah shrugged. “I’m not hungry,”
Applying a stroke of pink blush onto Savannah’s pale cheeks, Rebecca did her best to play the optimist. “You just have to hold on for a couple more days and then it’ll be over.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Savannah said.