by G. E. Mason
"Then why? You don't do much without a purpose, Ethan."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not as long as you are straightforward about it."
"Ouch." He touched his chest. "Okay. I'm sorry. I guess I used you, but in my youth I didn't see it that way."
Lauren stared at him for a moment. "That was honest." But she still wasn't convinced.
"I try."
"So how long do you plan on being a judge?"
His gaze bore through her. Intense described Ethan perfectly. Or at least focused intensity. If he looked at you, you were the only person in the room for those moments.
"You mean given my history of flitting from one thing to another?"
"Yes, exactly."
He took a sip of his beer. "I'm a changed man. I'm interested in settling down these days."
She raised her eyebrows. "Settling down?"
He waved a hand as a chortle erupted from him. "That isn't meant as a pickup line. I'm better than that now."
"Okay."
"You aren't convinced?"
She waved a hand. "Not important."
"Well, I do have another reason for talking to you."
"Here it comes."
She braced herself for whatever odd thing Ethan would ask of her that she probably wouldn't want to do.
"I want to talk about this case," he said.
She hadn't expected this. "No."
"The ever ethical Lauren. Remember, I'm not deciding the verdict. The jury is."
"True."
"But I think she's innocent."
Lauren let that wash over her for a moment. "I have questions about your reasons, but a large part of me doesn't want to go down that road." That road could only lead to trouble.
"I don't think that Claire Smith is a killer."
She rubbed the back of her neck. "And you base this on what? Her aura? ESP? What?"
How odd that Ethan was so close to what she'd actually been thinking.
"I just know. She's innocent."
Lauren let her eyes fall closed. She rubbed a spot on her forehead where a headache was beginning. Opening her eyes, she reaching into her purse for money. After she dropped it on the table to pay for her wine, she said, "This was a mistake."
Ethics had always been important to her. She also believed very strongly in due process. Claire Smith would have her day in court and no back room dealings would get the young girl out of it.
"Lauren, listen to me."
"No, Ethan. I'll see you in court tomorrow."
Chapter 2
Lauren heard the footsteps and if she hadn't abandoned Ethan at the table she'd be nervous. No one else lingered in the mostly dark parking lot.
She spun around to confront him, putting a hand up. "Stop. Just stop."
Ethan halted just inside the circle of light of the streetlamp. Night had fallen in the short time they'd been inside. Lauren crossed her arms. "I'm not arguing this case with you."
He sighed with a big shrug of his shoulders. Ethan had a flair for the dramatic. Lauren resisted rolling her eyes.
"But Lauren, I think if you can see my point of view you'll move to dismiss this case."
She wiped a hand down her face. Ethan always wanted the impossible.
"Ethan, this isn't fair. You're the judge. You're supposed to be impartial. If I told someone about this conversation you could get taken off the case."
"So could you," he said.
Yes, she could, but she'd bet her last paycheck that Ethan wouldn't tell a soul.
He put his hands out in compliance, but what she could see of his face was not conciliatory. Of course not. Ethan had been handed so much in his life that he never understood when someone turned him down. His vocabulary did not include the word, "No."
Part of her envied him. Part of her was proud of what she'd accomplished without handouts. And she was raising her daughter to be just as tough and self-reliant.
"I'm not worried about me. This case is clearly less personal to me than it is to you. The office has other prosecutors that can take over."
"But wouldn't that look bad to your boss? The one up for re-election?"
She put her hands on her hips, leaning against her car. "So you've done your homework. At least about me. I would think you'd want this case to go to trial under you so that you could be sure Claire gets a fair shake."
He looked at the ground as if thinking about what she said. She wasn't fooled. It was drama, pure and simple. He was positioning himself for his next move.
She braced herself for it.
"I do want her to get a fair shake, but I see it as her not being tried at all. She's a young girl. She couldn't be a killer."
"Do you know how nasty girls can be? Especially ones who have been rejected. Hell hath no fury and all that."
"Hmm. Sound familiar."
So he was going to bring that up. She had been young and foolish and very hurt when he dumped her. Her reaction had been immature at best. Irrational at worst. That situation had no relevance here. He wanted to push her buttons.
"That was a long time ago and actually makes my point. What if she fancied herself in love with this guy? And he rejected her?"
"What about the rape kit?" Ethan said.
"That still speaks to my point. The kit proves she was raped, but doesn't point to the murder victim."
He took a step toward her. "Then that speaks to lack of motive."
"We have witnesses who put her at the scene of the crime just after the murder." She put up her hands. "We should not be discussing this, Ethan. Go home. Be a knight in shining armor by being an impartial judge."
"Lauren, I have a gut feeling about this. And I think, you do too."
How would he know? He couldn't be that good at reading her this many years later.
Ethan smiled. "You hesitated. You blinked Lauren. You know I'm right. An innocent girl will go to prison."
She ran a hand through her hair. "We are done talking about this. I'm going home to see my daughter. Goodnight Ethan."
She turned away from him as he sputtered. The nerdy girl turned down the star quarterback.
He was gone when she backed out of the parking spot.
***
Lauren kept switching the stations on her car radio as she drove home, never content with any song she was hearing.
Her mind was unable to focus on anything as her anger at Ethan ebbed away. When calm reigned she had an idea.
Thank goodness for speed dial.
And Bluetooth.
In a few minutes, she had opposing counsel on the phone. "Brad?"
"Well, well, well. I never thought you'd call me Lauren. Want a second try at that drink?"
"Quit the schmoozing Brad, this is business."
He sighed. "Yeah, I figured. What can I do for you?"
"I'd like to talk to your client before the trial begins again tomorrow."
Silence on the other end of the phone. She glanced at her dash. The call was still live. "Brad?"
"I'm thinking."
"With you present of course. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think it was important," she said.
She turned left onto her street, then pulled into her driveway. Despite pushing the button to open her garage door, she stayed in the driveway. Sometimes she dropped calls in the garage and she didn't want to drop this one.
"Okay. You can have fifteen minutes. Not sure I understand why. You've talked to her numerous times."
How much should she reveal? If she intentionally made trouble for Ethan, would she be branded as a disgruntled ex-girlfriend? "I may have a few more questions."
"You realize whatever you find out may not be admissible in court?"
"Why not? You'll be right there. And if I find out something new you can always ask for a continuance," she said.
Her daughter peeked out of the door to the house probably wondering why her mother was still in the car.
"I'll allow it. Fifteen minutes," Brad said.
>
He disconnected. Lauren pulled her car into the garage, closing the door behind her. Gathering her things, she smiled at her daughter wearing a pink tutu with green sneakers.
Her daughter had inherited her outrageous fashion sense from her father. Lauren tended towards conservative, blend-into-the-wallpaper suits. But Sasha's father had been an artist. And just as unreliable.
Last she'd heard, he was part of an artists' colony in the South of France. Not easy to be an influence in your daughter's life from that far away.
"Mommy."
Not an effusive greeting, but Lauren would take it. She guessed her daughter liked her today.
"Hello sweetie."
"Why are you so late?"
"Tough trial and I had some people to talk to afterwards," she said.
She entered her kitchen a haven of stainless steel, kept pristine by her housekeeper/nanny, Marcia. Lauren could never truly put a price on what Marcia did, but she tried her best to keep the woman happy.
Sasha hopped up on a stool at the island. "There's food in the oven waiting for you."
"Where's Marcia?"
Lauren dropped her briefcase and lunch bag on the granite counter top. Her daughter swiveled on the bar stool. "She's in her room."
"And she left you to get up to no good?"
"Mom."
The word came out in two syllables as only an almost teen girl could manage. Lauren brushed some hair out of her daughter's eyes. "I know. You're just so grown up."
"I was doing my homework up until a few minutes ago."
Lauren studied her daughter. She imagined what her brown hair and big brown eyes would look like when she was Claire's age. Would somebody advocate for her if that person thought Sasha had been wrongly accused?
"Will you get me my dinner?"
Her daughter hopped off the chair and using oven mitts, brought her the plate from the oven.
"Thanks."
"Glass of wine?" Sasha asked.
"That would be wonderful."
"White or red?"
Lauren looked at the plate of lasagna. "Red with red sauce."
"Of course."
Sasha dug into the small wine rack under the counter, coming up with a nice Italian red. Her daughter sat with her as she ate and they discussed their day.
With dinner over, Sasha headed off to bed. As she left the kitchen, the phone rang. The house phone which Lauren thought was odd. Most people used her cell.
"I'll get it," Sasha said.
"You go to bed."
Sasha frowned, but kept going out the door.
"Hello."
Silence, but Lauren could hear breathing. Unlike robot-calls where you could only hear clicks, this was clearly a live call.
"Hello?"
"Leave it alone."
"What?" Lauren asked.
"Claire is innocent, don't proceed with the trial or your daughter will pay the price."
She heard a dial tone next. Lauren stared at the phone for a full minute before she hung up and dialed 911.
***
The cops arrived without lights and siren about ten minutes later.
Two of them now occupied her kitchen island, attired in crisp uniforms. Both drinking coffee, but only one took notes.
The younger of the two had the clipboard and pen. He scribbled down her answers as she said them.
"So you're involved in a murder trial," the younger officer said.
"Not odd since I'm a prosecutor."
The next fifteen minutes went on like that until Lauren understood how some of her witnesses felt when they took the stand.
Drained, she showed the officers' out.
Then fell into bed and a dreamless sleep.
***
The next day dawned a little gray and it couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to rain or not.
Lauren drove to the courthouse for her early meeting with Claire and her lawyer, but part of her mind was on the threat the night before this. Who would benefit if the charges against Claire were dropped? Besides Claire? Ethan? What was his stake in all this?
No answers came to her.
A dark cloud sat over the courthouse threatening to open up and drench anyone foolish enough to be outside. The threat seemed odd, but not really dangerous.
She couldn't move to dismiss without her boss' approval. That would never happen. A high profile case in an election year was guaranteed to take place.
The courthouse sported several small rooms for lawyers and their clients to meet. Claire and Brad occupied one such room down the hall from the courtroom where the trial was taking place. This room contained a metal table and four chairs.
Claire once again looked like she was playing dress up with her mother's clothes. No tears stained her face. Instead she sprawled on the chair, her arms crossed, as if she dared anyone to question her.
Lauren sat down across from the young girl. "Anybody need coffee or the bathroom before we start?"
Claire shrugged. Brad flashed his toothpaste ad smile. "I'm good, though I think this is highly unusual. No new evidence has been presented."
"And if we find something else out, we can decide how to deal with it," Lauren said. "I'm just as interested in a fair trial as you are."
Brad snorted, but indicated Lauren should continue.
"Claire, I just wanted to ask some questions of you before we get to court."
"Fine," Claire said.
Lauren thought back to her own teen years. Had she been this belligerent? Not the same situation, she knew, but still, Claire could show some respect.
At Claire's age, Lauren was headed for an Ivy League school, not the state penitentiary. Might have an effect an Claire's outlook. She should be getting ready for college. Instead she was prepping for a trial.
"I understand your story is that John Sheffield raped you and that you killed him in self-defense," Lauren said.
Claire glanced at Brad then nodded.
"Okay. Are you still willing to stick with that story?"
Lauren wanted to give this girl every chance she could to come clean. All the Brad had to do was put a reasonable doubt in the jurors' minds for Claire to be found not guilty. Lauren was sure enough about her case and her abilities that she could get the conviction.
She just wasn't sure that was the right answer in this case. For once she wasn't completely sure of the defendant's guilt.
"Of course we're sticking with that," Brad said. He stood. "This was a waste of time. You're going to badger my client on the witness stand so why do you need to badger her now."
Lauren couldn't give him an answer. She didn't want to voice her concerns. If she had to try this case, she would give it everything she had. Nor would she give the defense any ammunition to declare a mistrial.
Lauren frowned. "I just want to give Claire a chance if she wants to change her story. You don't want any surprises during the trial do you?"
"No, but I think I've vetted my client just fine," Brad said. "I have no idea where this is coming from and I find it highly unusual."
Lauren could not disagree so she let Brad and his client leave.
***
Waiting in the courtroom for Ethan to appear, Lauren tried to remain calm. Not sure what he would do or say, she hoped he would keep to the decorum of the trial. No grandstanding like he asked Brad not to do.
"All rise," the bailiff said.
Lauren stood. Ethan entered, robes swirling more like a magician instead of a judge.
"Be seated," Ethan said when he'd situation himself and his robes behind the bench.
Claire sat down in a not so hostile posture. Brad must have coached her to look less like an obnoxious teen and more like a lost little girl.
That's what Lauren would have done.
"Is the prosecution ready to call its first witness?" Ethan asked.
"I am your honor," Lauren said. "I call Officer Jeffrey Landon to the stand."
Dressed in his patrol blues, Landon strode to the sta
nd. He swore on a Bible then took his seat. Lauren could not have asked for a more credible witness.
She started her questioning.
"Please state your name for the court," she said.
"Corporal Jeffrey Landon, ma'am," he said.
"Corporal Landon, were you the first on the scene of the murder?"
"I was the first officer on scene, ma'am."
"What brought you to the Sheffield residence?"
"A health and welfare call," he said.
He sat straight, his thousand watts stared directed right at Lauren. He spoke to her and not the jury. She actually admired that.
"What is a health and welfare call?"
"It's when someone calls in and asks for a police officer to stop by someone's house. This is usually done for the elderly to check that they are alive."
"But Mr. Sheffield is not elderly."
"No, he isn't, but an employee of his couldn't get a hold of him so was concerned. Mr. Sheffield is known in the community so when I had a spare moment I went and checked on him."
"Do you know what time it was?"
"It was about 10:30 that night, but my report will state the correct time."
Lauren strode to her table. Finding a folder, she brought it to Officer Landon. "Is this your report?"
He took it, leafing through it. "Yes."
"What time does it say?"
"10:35."
She took the papers from him. "Exhibit A, your honor."
Ethan took it, but didn't look at it.
"What did you find when you got to the Sheffield residence?"
"The front door was unlocked. I called out to Mr. Sheffield and received no answer. I entered the residence."
Lauren paced away then turned back to Landon. "What did you find in the residence?"
"I found Mr. Sheffield in a pile of his own blood. I checked, but he had no pulse."
"Did you see a knife near the body?"
"No, ma'am."
"Do you know if a knife was missing from his kitchen?"
"When I interviewed his son, he said that there was a knife missing from the kitchen. His father had some expensive knives he kept in a block on the counter. One slot was empty."
"Thank, Corporal Landon. No further questions." She turned to Brad. "Your witness."