We went silent. All I could think to say was, “I spent some time with Valerie this weekend.”
For the first time, Martin Bristol seemed to brighten. His spine straightened; his hands gripped the arms of the chair. “How is she?”
“I suppose the same. She’s scared. She said she didn’t kill Amanda.”
Martin Bristol sat back and nodded very slowly. “And what do you think?”
Maggie, who was paging through a transcript and taking notes, groaned.
I pointed at her. “My friend tells me that it doesn’t matter.”
“Normally, it doesn’t, certainly not at first. In most instances, you’re not talking about guilt or innocence right away, it’s about information. You’re the information pipeline to the legal system. You have to explain to your client what they’re charged with, what that charge means, what the sentence could be.”
“And what happens after all that? What if the defendant tells you they’re innocent?”
“It’s complicated. If your client tells you they’re innocent, the situation you face then is to analyze the evidence against them, and explain whether it’s overwhelming or something you can defend against. You never know at the beginning. You truly don’t. You look under every rock for the evidence. You ask—is it possible they have the wrong guy? And if so, how can I show that? If the evidence really is too mountainous to overcome, you explain that to your client. If the guilt is so manifest then all you can do is mitigate at that point. You might agree to a natural life sentence. Or if it’s something like murder, maybe you argue their act doesn’t warrant first degree. Maybe the circumstances around the crime help explain it.” A pause. “In this case, I do believe Valerie.”
We sat in silence for a moment. Then I had to ask, “Martin, why did you take this case?”
I saw Maggie go still.
When he said nothing, I continued. “Valerie had another lawyer, right? A good one. Jayne Krepps?”
Martin nodded. “After I heard about Valerie’s case, I asked to meet her. After talking to her, I knew Valerie didn’t do it. I knew it. And I wasn’t sure if Jayne understood that.”
“So sometimes it does matter to you—the innocence or guilt?”
“Yes.”
“You took the case pro bono. Why?”
“I learned Valerie was taking out a loan with ridiculously high interest in order to pay Jayne.” He shook his head. “She couldn’t afford it.”
“Sounds like you’re getting sentimental, Marty,” Maggie said in a light tone.
He smiled. “Don’t underestimate me, dearest Margaret.”
They both laughed. A light moment. But I had a question I just had to ask. “If Valerie didn’t kill Amanda, then who did?”
Maggie closed the trial book and leaned back on her hands, waiting for her grandfather’s answer.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
“But you said that it did matter to you.”
“What mattered to me was that I felt she did not kill Amanda Miller. Who did is not really of interest.”
“I know that’s technically true. We don’t have to prove who killed her. We only have to prove that they don’t have evidence beyond a reasonable doubt that Valerie did.”
“Correct.”
When nothing else was forthcoming, I said, “I don’t know how you do this. Don’t you have to know—morally—who did it? Even if you don’t have to ultimately prove it?”
Martin Bristol gave a short shake of his head. “This is not about morality. Do I think it’s moral that someone may have killed her best friend? Of course not. Do I think that an accused person deserves, like all citizens, to have counsel? To make sure her constitutional rights are upheld? To make sure she gets the correct due process we are all entitled to? Yes.”
I sighed. “Civil and criminal law are so entirely different. In a civil lawsuit, there isn’t such a shield between attorney and client. We want to know everything.”
Martin Bristol stared at me with a reddish, tired tinge to his eyes. “Izzy, I need you to try this case to the best of your abilities. You don’t need to know who killed Amanda. You just need to prove that Valerie didn’t.”
None of us said anything. Martin’s words posed a silent question to me: Can you handle it? The case wasn’t going to resemble a civil suit. So could I get on board or not?
“Okay,” I said. “I’m in.”
30
On Monday morning, I was wide-awake at 5:00 a.m. and sitting on the couch in my living room, surrounded by paper. With Theo asleep, I went over the notes I’d made from the talk with my father and those I’d taken during my conversation with Martin and Maggie yesterday, while I crafted and recrafted my cross-examination of Detective Vaughn.
For each point, I searched for some way to sneak up on Vaughn and get him to admit things. Then I pretended I was Vaughn—I tried to jump into his mind and think of how he could dodge my questions, then ways I could pin him back down. I studied Vaughn’s grand jury testimony and later his testimony in a motion filed on Valerie’s behalf. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much there, since testimony like that was brief and relatively pro forma.
An hour later, light from my bedroom hallway poured into the living room, startling me. I glanced up. Theo stepped into the room, his body covered in nothing but a loosely wrapped towel.
“You’re up early,” he said, making his way to me. I moved some of the transcripts and he sat.
“Do you ever wear clothes?”
“Every day. But around you? Not so much.”
I laughed. “What about around other women?” I had no idea why I said it. I shook my head. “Ignore that question.”
He shrugged one shoulder, looking a little amused. “I can answer it.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m really not a jealous person.” It was true. Except for Alyssa and Sam, I had rarely been jealous. “Or is the right word envious? Would I be envious if you were always naked around other women or would I be jealous?”
Theo pursed his beautiful mouth a little and looked straight ahead. “Hmm. Well, I’m the one who dropped out of college, but if I had to guess I’d say they’re both kind of the same, but envy is worse. Envy means you would take something away from someone else.”
“So the question is whether I would take you away from another woman?”
“That’s a good question.” He turned to me, smiled. The towel around his waist slipped a little.
I scooted toward him, wrapped my arms around him. “I would,” I whispered into his mouth. “So I would be envious.”
“We don’t want that.” He kissed me.
A moment later, he was pulling off the T-shirt I’d slept in, and I was climbing on top of him. But then I caught a glance of the transcripts.
“Wait!” I said. “I can’t.”
“Can’t?” He caught one of my earlobes between his lips and gave it a gentle suck.
I pulled away, pointing to the transcripts. “I cannot.” I yanked the T-shirt back over my head. “Do you know who I’m cross-examining this morning?”
“That asshole Vaughn.”
I smiled. That was the way I referred to Detective Vaughn—an exception to my no-swearing rule—and I liked that Theo had picked up the lingo. Theo had also been interrogated by Detective Vaughn after Jane had been killed. “Exactly. This is my chance to get him back for both of us. To destroy him!”
Theo blinked at my vehemence, then burst into laughter. I couldn’t help it. I did, too. He pulled me back into his lap and hugged me. “I thought that giving you a little action this morning would calm you down.”
“But I—”
“I know, I know. You don’t want to be calmed down. I can see that.”
I told him I needed my anger, my excitement, to be at the top of my game. “If this had been a civil case, Marty and Maggie would have deposed Vaughn for hours by now. Without that, I’m flying blind, and Vaughn is going to try and shoot me from the sky.”
W
ith that reminder, I extricated myself from Theo and reluctantly went to shower.
When I got to the courtroom, I told Maggie about the sky/shooting metaphor.
She crinkled her nose. “No, no. It’s not like that at all. It’s more like a bullfight.”
“Who’s the bull?”
“He’s the bull.”
“So I’m the puny guy in tights with a red cape?”
“Listen to me. You’re the bullfighter, and he’s the bull. You’ve both been here before. The prodding and taunting of him is part of your profession. Just know he’s going to charge back and try to kill you.”
“So far, this isn’t helping.”
Maggie put a hand on my shoulder. “When the bullfighter lets himself get angry or loses his focus, the bull seizes on it and rams him.” She smacked a fist into the palm of her other hand. She leaned closer. “So don’t let him piss you off. Don’t let him fluster you. Or even better, let him think he’s pissing you off, then go in with your sword.”
“For the kill.” I started bouncing on my toes a little like a boxer.
“For the kill.”
“Got it,” I said, then again, “Got it.” Suddenly, I stopped and looked at Maggie. “Doesn’t the bull usually die?”
She nodded.
I smiled.
Just as I was expecting Vaughn to be led into the room, the judge tossed off a quick question from the bench. “Any housekeeping matters to take care of before the first witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Ellie Whelan said, standing from counsel’s table. Ellie, in a navy blue suit, stepped up to the judge. “Your Honor, we have a motion in limine.”
The judge frowned. “Why wasn’t this motion heard prior to trial beginning?”
“We apologize, Judge. We just learned some information yesterday that we felt was highly pertinent and which must be addressed before today’s testimony.”
Ellie looked excited, practically clicking her heels together. “Our motion has to do with prohibiting counsel for the defense—” she turned and pointed directly at me “—from cross-examining Detective Vaughn.”
The judge looked confused.
Ellie pushed on. “Specifically, we’re referring to Isabel McNeil, who only entered an appearance in this case last Thursday. As a result, we only learned this information over the weekend and this morning.”
“What information is that?” The judge sounded irritated.
“Ms. McNeil was investigated by Detective Vaughn.”
The courtroom went silent. The judge’s eyes shot to mine. Next to me, I saw Maggie hang her head, then bristle and shake it back angrily.
“Ms. McNeil was a ‘person of interest’—” Ellie made air quotes with her hands “—on the Jane Augustine case, just a few months ago. I’m sure you’ve heard of it, Judge. A local broadcaster was killed.”
The judge’s eyes stayed on mine.
I bit my lip. Mother hen in a basket.
Ellie Whelan wasn’t done with her argument, which meant it wasn’t our turn to talk yet. I glanced at Maggie and saw her give me a Don’t say anything look. I felt relieved. I hadn’t seen this curveball coming, and despite myself I felt embarrassed. I wasn’t sure how to respond.
“Ms. McNeil was investigated by Detective Vaughn for that murder,” Ellie continued. “She clearly has bias against him, she is hostile to him, and she should not be allowed to question this witness.”
Now I was no longer embarrassed, just pissed off and ready to talk about it. I stood and opened my mouth, but Maggie stood with me and shot me a Don’t look.
“Your Honor,” Maggie said, “this is an inane and ridiculous attack on my cocounsel. Whether I have received a ticket from a police officer or had any other involvement with the police on an unrelated manner has no correlation whatsoever as to whether or not I might cross-examine them.”
“Well, this is a little different, counsel,” the judge said, but he was still looking at me. “I remember that case, and it was a rather big one.”
“Big, small, it doesn’t matter, Judge. The point is that, as lawyers, we are able to put our personal issues aside and do our job, just like you, Your Honor. Every day, you put aside personal judgment in order to sit in with an unbiased look at your courtroom and your cases.” I liked the buttering up she was doing. And from the way the judge finally turned his full attention to Maggie, it appeared he might, too.
Maggie continued on, arguing other points, asserting the state was floundering for advantage because of their weak case, her voice growing, points punctuated with stabs of her finger into the air.
When she slowed for a second, Ellie Whelan tried to pipe in with a comment, but the judge held up a hand to her and looked at me. “I’d like to hear from you, counsel.”
I swallowed hard, then spoke up. “Your Honor, I was a witness in the case concerning Ms. Augustine. I was never a suspect.”
I had found Jane dead, I told him. Then I paused a moment. I couldn’t stop the torrent of images that always hit me when I talked about it—of smiling, confident Jane at the anchor desk; the snapshot of Jane, happy, on a Chicago roof deck, days before her death, her hair hanging in shiny sheets of black on either side of her face, framing her mauve-blue eyes; Jane strangled with a red scarf, her head beaten; Jane’s blood, pooled around her…
I forced my mind back to the present. “I met with the police on a number of occasions to try and establish who had perpetrated the crime,” I continued. “And as Your Honor probably knows, the person who killed Jane was identified within weeks of her death. I believe that person has entered a guilty plea, and the only matter remaining is sentencing.” I took a breath and shot a glare at Ellie Whelan. “The fact is, that entirely unconnected case is being used to try and halt the administration of justice in this case. As my cocounsel said, this is ridiculous.”
I caught the anger swooping up inside me and threw a figurative bucket of water on it, dropping my angry tone. If I let myself go any further, I’d be proving the state’s point—that I couldn’t be impartial in matters relating to Vaughn.
Ellie Whelan tried to jump in. “If I may, Judge—”
I held up my hand. “Counsel, I’m not finished.” I shot her a Don’t mess with me glance and was gratified when she shut up. “Judge, I am generally a civil litigator, and I have been doing a lot of watching and learning over the past few days. What I’ve observed about the criminal justice world—” I waved my hand around the courtroom “—is that all of you seem to know each other very well.” I pointed at Ellie. “Counsel here clearly appears in front of you nearly every day on other cases, and yet we’re not throwing up a motion in limine saying she shouldn’t be able to handle this case, because you two have met before.” I pointed at Tania now, and then Maggie. “I’m also willing to bet that both the state and even my cocounsel have run into some of these detectives before on other cases or they probably will in the future. But will that prevent them from doing their job? No. Of course not. The fact that an attorney knows a witness does not prevent them from cross-examining them.” I actually wasn’t sure about the case law here, but it sounded right, and so I continued. “For Ms. Whelan to suggest that I cannot handle the task I have been given this morning because I have met Detective Vaughn in the past is not only incorrect, it is insulting. I am a lawyer, Your Honor. And I’d like to be able to do my job.”
Ellie Whelan couldn’t keep her silence anymore. “Judge, this motion…”
But the judge interrupted her. “No further argument. Based on what I’ve heard and Ms. McNeil’s personal assurances on this matter, the motion in limine is denied. Counsel, call your witness.”
31
Valerie was brought into the courtroom for the day’s testimony. I smiled reassuringly at her, and she returned the smile with a grateful nod, but then she looked away. I’d hoped we might continue our conversation from Saturday, but it clearly wasn’t going to happen now.
As we waited for the state’s attorneys to fetch
Vaughn and put him on the stand, the courtroom door opened again.
“It’s Q!” Maggie said.
Sure enough, there was my former assistant, dressed in tan pants and a blue jacket that nicely set off his black skin.
“Do I have time to say hi?” I asked Maggie.
“Yeah. Tell him hi for me, too.”
I pushed through the Plexiglas and hurried to the back where Q was still standing. “You’re here!” I gave him a hug.
“Of course I’m here.”
I’d texted with Q this morning while I was working on Vaughn’s cross, hoping the fact that Q and I used to work together on trials would get my mojo rolling. It had, and Q said he’d come watch.
He looked around the courtroom now. “Who are the big players?”
It was what he always used to ask, and I pointed out Valerie, told him about the state’s attorneys.
“How’s your jury?” he asked.
“Good, I think.”
Q sighed and ran his hand over his head. He’d never gotten used to the fact that he was balding and decided to shave his remaining hair off. I’m still a hairy beast in my mind, he used to say. “I miss the law,” he said now.
“You do not. You never wanted to be in it. You want to be an actor.”
“That dream has died.”
“Well, don’t let it. You’ve got time now to go on auditions and take classes.”
He shook his head. “It died because I’m not really that into it anymore.”
“What are you into?”
Another shake. “All I know is I miss working. I miss working with you. I miss all the trouble you were always causing.”
“I wasn’t causing trouble.” The truth was, trouble usually found me. Either I didn’t code my billable hours correctly or my client entertainment receipts were too large because Forester loved the best restaurants and the best bottles of wine. It used to rattle me when the powers-that-be pointed their fingers in my direction, but I’d gotten used to it. I gradually learned that the partners were calling me to the mat because it was disconcerting how much work I brought in as a young associate. They simply wanted to make sure I had it together and that I could handle it.
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