by Gail Bowen
Finally, the judge outlined the evidence presented during the trial, then without drama, the jury filed out to begin deliberations. After they left, there was the usual hubbub in the courtroom. A guard escorted Cronus down to the cell in the courthouse basement where he spent the periods of the day when court was not in session. The judge went back to her office. When the crowd thinned, I walked over to the table where Zack was sitting with his associate Chad Kichula.
It was the first time I’d met Chad, and as Zack introduced us, a smile played at the corner of his lips. Zack had told me Chad was a rock star, and his description was right on the money. Tall and lean, with dark blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a dangerous smile, Chad was indisputably what Taylor and her friends called a stud muffin. The stud muffin and I shook hands and then he left the courtroom for the Barristers’ Lounge.
One of Zack’s favourite quotes was from a Regina prosecutor named Serge Kujawa. Kujawa said that speculating on what a jury was doing and why was a total waste of time, so he spent all his time speculating. As a rule, Zack wasn’t a speculator. He had an uncanny ability to leave a case at the courthouse, but that day I knew that he would carry the burden of this case with him until the verdict came in, and I was worried.
“Chad’s on duty,” I said. “Any chance we could go home for a swim?”
“Sorry, Ms. Shreve. I have to be here. If the jury asks the judge questions, I have to know her answers. I may not agree with her interpretation of the law and that could be a problem down the line.”
“If you don’t get rid of some of that tension, there’ll be another kind of problem down the line,” I said.
“Then I’ll have to deal with it. You know this is my job, Jo. During a trial everybody’s on call: the judge, the staff, the jurors, the Crown, the defence, and the defendant. I don’t want a mistrial because I was swimming when I should have been in the courtroom.”
Zack looked grey and spent. I wasn’t about to give up. “You trust Chad,” I said. “I’ll leave the phone by the pool. You can be back here in half an hour.”
“Madam Justice Cann will be pissed.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But you’ll be alive, and that’s pretty much all I care about.”
I won that small battle. Zack came home. We swam and he was back at the courthouse in a little over an hour, where he stayed until ten that night. I had a martini waiting for him. He thanked me for the thought, asked me to save the drink for the next day, and fell into bed.
The next morning we reached a compromise. Whenever Zack thought he could safely leave, he’d call me. There wasn’t much down time, but we made the most of what we had. If there was a two-hour lunch recess, we’d eat on the terrace and take a nap or I’d swing by Mieka’s and pick up the granddaughters for some grandparent time in the roof garden.
By Friday morning, there was still no verdict in the Cronus case and we were both on edge. I blinked first. “It’s been two full days,” I said. “What do you think is going on?”
“Probably one of the jurors is holding out,” Zack said. “I’ve been running through their faces in my mind, trying to figure which one of them seemed sympathetic.”
“Does it matter?”
“Nope.” Zack’s smile was self-mocking. “I just get off on playing head games with myself.”
I laughed. “What happens if the juror continues to hold out?”
“The foreperson will announce that the jury is unable to reach a verdict, and the Crown will have the option of running a new trial.”
“And you’ll be back to square one.”
“Not really. The Crown will almost certainly decide to run a new trial, and there are things I’ll do differently. Of course, there are things Linda will do differently, too.”
“But for Cronus, anything is better than a guilty verdict.”
“Yes, but we’re not home free yet. Peer pressure is powerful. It’s hard to withstand the arguments and the frustrations of people you’ve been working with closely – especially when there’s so much at stake.”
“So we just cross our fingers and hope for the best?”
“That’s the usual legal advice,” Zack said dryly.
That afternoon, we were coming home from a late lunch when Chad Kichula called. The verdict was in.
“Time to go back to work,” Zack said.
“Do you want me to come to court with you?”
“I’d be glad to have you there. Cronus isn’t going to have a lot of friends in that room.”
“You think the jury will convict him?” I said.
“There are always surprises.” Zack said, but he didn’t sound as if he was expecting one.
When we got to the courthouse, it seemed that we weren’t the only ones caught off guard. Linda Fritz’s hair was damp. “I was at the gym,” she said.
“I’ll stay down wind,” Zack said.
Linda’s look would have curdled milk. “I showered,” she said.
Zack opened his arms wide. “In that case …”
Linda turned to me. “How do you put up with him?” She didn’t stick around for an answer. Zack shrugged, then wheeled down the corridor to get his barrister’s robe and I headed for Courtroom B.
I was able to get a good seat again. I’d just pulled out my BlackBerry to check for messages when Cronus was brought in. He was dressed more casually than usual – in slacks, a crisp, casual-Friday cotton shirt, and loafers. He looked like the average guy, exactly the look Zack had been pressing for all along.
When Cronus strode to the prisoner’s box, I saw that his face was drawn and dark circles of sweat were spreading under the armpits of his summer shirt. After the lawyers had taken their places, the jury filed in, and then finally Madam Justice Rebecca Cann entered. The courtroom was packed, and the tension was palpable, but the protocol that governed the delivery of the verdict was low-key.
The court clerk addressed the jury: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?”
The jury foreperson, a balding man who seemed to have grown smaller and more bent during the days of the trial, stood and announced that the jury had indeed agreed upon a verdict.
As Cronus stood to hear his fate, his hands were trembling. So were mine.
Then it was the court clerk’s turn: “How say you? Do you find the accused guilty or not guilty on the charge of first degree murder?”
“Not guilty,” the jury foreperson said.
“Do you find the accused guilty or not guilty on the charge of second degree murder?”
“Not guilty,” the jury foreperson said.
Cronus closed his eyes and exhaled. Chad Kichula and two other associates from Falconer Shreve who had come to watch clapped Zack on the back. It was over. Except for one puzzling coda. As the jury filed out, the very old woman who had dozed during much of the testimony made sure she caught Zack’s eye and then she winked. Zack’s nod of acknowledgement was barely perceptible.
The associates formed a wedge in front of Zack and Cronus so they were able to get out of the courtroom. I joined them in the lobby. I offered Cronus my congratulations. “I really am innocent, Joanne,” he said.
“I know you are,” I said. “I’m glad the verdict went your way.”
“So am I,” Cronus said.
“Well. that’s that,” Zack said, shrugging off his robe. He turned to Chad and the other associates. “Keep the media away from Cronus till he gets to his car. After that go out and have a great dinner. Charge it to Falconer Shreve.”
Zack looked up at me. “Show’s over,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. Boy, I never figured the old lady would be our salvation.”
I took his robe. “You always say, ‘It only takes one.’ ”
“True enough,” Zack said. “All that matters is that the puck goes into the net, and the red light goes on.”
Having decided to wait till the next morning to drive to the lake, we were in bed and asleep by seven-thirty. We awoke to an acutely be
autiful day – cloudless, bright, and warm. Zack and I turned towards each other and embraced wordlessly. Seemingly, the verdict had lifted the heaviness that had been weighing on us since the trial began.
As always, I met Leland at the elevator, and he, too, seemed light-hearted. “I almost stood you up this morning,” he said. “I didn’t want to leave Margot.”
“The good thing about being married is that Margot will be waiting when you come back,” I said.
Leland met my eyes. “I’m a lucky man, Joanne.”
We exchanged a quick smile of camaraderie and stepped into the elevator. As we began our run, the sun was hot but there was breeze enough to keep us comfortable. Except for the sound of our footfalls hitting the sidewalk in unison, the world was silent. It was a perfect day for running.
Just as we turned onto Osler Street, Leland grabbed my arm. “Look out, Jo.”
I glanced down and saw an ugly shard of glass from a broken liquor bottle on the pavement in front of me. A second later, I heard a percussive sound, then another, then a third – very close together. I knew immediately that it was gunfire. I turned towards Leland. “Did you hear that?” I said. But Leland wasn’t there. I stopped and looked behind me. He’d fallen.
“Are you all right?” I asked, but I knew he wasn’t. He was crumpled on the pavement and blood was pooling around his head. His brilliant blue eyes were still open, but his lean and powerful body was unnaturally still. I knelt on the sidewalk. It was a replay of the morning Leland and I had run to help April Stonechild, but this time, I knew I couldn’t harm Leland by moving his body. I knelt, lifted his head on to my knees, and then hit Zack’s number on speed-dial. He picked up almost immediately. “Leland’s been shot,” I said. I looked up at the building nearest me for the address. “We’re at 630 Osler Street.” Then I broke the connection and sat cradling Leland’s head in my lap until the piercing bleat of the sirens grew louder and then, when the ambulance found us, fell silent.
With April Stonechild, the EMT technicians had been deliberate and thorough, but their treatment of Leland seemed almost casual. They checked his vital signs, and then finding no sign of life, one of the technicians gently closed Leland’s eyelids and shut his jaw. When the EMT team lifted Leland’s body onto a gurney, covered it, and stowed it in the ambulance, I didn’t move. They turned their attention to me: checking my pulse and blood pressure and asking me questions that were designed to elicit information about how I was handling trauma. A female technician with a broad, kind face and a gentle voice took charge. “You’ve had a terrible experience. The police want to talk to you, but we think it would be best if they waited until we could get you stabilized at the hospital.”
“I want to go home,” I said. My voice was dead.
A young police constable stepped forward. He was firm but kind. “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Can you tell me your name?”
“Joanne Shreve.”
“What happened, Joanne?”
“Someone shot him,” I said. I looked past the officer’s shoulder and saw the ambulance carrying Leland start its unhurried passage down Osler Street. There were no flashing lights. This was no longer an emergency. The young constable asked me again to tell him what happened, but I couldn’t see the point of answering. The story was over.
I saw Zack coming down the sidewalk and pushed myself to my feet. “That’s my husband,” I said. “I’m going home now.”
A female police officer stopped Zack a few metres away. “Stay where you are, sir,” she said. “This is a crime scene.”
“Fair enough,” Zack said, stopping his chair. “But my wife wants to go home.”
The officer took a step towards Zack. “You’re Zack Shreve, the lawyer.”
Zack nodded. “I am.”
“Then you know it’s essential that we talk to your wife. She was the last person to see Leland Hunter alive, and she’s the only witness. There’s the possibility a fragment of a bullet may have exited Mr. Hunter’s body, so we need to check Ms. Shreve’s clothing for residual evidence. I’d also like to run a GSR test.”
Zack scowled. “Oh, come on.”
I turned to him. “What’s a GSR test?”
“It’s a test to see if a person has fired a gun recently.” Zack glared at the officer. “And in this case it’s totally unnecessary.” He turned to me. “Joanne, you’re under no legal obligation to permit the officer to administer the test.”
The young constable ignored Zack and addressed me. “It’s a simple test. No more intrusive than having your hands wiped by a moist towelette. And, Joanne, by eliminating you, we can make sure we’re looking for the killer as soon as possible.”
I held out my hands. Another officer, this one older, came over to conduct the test. He started to explain what he was about to do, but I cut him off. “I don’t care,” I said, “just do it.”
When the GSR test was over, I turned back to the young constable. “Leland and I were running together,” I said. “He said, ‘Look out’ and grabbed my arm. I thought he was warning me about a broken bottle on the sidewalk. There were three shots. Leland fell. I went back to him, but he was dead. Can I go home now?”
As I walked towards my husband I felt as if I was encased in ice.
Zack took my hand and turned to the young constable who’d been interviewing me. “Here’s what I propose,” Zack said. “My wife has given you what she can, and she voluntarily submitted to the GSR test. I’m concerned about her. I’d like to take her to our family doctor.” He took out his cell. “I’m going to call Inspector Haczkewicz in Major Crimes. I’ll describe the situation and ask her if it’s possible to interview Joanne more fully later. Then I’ll hand the phone to you, and if you have concerns you can relay them to the inspector. Is that acceptable?”
When Zack put his cell back in his jacket pocket, the officer said, “We have to make certain your wife’s clothing is handled in a way that will ensure continuity of the evidence. I’ll send a female officer home with you to get your wife’s clothing. Inspector Haczkewicz will make arrangements with you for the interview.” I hadn’t been paying attention to the call. One thought pushed everything else away.
“Zack, how are we going to tell Margot?”
Zack stroked my hand and looked at the officer. “I’m going to call Margot Hunter. I don’t want her to hear about Leland from a stranger.”
Zack’s conversation with Margot was brief. I stood next to him, but it seemed as though he was speaking from a great distance. When he broke the connection, he turned to me. “She wants to go the hospital to see him.”
I remembered Leland’s unseeing blue eyes staring at the sky. “That’s a mistake,” I said.
“It’s Margot’s choice,” Zack said. “We’re going to have play this by ear, Joanne. Now let’s get you home.”
As soon as we crossed the threshold of our condo, I headed for the bedroom. Constable Lerat, who had followed us in a squad car, was close behind me. When I began to peel off my T-shirt, she slipped on a pair of surgical gloves and said, “I’ll help you with that.”
She dropped each item of my clothing into a separate clear plastic bag and marked the bag with an identifying notation. When I was naked, she said, “Well, that’s it. Can I get you a robe?”
I looked at the smears of blood on my body, “I need to shower.”
“I’ll send your husband in to help you,” Constable Lerat said.
When I stepped out of the shower, Zack was there with a towel and my favourite pair of flannelette pyjamas.
I put them on and got into bed. Zack moved close. “Could you stay with me till I fall asleep?” I asked.
Zack smiled. “Sure.”
I don’t know how long I slept, but when I awoke, Zack, who was always in motion – thumbing his BlackBerry, making phone calls, scribbling on legal briefs – was exactly where he’d been when I lay down. “Welcome back,” he said.
Hearing Zack’s voice, and seeing his silhouette in sharp rel
ief against the sunny window, I felt the comfort of the familiar. Then the memories engulfed me. “Leland’s dead, isn’t he?” I said.
Zack nodded. “I heard one of the EMT guys tell a cop that it was over in an instant. Leland didn’t suffer, Jo.”
“We don’t know that,” I said, and I was surprised at the anger in my voice.
Zack rubbed my shoulder. “Can I get you anything? Some tea?”
“I can make tea,” I said. I slid out of bed and walked towards the kitchen. One of my running shoes had left a faint track of blood on the floor. I soaked a towel, cleaned the blood off, then dropped the towel in the garbage.
Zack’s eyes never left me. “Do you want me to call Henry Chan?” he said.
“Why?”
“He could give you something to help you get through the next few days. You’re going to have to do a lot of things that you won’t want to do. Debbie will be over later. Margot will want to know exactly what happened, and she’s going to need us to be here for her. And we’ll have to tell Taylor and do what we can to help Declan. I know you’re strong, Jo, but everybody has a breaking point. There’s no shame in getting a little help.”
I shrugged. “If you think it’s necessary, give Henry a call.”
Zack called Henry’s office. “He’s sending a prescription for Ativan to the pharmacy on Broad Street. But he does want to see you. Gina says he can squeeze you in after lunch. Will you be okay here alone while I pick up the prescription?”
“Doesn’t that pharmacy deliver?” I said.
“Not as fast as I do,” Zack said.
After Zack left, I went back to our room and stared at myself in the full-length mirror. Running with Leland had been good for my body. “You can get through this,” I said to the tanned, strong-looking woman in the mirror. And for about thirty seconds, I convinced myself that it was true.