8
Leigh braced herself as she walked toward the conference room. Instead of trying to anticipate the interesting things that Reggie Paltz had to say, she silently recited her Andrew Hypothesis: when Andrew was a kid, he had found Buddy’s camera behind the bar. After his father had disappeared, he’d seen Callie worrying the femoral artery diagram in the textbook. For some unknown reason, at some point, the two memories had collided, and now he was out there copying his own sick interpretation of his father’s murder.
A bead of sweat rolled down the back of Leigh’s neck. The hypothesis didn’t seem as strong with Andrew less than twenty feet away. She was giving him a lot of credit for making the connection. There was no such thing as a criminal mastermind. Leigh was missing a detail, a B that connected the A and C.
Bradley’s UGA handmaiden cleared her throat.
Leigh was standing like a statue in front of the closed conference room door. She gave the woman a nod before going inside.
The room looked the same, though the flowers in the heavy glass vase had started to wilt. Andrew was at the fireplace end of the conference table. A thick file folder was closed in front of him. Light blue, not the sort that they used at the firm. Reggie Paltz was two chairs away. The set-up was familiar from their previous meeting. Reggie was working on his laptop. Andrew was frowning at his phone. Neither was masked.
When Leigh closed the door, Andrew was the first to look up. She caught his expression mid-transformation. Irritated one moment, completely soulless the next.
“My apologies for being late.” Leigh walked stiffly. Her body felt suspended in the same perpetual fight-or-flight mode as before. Her senses were heightened. Her muscles felt tensed. The urge to flee coursed through every molecule.
She bought herself some time as she found a pen in the cup on the credenza. She sat down in the same spot she’d taken two nights ago. Her two phones went flat to the table. She knew the only way to get through the next hour was to stick to business. “Reggie, what do you have for me?”
Andrew answered. “I remembered something Tammy told me at the bar.”
Leigh felt a sharp prickle of a warning trace up her spine. “What’s that?”
He let the question linger as he picked at the corner of the light blue file folder. The tick-tick-tick drew out the silence. Leigh estimated there were around one hundred pages inside. She knew instinctively that she didn’t want to know what they contained. And she also knew that Andrew wanted her to ask about them.
She heard Callie’s admonishment. You can’t play a game with somebody if they’re not willing to suit up.
Leigh did the opposite of suiting up. She raised an eyebrow, asking, “Andrew, what did Tammy tell you in the bar?”
He let another moment slip by, then said, “She was raped and had an abortion when she was sixteen years old.”
Leigh felt her nostrils flare as she worked to keep the shock off of her face.
He said, “It happened over the summer of 2006. The boy was on her debate team. They were at a camp in Hiawassee. She said that there was no way she could keep the baby, because she knew she would never love it.”
Leigh pressed together her lips. She had watched every frame of the ninety-eight-minute video. There was no point at which Tammy Karlsen was engaging in anything but light banter and flirting.
“You see the value of this information, I assume?” Andrew was watching her closely. The tick kept its steady rhythm. “Tammy Karlsen has falsely accused a man of rape before. She murdered her unborn child. Can the jury really believe a word she says?”
Leigh tried to look at him, but the open menace in his eyes broke her nerve. She didn’t know what to do but play along. She asked, “Reggie, what do you have to support this?”
The ticking stopped. Andrew was waiting.
“Yeah, uhm—” Reggie was a study in dishonesty, which told Leigh that he had obtained the information by dishonest means. “So, Andrew told me about—about how he remembered. So, I tracked down some of Karlsen’s high school friends. They confirmed the abortion. And that she told everybody she was raped.”
“Did the friends go on the record?” Leigh tested. “Are they willing to testify?”
Reggie shook his head, looking somewhere over Leigh’s shoulder. “They prefer to remain anonymous.”
Leigh nodded as if she accepted the explanation. “That’s too bad.”
“Well,” Reggie glanced at Andrew. “Still, you can legitimately ask Karlsen about it when she testifies. Like, has she ever had an abortion? Has she ever thought that she’s been raped before?”
Leigh pushed back on his armchair lawyering. “You have to lay down a foundation for asking the questions. Since none of Tammy’s friends will go under oath, I’ll need to put you on the stand, Reggie.”
Reggie scratched his goatee. He gave Andrew a nervous glance. “You could get it in otherwise. I mean—”
“No, you’ll do great,” Leigh said. “Walk me through your investigation. How many of Tammy’s friends did you speak with? How did you locate them? Did you talk to any counselors from the camp? Did Tammy file a complaint with the director? Was there a police report? What was the boy’s name? How far along was she? What clinic did she use? Who took her? Do her parents know?”
Reggie wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. “That’s, uh—those are—”
“He’ll be ready to go when you need him.” Andrew had not looked away from Leigh since she had entered the room, and he didn’t break off contact now. “Won’t you, Reg?”
The tick-tick-tick started up again.
Leigh watched Reggie’s throat work from across the room. She gathered from his silence that he was suddenly uncomfortable with his crimes. And crimes was the appropriate word. Private detectives were barred from using illegal means to gather information, just like attorneys were barred from using unlawfully obtained information in court. If Reggie went on the stand, he would be opening himself up to a perjury charge. If Leigh called him up knowing he was going to lie, she would be facing the same.
Andrew was trying to fuck them both over in plain sight.
He prodded, “Reg?”
“Yeah.” Reggie’s throat worked again as he swallowed. “Sure. I’ll be ready.”
“Good,” Andrew said. “What’s next?”
Tick-tick-tick.
“Just give me a minute to—” Leigh indicated her blank notepad. The pen clicked. She started writing nonsense words so that Andrew would think she was seriously contemplating losing her law license and being thrown in jail.
At least Cole Bradley’s absence from the meeting made sense. The slick bastard didn’t want to expose himself to prosecution, but he had no problem letting Leigh take the risk. He’d even tested her back in his office, asking her opinion on whether or not she felt comfortable suborning perjury with Sidney on the stand. Now, she had to work her shadow case against Andrew, plus the actual case, plus put on whatever dog and pony show Cole Bradley was expecting.
“All right.” With great difficulty, Leigh made herself look at Andrew. “Let’s go over your appearance in court. First, I want to talk to you about your presentation. What you’re going to wear, how you’re going to behave. You have to remember during voir dire that potential jurors are watching your every move. Do you have any questions about procedure?”
The ticking had stopped again. Something about Andrew’s posture held a warning. He took his time asking, “Voir dire?”
Leigh fell back into lawyer mode, launching into her usual speech. “Voir dire is the process by which each side gets to question prospective jurors. Generally, a pool of around fifty people is randomly selected. We’ll get an opportunity to question each person. We’ll be looking for perceived bias, backgrounds, qualifications, who we think will be sympathetic to our side—or not.”
“How do we know?” Andrew had broken her rhythm. She could tell he had done it on purpose. “What if they lie?”
“That’s a
good question.” Leigh had to stop to swallow. His voice was different, softer but still deep in register, the same way that Tammy had described. “All jurors have to fill out a questionnaire, which we’ll get access to ahead of time.”
“Can we investigate them?” Andrew asked. “Reggie can—”
“No, we don’t get enough time and it’s counter-productive.” One glance at Reggie told Leigh that he was on board with whatever Andrew wanted. She tried to move them away from another scheme to rig the system. “When prospective jurors are on the stand, they are under oath. They have to be honest, and judges will give you a lot of leeway to look for possible conflicts.”
Reggie said, “You should really get a jury consultant.”
“We’ve already discussed that.” Andrew kept his attention on Leigh. “What kind of questions will you ask?”
Leigh’s internal siren sounded an alert, but she listed off some of the possibilities. “The judge will ask some general questions first, like have you or a family member ever been the victim of a violent crime? Do you think you’re capable or incapable of being impartial? Then we’ll get into education, work experience, clubs or organizations they belong to, religious affiliation, whether there’s any relation between themselves and anyone on the case, whether or not they are prepared to hear graphic details about sexual assault, whether they’ve been sexually assaulted themselves.”
“Right,” Andrew said. “Will they have to talk about that? If they believe they’ve been sexually assaulted?”
Leigh shook her head. She didn’t know where this was going. “Sometimes.”
“And are you saying we do or we do not want those people on the jury?”
“It—” Her throat had gone dry again. “We get challenges, and—”
“I think the best strategy is to try to pull out the details. For instance, how old they were when it happened, whether it was child abuse or—” He paused. “Forgive me, is there a difference between a sex act with, say, a teenager and one with an adult?”
Leigh couldn’t speak. She could only look at his mouth. Tammy Karlsen had talked about the derisive curl of his lips behind the ski mask. Now, he was clearly enjoying the fact that he was making Leigh squirm.
He continued, “Because it seems to me that a person who had a sexual experience as a teenager wouldn’t necessarily be inclined to believe an adult sexual experience that got a little out of hand is a bad thing.”
Leigh bit her lip to keep herself from correcting him. Nothing had gotten a little out of hand. Tammy had nearly been destroyed. Andrew had known exactly what he was doing.
“Something to think about.” Andrew shrugged, but even the up and down movement of his shoulder was tightly controlled. “You’re the expert. I leave the decision to you.”
Leigh stood up. She walked over to the credenza. A mini fridge was behind the cabinet door. She took out a bottle of water, asking Andrew, “Thirsty?”
For the first time, light flickered behind his eyes. His excitement was almost palpable, like a predator stalking fresh prey. He was soaking in her discomfort, reveling in her anxiety.
Leigh turned her back to him. Her hands were trembling so badly that she could barely twist the cap on the water bottle. She took a long drink. She sat back down. She returned to the safety of her well-rehearsed speech.
“So, as I was saying, we get a specified number of challenges to dismiss jurors, some for cause, some for people we just don’t like. The prosecutor gets the same number. At the end of the process, we’ll have twelve jurors and two alternates picked for your trial.”
Leigh’s breath ran on the last word. She coughed, trying to cover her jitters. “Sorry.”
Andrew’s dark gaze covered her face like a veil as she took another drink from the bottle.
She continued, “One of our associates, Jacob Gaddy, will be second chairing me. He’ll navigate the paperwork and some of the procedural details. I’ll use him to interview a few of the witnesses. At the table, I’ll sit on your right, Jacob will be on your left. He’s your attorney, too, so if you have any questions or comments while I’m performing interviews, then direct them to Jacob.”
Andrew said nothing.
She kept going. “During voir dire, all of your potential jurors will be watching you. The case can be won or lost in that moment, so I need you on best behavior. Hair trimmed, nails clean, face shaved. Make sure you have at least four clean suits ready. I expect the trial will last three days, but it’s good to be prepared. Wear the same mask every day. The one you had on yesterday from the dealership is fine.”
Reggie stirred in his chair.
Leigh willed him to stay silent, telling Andrew, “The judge will probably give you the option of taking off your mask once the trial starts. We can go over the rules if it comes to that. Keep your expression as neutral as possible. You need to show the jury you respect women. So when I talk, you need to listen to me. Pull out my chair. Carry any boxes—”
“Wouldn’t that look bad?” Reggie chose this moment to contribute to the defense. “I mean, some jurors might think Andy’s putting on an act, right? So, what you’re talking about, the sharp suit and the slick haircut? All of that could turn the jury against him.”
“It’s hard to know.” Leigh shrugged, but she found herself wondering about Reggie’s motivations. This clearly wasn’t a blackmail situation. Otherwise, Reggie would’ve kept his mouth shut and let Andrew burn in whatever fire Leigh was trying to set. That left money. Reggie had agreed to perjure himself on the stand. He knew that could mean anything from losing his license to losing his freedom. The risk must’ve had a very high reward.
She told Andrew, “This is your trial. It’s up to you. I can only make recommendations.”
Reggie tried another pop quiz. “Would you put him on the stand?”
“It’s his decision,” Leigh said. “But if you want my opinion, no. He’s not likely to come across well. Women won’t like him.”
Reggie guffawed. “Dude can’t walk through a bar without every bitch in the room giving him her number.”
Leigh turned all of her attention onto Reggie. “Women in bars are looking for a reasonably clean, gainfully employed man who can string two words together without sounding like a jackass. Women on juries have a different agenda.”
Reggie’s belligerence was out in the open now. “Which is?”
“Compassion.”
Reggie didn’t have a response.
Neither did Andrew.
He let his silence chew at her nerves. Leigh looked at him, blurring her eyes so she didn’t have to see his face. He was sitting back in his chair, spine straight, hand resting on the file, yet every part of him seemed ready to pounce. She watched his fingers gently stroke the corner of the light blue folder, tickling apart the edge. His hands were large like his father’s. The gold watch hanging loose from his wrist reminded her of the one Buddy had worn.
“All right,” Andrew said. “That’s voir dire. What about the trial?”
Leigh looked away from his hand. She struggled to find her place. “The prosecutor will start with establishing a timeline. While he’s presenting his case, keep silent, don’t shake your head or make any noises of disbelief or disagreement. If you have questions for me, or comments, then write them down on a notepad, but keep it to a minimum.”
Andrew nodded once, but she couldn’t tell if any of this mattered at all. He was toying with her, playing at Leigh’s edges the same way he was playing with the file. “How does the prosecutor establish the timeline?”
Leigh cleared her throat. “He’ll take the jury through the night at the bar. He’ll call the bartender, the valet, then the dog walker who found the victim in the park. Next up is the first officer on scene, then the paramedics, then the nurses and doctor who performed the rape exam, the detective who—”
“What about Tammy?” Andrew asked. “I’ve gathered from Reggie that your job will be to annihilate her. Are you ready to annihilate her?”
Something had shifted. Leigh recognized the unsettling sensation from the day before, her flight triggering into overdrive. She tried to act as if the subtext was meaningless. “I’m ready to do my job.”
“Right.” Andrew started clenching and unclenching his fist. “You’ll start with showing how Tammy was aggressive with me in the bar. You can point out how, in the video, she keeps touching my leg, my hand. At one point she even touches the side of my face.”
Leigh waited, but then she realized that Andrew was expecting a response. She picked up her pen, ready to write. “Go ahead.”
“She had three drinks in two hours. Double gin martinis. She was clearly getting sloppy.”
Leigh nodded for him to continue, recording every single word. She had wasted hours figuring out a shadow strategy to tank his case. Andrew was clearly willing to do the heavy lifting for her.
She told him, “Keep going.”
“Then, at the valet stand, she grabbed me by the neck and kissed me for thirty-two seconds.” Andrew paused, as if to give her time. “And of course, she offered me her business card, which I still have. I didn’t ask for her number. She gave it to me.”
Leigh nodded again. “I’ll make sure to bring that out during cross.”
“Good,” Andrew said, a new edge to his tone. “The jury needs to understand that I had plenty of opportunities for sex that night. Reggie might have framed it crassly, but he’s right. Any woman at that bar would’ve gone home with me.”
Leigh couldn’t give him too much rope. Reggie was not her compatriot. Cole Bradley would be expecting her to put up a plausible defense. “And if the prosecutor argues that rape isn’t about sex, it’s about control?”
“Then you’ll explain that I have plenty of control in my life,” Andrew said. “I can do anything I like. I live in a three-million-dollar house. I have my pick of luxury cars. I have access to our family jet. I don’t chase after women. Women chase after me.”
Leigh nodded her head to encourage him, because his arrogance was her biggest advantage. Andrew had picked the wrong part of Atlanta to commit his crimes. The jury pool would be drawn from registered voters in DeKalb County, a demographic that was overwhelmingly comprised of politically active people of color. They weren’t inclined to give a rich, white asshole like Andrew Tenant the benefit of the doubt. And Leigh wasn’t inclined to change their minds.
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