Perhaps chastened by my serious expression, Dan asks deferentially, “Where do you want to start?”
A good question. First assuring Leigh that Dan is ethically obligated to keep his mouth shut, I reprise for Dan my conversation tonight with Leigh, knowing it will become apparent to her that he knows a lot about her case already.
“Our defense obviously has to be that practically anybody, including Shane, could have killed Art during the forty-five minutes she was gone from the house.”
Dan stares across the table at Leigh, who has cradled her beautiful face in her hands. Knowing Dan, I realize he has probably volunteered to help me as much from the desire to be this close to a looker like Leigh as out of friendship. He turns to me and says, “You have to consider the fact that if Leigh testifies, it could play right into Jill’s hands by giving her the opportunity to show the jury how bad Leigh was feeling about her father.
The jury may knock the charge down to manslaughter if they think that Leigh decided to kill Art in a moment of guilt and anger after her father called, but it could just as easily come back with first degree.”
I pull out a legal pad and begin to make some notes.
“Jill will get most of this out of Shane anyway,” I say, glancing at Dan’s beefy face.
Dan nods and looks up at my cupboards-he probably would like a snack-but again fixes his gaze on Leigh’s bowed head.
“And she’s got to explain why she lied to the cops,” he contributes.
“She’s prepared to do that,” I say for her.
Leigh looks up and nods bravely.
“It’s going to go well,” I say, kicking Dan under the table. He sounds too pessimistic. Leigh has to appear confident, or she won’t have a chance.
At ten I send Leigh on to the Excelsior and tell her I will see her at 7 a.m. in the restaurant. By two o’clock, Dan and I are finished or probably so exhausted that we just quit. We have conversed as much as we can. Leigh will testify, and her credibility will be the ball game. In bed, trying to get comfortable, I begin to have doubts about Leigh’s innocence. Mary Patricia’s words come back to me in the darkness. Shane wouldn’t have killed anyone, but he could have talked someone into it. Who?
Leigh obviously. He might have incited Leigh to do what he didn’t have the guts to do. After Leigh and her father finish testifying, that might be plain as day to the jury. It might also be obvious that I have been set up by both of them. The last thing Dan said as he was going out the door was that Mr. Woo, our motel manager, had said that I was a “great rawyer.” At least I’ve fooled somebody. I flatten my lumpy pillow and try to sleep.
15
“Just keep smiling and don’t answer,” I whisper to Leigh as Dan bullies his way ahead of us into the courthouse through the media and the onlookers. I don’t have to worry. Although she appears almost regal (her hair is swept up and gorgeous), she looks too scared to speak.
If ever I wanted some publicity, I’ve got my wish. All I can do is hope that when this trial is over, the headlines don’t read: “Bracken’s Replacement Blows Big One.” Though it is a beautiful spring day, my T-shirt is already drenched with sweat and my heart is pounding as if I had never tried a case before. I haven’t, not like this one.
Inside, the action is considerably quieter. Jury selection could take quite a while, and with the trial recessing for the funeral this afternoon, Dan and I will have the weekend to work. Judge Grider’s courtroom is relatively small, and I’m a little surprised, publicity hound that he is, that he didn’t ask to switch with Judge Raferty, who would have readily yielded his territory for the asking.
Grider, each white hair perfectly in place, gets started with an announcement that stuns all of us. His docket is crowded, and he wants to work on Saturday. Why didn’t he tell us yesterday, the bastard? I had counted on the weekend to work on the case.
Dan whispers, “I hear the Judicial Department has rapped his knuckles recently for letting his criminal cases stack up. He’s supposed to have an opponent next year.”
Jill, dressed in a funereal black double-breasted suit, rises quickly to address the court.
“Our office has no problems with Saturday, Your Honor, but I am concerned that some otherwise qualified potential members of the jury may have some scheduling difficulties.”
I pop out of my chair, pissed at Grider but more irritated at myself for letting Jill beat me to the jury. One of the first rules a trial attorney is supposed to learn is to show the jury he cares about their problems so they’ll be more sympathetic to his client’s.
“Your Honor, a lot of folks might have been planning to shop for their Easter outfits tomorrow,” I improvise. Good Baptists aren’t supposed to care about their holiday wardrobes.
Actually, the problem is that Easter is still two weeks away.
“Mr. Page,” Grider says snidely, “why don’t we let the panel tell us whether they will be inconvenienced if we work on Saturday instead of you making that judgment?”
He turns to the panel members and quizzes them. Only two people raise their hands.
“Damnation!” Dan says in amazement.
“They want to be around to hear the dirt.” Why the hell not, I think gloomily. Chet’s suicide, Leigh’s beauty, and Christian Life’s prominence have made this trial the hottest ticket in town. Grider excuses them on the spot, and we get down to the business of winnowing the panel down to twelve jurors through the process of voir dire, which permits the lawyers to ask questions of prospective members.
I watch carefully as Jill runs through her questions.
One of the trickiest problems is how to handle the six people on the panel who are members of Christian Life.
If I have to make the argument that their minister killed Art Wallace, I have no doubt how they would choose up sides. I wish I could hear Shane conduct Chet’s service before I had to make any decisions. I lean over to Leigh and say, “Chet’s notes say you know a couple of these people personally.”
“Just slightly,” she says, her warm, minty-flavored breath in my right ear.
I needn’t have worried, because Jill seems more concerned than I am and makes a motion that all six be stricken for “cause,” which would automatically eliminate them if the motion is granted by Grider.
I stand and argue against it, knowing Jill will be forced to use all but four of her peremptory challenges if I am successful. Grider summarily denies her motion, holding that if any of the six contributed to Leigh’s bail or signed an affidavit on her behalf, he will strike that person for cause, but church membership alone is not sufficient.
The two women who know Leigh personally admit to Grider that they gave a few dollars for the bond, and Grider tells them they are excused. They seem disappointed. Jill returns to the prosecution table and flashes a smug smile at Dick Harvey, her main deputy, who is second-chairing the case. Obviously, she has no inkling that I would love to argue to the jury that the wrong family member is on trial.
By eleven-thirty we have seated a jury composed of six Baptists, two African-Americans who belong to an AME church, one Charismatic (according to Chet’s notes) Catholic, and three who attend other so-called Bible churches in Blackwell County. As Grider dismisses the other panel members, I have second thoughts about Chet’s position about who should serve on the jury. It is deeply conservative and will be shocked if Leigh admits to the video. They may forgive her but still send her to jail. Until now, I never questioned Chet’s strategy. Too late, I wish I had chosen the most liberal jury possible. Dan was right. If Chet had told me that he was going to recite the Gettysburg Address as part of his opening statement, I would have told him it sounded like a good idea. In retrospect, Chet wasn’t thinking clearly about this trial, and I should have challenged him. For all I know, it was deliberate.