The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(121)

“I am going to list the issues the government has failed to prove. Write these down with me in your notebooks so you don’t forget them.”

Sloane took the fat piece of chalk and wrote on the blackboard as he ticked off each item. Sure enough, the jurors wrote right along in their notebooks.

They have not denied that the CIA had ties to LSR&C.

They have not denied that Carl Emerson was working for TBT Investments, an LSR&C subsidiary.

They have not denied that Carl Emerson had a Seattle phone number that rang at TBT Investments or that Charles Jenkins had a copy of that number in his possession.

They have not denied that Chris Daugherty, a Seattle FBI agent, told CJ Security’s receptionist that he knew Charles Jenkins worked for the CIA.

They have not produced a single piece of paper to substantiate their assertion that Charles Jenkins confessed to his crimes.



The list went on. When Sloane finished writing, he said, “These are the facts, and the government hasn’t denied them. Unless they explain these facts, they must be true. And if these facts are true, then we have proven that Charles Jenkins is innocent.”

Sloane pointed to Velasquez. “I challenge the government to answer any of these. Now, the government has one more chance to make their case. But we don’t have another chance. You have to accept what we’re telling you right now, because this is it for us. This is the last chance we get to speak to you. The government gets one more chance, and I’ve given them a list of questions they need to answer. If they can’t answer even a single one of these questions, then your duty is to find this man not guilty.”

Sloane set down the chalk and wiped his hands of the dust. “Sometimes, with all the gadgetry that is now used in a courtroom, with all the testimony from experts, computer graphics, and expensive photographs, we lose sight of one fundamental principle. Your ultimate responsibility is to find the truth, and sometimes, the truth is not complicated. It doesn’t require fancy graphs and diagrams or computer technology.” Sloane looked to the blackboard. “Sometimes, the truth is simple and straightforward. Sometimes, it is staring us all in the face. Sometimes, the truth is in black and white.”



Velasquez did not take Sloane’s bait. Her second closing was a forty-minute tirade intended to incite juror emotions. She pounded on the lectern and raised her voice, but she never addressed a single point Sloane had written on the blackboard.

“I do agree with Mr. Sloane on one thing,” she said. “The truth in this case is very simple. I stated it in my opening and I am reiterating it now. This man sold his honor and his integrity and his knowledge. It was a straight trade—information for money. He had the information. He traveled to Russia. And fifty thousand dollars materialized in his account shortly after he returned. The defense attorney and I agree, at least on this one fundamental principle. The truth sometimes is easy to see. And the truth in this instance is that Charles Jenkins is guilty.”

It was a powerful response.

The only thing left to do now was to wait.





70



Sloane told Jenkins he expected the jury to be out deliberating for four to five days, and the longer the better. In a criminal trial, the longer a jury debated a matter, the more likely it meant one or more of the jurors could not reach a verdict without reasonable doubt. Harden told both sides he wanted them to remain in the building, in the event the jurors had questions during their deliberations. He offered the defense a jury room in one of the vacant courtrooms to wait.

Near five o’clock, Alex and Jake cleared half-eaten sandwiches and wrappers from the table and tossed the uneaten food into the garbage.

“I imagine the bailiff will come to let us go for the night,” Sloane said. “That’s a good thing.”

Minutes later, Jenkins heard footsteps outside their door, followed by a quiet knock.

Sloane looked at his watch. “Time to go home.” He slipped on his jacket as Jake answered the door.

The bailiff stood in the hallway. “We have a verdict.”

Jenkins’s heart sank. David Sloane looked equally stunned. The jury had been out less than five hours. They all gathered their belongings. No one said a word.

As they stepped into the hallway, people streamed toward Judge Harden’s courtroom, and as the defense team approached the courtroom doors, an overflow crowd, including reporters and television crews, stood in the hall. The reporters shouted questions. Jenkins ignored them. He felt numb, uncertain even how his legs were functioning. He felt his right hand shake.

Then he felt Alex take hold of his hand.

As they neared the courtroom doors, officers created a wedge so the defense team could enter.

“David?” someone called. A familiar voice. Jenkins turned and saw Carolyn.

“She’s an expert witness,” Sloane said to one of the marshals, who allowed Carolyn through. She stepped beside Alex and they locked arms.

Velasquez and her team already sat at the counsel table. They looked ready to celebrate.

With everyone assembled, Judge Harden quickly retook the bench and asked the bailiff to escort the jury into the courtroom.

The nine women and three men entered without looking at Jenkins, also not a good sign.

When the jurors were seated, Harden addressed them. “Have you reached a verdict on all five counts of the indictment?”