Juror #3(11)

Chapter 8



WITH TWELVE DAYS to go before trial, I should have been dealing with truly pressing matters. Evidence. Witnesses. Research. Trial strategy. Instead, I continued to obsess about getting Darrien into a decent suit for court. So I drove to the next county to meet with Suzanne Greene. Her secretary had said she had some time free before noon.

I recognized Lee’s aunt Suzanne the moment I walked into her office and saw her behind her desk. We had shared a cigarette on the side porch of the Greene family homestead when I’d been invited for Christmas during the courtship. Aunt Suzanne had been the only member of Lee’s family who didn’t act like they should double-check the silver forks to make sure none were missing.

She waved me into her office. “Sit on down, hon, and let me finish up this letter. It’ll just be a minute.”

I sat, grateful that she hadn’t kicked off our meeting by mentioning the broken engagement. But despite Lee’s indication that she might help me out, I was nervous.

While Suzanne worked at her computer, I stole a glance around her office. Her desk had piles of papers and files, scattered legal pads bearing handwritten scrawls. Her walls were adorned with certificates: her license to practice in Mississippi, her diploma from the University of Chicago Law School, and her certificate of membership in the ACLU.

I did a double take, squinting to ensure my eyes didn’t deceive me. When I ascertained that the certificate did in fact declare Suzanne Greene to be a member of the American Civil Liberties Union, I felt such a rush of relief that my shoulders sagged.

She turned away from the computer screen and faced me. “All righty, then, Ruby. Tell me what’s cooking.”

I said, “I have a predicament. Just this week, Judge Baylor appointed me to represent Darrien Summers on a capital murder charge in Williams County.”

She rubbed the end of her nose. “The Jewel Shaw murder. It’s been all the talk around here for weeks.”

“They wanted him to plead guilty, but he wouldn’t. Mrs. Greene, he swears he didn’t do it.”

“That’s Ms. Greene, hon. I kept my maiden name. Burned my bra, too, back in the 1970s.” Her face lit up with a grin. “But it’s a more important source of support these days. Now, Ruby, I do recall hearing some scuttlebutt about your client. Wasn’t a story going around that Summers beat up the public defender?”

I grimaced, though it didn’t surprise me to learn that the story had made the rounds of courthouse talk.

“He didn’t hit him. Just swung at him.”

Suzanne folded her arms on her desk and took a long look at me. “So the public defender pulled out, and Baylor appointed a little old girl who’s fresh out of school and green as grass.” She made an impatient noise with her tongue and shook her head. Pointing a finger at me, she said, “You watch out for Baylor. I went to undergrad with him at Ole Miss. He was a sneaky asshole then, and he hasn’t changed a bit.”

Here was a new wrinkle. This case was my worst nightmare. “Okay. Thanks, Ms. Greene; I’ll be careful. I called you because there’s something I need to get for my client. He doesn’t have—”

She cut me off. “Tell me about their evidence. Give me the state’s case—nutshell version.”

I laid it out for her: the text; Jewel Shaw in the cabana with thirteen stab wounds; my client discovered by her side, covered in her blood.

“What was the murder weapon?”

“No weapon was found, but Jewel’s phone was in the cabana, containing a variety of photos depicting a sexual relationship between Darrien and the deceased.”

“How bad are they?”

“The selfies? Pretty shocking, I’m afraid.”

“Let me take a look.”

I was glad I’d brought the file along. I fished out the photocopies for her inspection. She lifted the reading glasses that dangled from a chain around her neck and held them like a magnifying glass.

Suzanne held up the picture from the billiard room. “Look at this. Jewel looks like she just won a blue ribbon at the county fair.”

It was true. Jewel was grinning from ear to ear.

She waved the picture at me. “Now, you know these pictures are trouble. The prosecutor is going to use them to rile the jury up, try to prejudice folks against your client. But the fact is, it looks like Jewel took those pictures herself, at a number of different times—and always looked like she was having a good time. A real good time. You can use that.” She set the photocopy back down on her desk, in the midst of a pile of documents.

I gave her an earnest smile. “Ms. Greene, the reason I’m here…”

She winked at me. “Don’t let’s stand on ceremony. Call me Suzanne, hon.” She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Golds. “Do you mind? It helps me to think.”

“Go right ahead.” I popped a nugget of Nicorette and chewed down hard. “Suzanne, when I bring Darrien into court, he needs to look presentable.”

She blew a plume of smoke up toward an antique light fixture. “Have you gone through the phone?”

“Beg pardon?”

“The phone—Jewel Shaw’s cell phone. Have you looked through it? Contacts, call history, all that?”

“No, ma’am. I didn’t know I could do that.”