Juror #3(13)

A thought struck me. “Does this mean I can’t be Darrien’s lawyer? Because I went to school with the deceased?”

Suzanne dipped a fried nugget of shrimp into a pool of cocktail sauce. “Well, that depends. Were you and Jewel friends? Were y’all close?”

My laugh sounded bitter. “I didn’t run in the same circles as Jewel Shaw.”

“Because she was older?”

“Because she was the ‘It Girl.’ I was the new girl, a tough kid from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Maybe that was the most compelling reason I’d returned to Rosedale after the broken engagement. I left that town as a girl just one step up from trash; I would return as a professional, with my head held high.

Suzanne shot a reassuring glance over her glasses. “Good. You can act as Darrien Summers’s lawyer, unless you believe your recollection of Jewel Shaw diminishes your capacity to represent the defendant to the best of your ability.”

Only the day before, I might have seized upon an opportunity to remove myself from the case. But the more I sunk my teeth in, the more determined I was to hang on. “It’s not a problem. I don’t have fond memories of Julie Shaw.”

The waitress paused at our table. “Miss Greene, they just put out a red velvet cake.”

“Honey, would you bring me over a piece? We’re brainstorming here.”

When Suzanne returned her attention to me, I said, “When I get the chance to see Jewel’s phone, I’ll be looking for other lurid pictures, right?”

“Oh, yes.” The cake arrived. She picked up her fork.

“But how does that help my case, exactly? Is it just about smearing the victim?”

Suzanne was chewing. I had to wait for the answer.

“Honey, you need the pictures to broaden the playing field. The prosecution is framing the case as a love affair gone bad. So you’ll want to show that there were other affairs, other lovers who might have wanted to plunge the knife.” She plunged the fork back into the cake. “Muddy the waters. Blow smoke. Jump up and down about the missing murder weapon. Yell about other lovers.”

“How will that help me to prove that my client is innocent?”

She dropped the fork.

“Whoa, darling. That’s not your job. What you have to do is raise a reasonable doubt. That’s all. If you can create a reasonable doubt in the mind of the jury, they have to find him not guilty. Hell—raise that doubt in the mind of just one juror with a backbone, and you’ll hang it up. There’s a unanimous jury requirement in criminal cases. All twelve have to vote Guilty to convict.”

“Or acquit. I can’t get him off unless all twelve agree on Not Guilty.”

“So start your treasure hunt. Go looking for that nugget of reasonable doubt, and beat it like a drum. ‘If the gloves don’t fit, you must acquit.’”





Chapter 10



I HAD MY dukes up—figuratively speaking, anyway—as I waited for Tom Lafayette to appear in Judge Baylor’s courtroom.

The copies of my motions lay before me on the counsel table, with handwritten notes jotted in the margins. I’d filed the original with the court that morning, and dropped a copy off at the DA’s office.

The door to the courtroom flew open. Tom Lafayette stormed in, gripping sheets of paper in his fist.

Trying to look cool, I tipped my chair back against the railing and rocked back and forth. Lafayette advanced on me, rattling the papers he held. “What’s up with this motion for discovery?”

I sat the chair back on all four legs, afraid that it might tip over, which would endanger my appearance of self-possession. “I want to see the evidence.”

“You have it. I provided it to you. You have the contents of the state’s file.”

“I want to inspect it, in the evidence room. I want to see the evidence with my own eyes. I owe it to my client to know exactly what you’re presenting at trial.”

He huffed. “You can forget about digging around in the evidence room.”

I stole a glance at the handwritten notes on my motion. “I’m entitled to inspect the evidence. It’s a right guaranteed by Mississippi Uniform Circuit Court Rule 9.04.”

He reached into the breast pocket of his gray pinstriped suit jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses. I was glad I’d worn my black graduation dress, the newest article of clothing in my wardrobe.

Lafayette looked up from the motion I’d prepared. “You’ve cited subsection A of rule 9.04.”

“Yep.”

He smiled. “I guess you didn’t get around to reading subsection B.”

I didn’t answer, but I was scrambling to remember: What did subsection B say?

He chuckled. “Get ready for a smackdown, Ruby. You’re going to lose this round.”

“Oh, so you’re a fortune teller and a district attorney.”

As Lafayette walked to his counsel table, he made a parting shot over his shoulder. “Judge Baylor won’t be happy with you. Making trouble, stirring the pot.”

Judge Baylor is a sneaky asshole.

I shifted in my chair and leaned toward the DA. “I’ve been a troublemaker all my life. You better get used to it.”

The door to Judge Baylor’s chambers opened and he entered, robed in black. I jumped to my feet. As the judge settled into his chair behind the bench, he said, “Miss Bozarth, I see you’ve filed two motions in State v. Summers.”