Juror #3(27)

I walked to the courthouse entrance with slow steps. People were returning from the noon break. The recess was almost over.

“I’ll do what you recommend, Suzanne.”

“Good.” She was chewing. “Get back in there and keep swinging. Anything else I can help you with today?”

I ducked behind a stone pillar so I couldn’t be overheard. “One more thing. What do you know about Shorty Morgan? He owns the diner on the square here in Rosedale.”

In the moment of silence before she replied, my heartbeat accelerated.

“Shorty? Let me think. Nice young man, I’ve heard. Fries good chicken.”

Her bare bones commendation wasn’t enough to reassure me. What had I hoped she might reveal? That Shorty had an identical twin who was a racist and had stolen Shorty’s identity?

Baloney. As I ended the call, my suspicions about Shorty consumed me. Seized by paranoia, I pondered: maybe the Aryan Citizens wanted inside information on the Summers case and had tasked Shorty with the job of prying information from me.

My stomach twisted. I’d made it so easy for him. Easy as pie.

And where had I first encountered the mysterious juror number 3? In an orange booth at Shorty’s diner.

Closing my eyes, I indulged in another fit of self-loathing. I had fallen into bed with a manipulator, a man I barely knew. Bet he thought it was a hoot.

The tower clock struck one.





Chapter 22



BACK IN JUDGE Baylor’s courtroom, we resumed our positions. Sheriff Stark sat on the witness stand; I faced him, leaning on the lectern near the jury box; and the DA was poised at his counsel table. Darrien sat at the defense table alone, with his father keeping watch behind him.

Judge Baylor said to the sheriff, “Pat, let me remind you: you’re still under oath.”

“Yes, sir, Judge.”

“Miss Bozarth, you may continue.”

I needed to make some headway. “Sheriff Stark, I believe you’ve testified that you examined Jewel Shaw’s telephone.”

“I did.”

“And you looked through her photo history, the pictures on her cell phone. Correct?”

“Yes.”

I smiled, encouraging. “Sheriff, you have testified regarding photos of Jewel Shaw and my client. But there were other pictures on Ms. Shaw’s phone, isn’t that true?”

His eyes cut away from me. “She had a lot of pictures.”

“That’s true. And isn’t it also true, Sheriff, that a number of those shots depict Ms. Shaw in the company of men other than Darrien Summers?”

“They might have. I don’t know.”

I walked close to the witness stand. He was clamming up, afraid to give an answer that would hurt the state. “Oh, come on, Sheriff. Did you or did you not see pictures of Jewel Shaw with a variety of male companions on her cell phone?”

“I can’t remember every picture on her phone.”

He didn’t want to play ball with me. With a nod at the jury box, I walked to the DA’s counsel table and picked up State’s Exhibit 5, the phone that belonged to Jewel Shaw.

Lafayette demanded in a whisper, “What are you doing?”

I didn’t answer, just ripped the plastic cocoon off Jewel Shaw’s phone.

Lafayette jumped to his feet. “Your Honor, the defense is tampering with the state’s exhibit!”

I held it up so that the judge—and the jury—could see it. “Your Honor, I’m not harming the exhibit in any way.”

Lafayette moved toward the bench with a full head of steam. “I want to know what Miss Bozarth intends to do with the state’s exhibit.”

Gonna make the sheriff eat his words.

“Use it to cross-examine this witness, Judge.”

In the days prior to trial, I had studied Jewel’s phone history; I knew the pictures on that phone. I had determined in advance precisely which ones I intended for the jury to see. Jewel Shaw hanging off a blond surfer type. Jewel Shaw in the nude, riding piggyback on a suntanned Hispanic man. Jewel Shaw lifting her shirt on Bourbon Street, with the caption “Begging for beads!”

At Lafayette’s insistence we approached the bench, and after a whispered consultation, Judge Baylor said I could proceed. With a cocky air, I walked the short distance to the podium. My excitement mounted; I was going to make headway with the phone information and initiate a tangible contribution to Darrien’s defense. I’d start taking charge—just as soon as I turned on Jewel’s phone and revealed its contents.

Holding the phone in my hand, I tried to turn it on.

The phone was dead.

As I stared at the dark screen, a voice in my head whispered: Karma. Or the ghost of Jewel Shaw.





Chapter 23



THAT DAY, COURT ran so long that the sun was setting when the state called its last witness. A shaft of light shining through the windows on the west side of the courtroom illuminated the faces of the jurors as they sat in the box. They looked strained, weary.

So was I.

Lafayette approached his final witness. “State your name, sir.”

“Stanley Forsythe.”

“And what is your occupation?”

“I’m a photographer. I have a studio here in Rosedale.”