Juror #3(28)

“What kind of photography do you do, sir?”

“Weddings, graduation portraits, family portraits. My clients can have traditional sittings in my studio, but I also go out on location, take photos in natural settings.”

Lafayette grinned at him. “Like my daughter’s graduation picture? You went to the high school stadium as a background for her in her cheerleading uniform, ain’t that right?”

From my seat, I said: “Objection. Irrelevant.”

The judge adjusted his glasses. “Sustained.”

The DA glanced at me with a careless shrug of his shoulders. He’d made his point. He was a local baron, firmly woven into the tapestry of the community. I was the outsider.

Turning back to his witness, Lafayette said, “Sir, in February of this year, did you have occasion to be present at the Mardi Gras ball at the Williams County country club?”

“I did.”

“For what purpose were you there?”

“The club hired me to take photographs of the event. It’s an annual tradition.”

“Posed photos?”

“No. Candids. For the club newsletter.”

As he testified, I was doing a slow burn. I’d seen the photographer’s name on the state’s witness list, and tried to contact him half a dozen times, even going to his studio the Saturday before trial began. He wouldn’t talk to me.

The DA set up two easels near the witness stand, then picked up a large mounted exhibit from his counsel table.

Lafayette placed the exhibit on one of the easels. “Mr. Forsythe, I show you what’s been marked for identification as State’s Exhibit Thirty-three. Can you identify it for the jury, sir?”

Looking at the exhibit as Forsythe responded, I clutched the pen in my hand so hard that I cracked the plastic casing. The exhibit was a blown-up photograph of Jewel Shaw, taken at the ball. It was a full-length shot in a glorious riot of color: her purple dress, her shining golden hair, her laughing face behind the glittery green Mardi Gras mask. The image seemed to vibrate with life and vitality.

I cut my eyes at the jury, to measure the impact the photo had on them. They looked like mourners at the funeral service. My lone black juror was fumbling with a packet of Kleenex tissues. She wiped her eyes.

Lord help us.

Lafayette said, “Mr. Forsythe, what time was this photograph taken?”

“Ten fifteen p.m. My equipment records the times of each photograph.”

In a voice of deep solemnity, he asked, “Is State’s Exhibit Thirty-three a fair and accurate representation of Jewel Shaw at 10:15 on the night of her death?”

“It is.”

The DA turned to the bench. “Your Honor, the state offers State’s Exhibit Thirty-three into evidence.”

“Miss Bozarth?”

I didn’t huddle in conference with Darrien. I wanted the moment to pass as quickly as possible. “No objection.”

Lafayette walked back to the prosecution table and hefted a second exhibit, identical in size.

He placed the exhibit on the second easel. It was an image that had been admitted into evidence earlier: State’s Exhibit 10. Jewel Shaw lay dead in her bloodstained dress in cabana 6, her arm dangling off the chaise. Her sightless eyes were open. Blood matted the golden hair and the green and gold beads at her neck.

Lafayette bowed his head, like a man preparing to launch into prayer.

“No further questions.”





Chapter 24



“YOUR HONOR, THE state rests.”

Lafayette’s voice rang with self-satisfaction.

Judge Baylor said, “It’s been a long day. Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll recess until tomorrow morning.”

When he stood to leave the bench, I rose, and remained standing as the sequestered jury passed by my counsel table. Keeping my posture rigidly erect, I tried to make eye contact with the jurors, but they all avoided my gaze—with one exception: juror number 3. He smiled, showing his teeth. I narrowed my eyes, thinking: I know all about you, Mr. Aryan Citizen.

As the courtroom emptied out, Darrien slumped down in his chair. “Ruby, it looks bad.”

I dropped into my chair beside him and spoke in a whisper. “It’s not over. We get our chance tomorrow.”

He wiped his face with a hand that trembled. “I’ve been watching that jury. They hate me.”

“We’ll turn it around. We have ten witnesses coming in tomorrow morning who will testify about your character.”

His hand left his face and he looked at me. “Will it help?”

“You bet it will. The jury has only heard one side. And there’s something else.”

I was so deep in conversation that I didn’t see Lafayette approach. “Ruby.”

My head jerked up. He was standing a foot away. “What do you want?”

He pulled a face. “Don’t bite my head off. I have a disclosure to make. A witness I may call.”

I wanted to tear out my hair. “You just rested.”

“I’ll call him as a rebuttal witness. After the defense rests.”

The bailiff was shackling Darrien, preparing to take him back to jail. “Ruby?” he said as the cuffs clicked shut.

To Darrien, I whispered, “I’ll be in to see you tomorrow morning, before court. I found out something that can help our case, something major. But we need to talk privately.”