Juror #3(38)

He gave me a glassy stare. The white of his right eye was so bloodshot, it was hot pink. “I can’t tell you.”

I patted his arm. “Of course you can, Lee. I’ve entered my appearance as your counsel. You can tell me anything. It’s privileged. What do you remember?”

He let out a sound that was a cross between a giggle and a groan. “That’s just it. I can’t tell you because I don’t remember. Anything.”

His gaze drifted sideways, and he said again: “I don’t remember anything. Anything at all.”





Chapter 34



THE FOLLOWING MONDAY I sprinted across the courthouse lawn in Rosedale, racing to the Ben Franklin. The Greenes were due at my office any minute, and I didn’t want them to cool their heels in front of a locked door.

Once inside, I did a quick pickup, stuffing loose papers into a desk drawer and wiping dust from my desk with a wad of Kleenex. My office was a humble spot to hold a meeting, but they were driving to Rosedale to accommodate my court schedule. I’d had a first appearance on a new child custody case that morning, and I’d asked the Greenes to meet at my office rather than Suzanne’s in the next county.

I checked the time, relieved to see that the Greenes were running late. It occurred to me that it would be wise to run a brush through my hair. The heated exchange earlier in court had probably made me look frowzy.

When I walked into the bathroom behind the office area, I froze. It was a disaster. I’d rushed out at 8:50 that morning, leaving my makeup strewn across all surfaces. I snatched up my cosmetics bag, spilling loose powder in the process. Cursing, I picked up the can of Comet cleanser and shook it over the sink, then dumped some green powder into the toilet bowl for good measure. Working fast, I cleaned the sink, and was scrubbing at the rust-stained bowl with a toilet brush when a voice caused me to look up.

“Ruby?”

They were standing in the bathroom door. All of them: Suzanne, Lee, and Mr. and Mrs. Greene. I dropped the brush into the toilet bowl as if it had burned me. Mr. Greene looked away, embarrassed. His wife stared at the toilet like she’d never seen one before.

Suzanne said, “Honey, we just wanted to make sure you were here. We’ll wait out front.”

I nodded. As they turned away, I spoke. “I’ll just wash my hands.” I tried to look poised when I joined them a moment later. Suzanne was seated at my desk. The Greenes sat in the folding chairs I’d lined up in anticipation of the meeting. I slid into the chair beside Lee. Looking up, our eyes met.

He was himself again: his hair was precisely parted, and a perfectly folded pocket square peeked out of his jacket. I gave him a reassuring smile, which he did not return.

His eyes shifted to the damp spots on the sleeves of my blouse where the toilet water had splashed me.

Suzanne rummaged in her purse. “Ruby, honey, can you get me an ashtray?”

I paused, taken aback. I didn’t own an ashtray, not anymore. Racing into the back room, I found a dirty coffee mug that could serve. It took a minute to wash it out. When I returned to the office, Suzanne was smoking a Marlboro. Lee had a box of cigarettes in his hand: Nat Shermans. He opened it, extending the box to me. “Want one?”

When I shook my head, he lit one for himself. I placed the mug where both Suzanne and Lee could reach it.

Suzanne adjusted her reading glasses and shuffled through pages in an open file folder on the desk. “Ruby, did you look over the results of the blood test we did on Lee?”

“I did.” The printed copy of the test results was in the top drawer of my desk, but I felt awkward moving Suzanne out of the way to retrieve it. “The blood alcohol was lower than I expected.”

She puffed on the cigarette, looking at Lee over her spectacles. “He was locked up for well over twenty-four hours before we were able to get a sample drawn. I’m surprised they found anything at all.”

I turned to him. “Lee, did they take a blood sample while you were in custody?”

He barely gave me a glance. “I don’t know.”

There it was again: his lack of recall. I heard Mr. Greene speak in an undertone. “No one in our family line has ever been a drunk.”

Lee turned on him. “I am not a drunk, sir.”

“Well, you’re saying you don’t remember anything that happened that night. Clearly, you were drunk. Blind drunk. Or were you high on drugs?”

Though Lee’s head was turned away from me, I saw a cord of tension rising in his neck. “I don’t do drugs of any kind.”

“Well, you must have been doing something of some kind. Consorting with a streetwalker at the Magnolia Inn in Vicksburg, where anyone could have seen you.”

Suzanne broke in, to my relief; the father-and-son battle was not advancing our cause.

“Brother Lee, you need to focus. Our problem isn’t that Lee employed a streetwalker. It’s that she was found dead in bed with him. That’s the problem we’re dealing with here. I have a task for you. Since my nephew can’t fill in the blanks and the blood test is inconclusive, I’d advise you to hire a detective.”

Mrs. Greene’s voice piped in, a high soprano. “The police will surely look into this and find out that Lee didn’t do anything bad.”

“Sugar,” Mr. Greene said, “the police in Vicksburg are not on Lee’s side.”