Juror #3(44)

“I will. And I’ll be quick about it.”

As soon as the judge said good-bye, Suzanne cut off the call with a vicious thrust of her forefinger. Then she turned on Lee.

“Are you crazy?”

Lee didn’t respond. He just set his jaw and met her glare.

She said, “I know you haven’t dirtied your hands with criminal defense, so you may not know a basic fact. In criminal cases, delay is good for the defense. Bad for the prosecution.”

She was right. But I kept my mouth shut. Suzanne didn’t need me to make her case.

“As time goes by, witnesses’ memories fade. They leave town. Evidence can be lost. The community forgets. Our potential jurors’ feelings of outrage will dissipate. This is what we want.”

“I don’t care,” Lee said, his voice sulky as a child’s.

“You better care. And another thing, young man: we don’t have a defense. Have you thought about that? Do you care?”

Mr. Greene spoke up. “I’ve paid a fortune to that private detective out of New Orleans. What happened to my money?”

They turned to my end of the table. Four sets of blue eyes focused on me. I had been the contact with the PI.

I spoke, trying to sound assured, as if the eyes of the Greene family didn’t rattle me. “I’m meeting with him this week. He says he’s uncovered something about the victim. He has a lead.”

“Is that all?” Mr. Greene shook his head in disgust.

Lee looked away from me and focused on the tabletop. “I want this behind me. Do you know what I’m going through? I can’t show my face in Jackson. My only distraction is the dog pound in Barnes County. The rest of the time, I’m back in my old bedroom at Daddy and Mama’s, staring at the fucking wall.”

Mr. Greene slapped his hand on the conference table. “You mind your language. Your mama is present.”

Suzanne stood and walked out of the conference room. I sat in silence, staring at the law books lining the shelves on the wall, until Lee spoke.

“Ruby, what do you think?”

The question surprised me so much, I did a double take. Lee was looking right at me, his eyes imploring. I chose my words with care.

“Lee, you know Suzanne is right about the benefit of letting time pass. But I’m also sympathetic to your situation. You’re going through hell.”

Mr. Greene coughed and I realized my gaffe: more bad language assaulting Mrs. Greene’s ears. I soldiered on.

“Until we get the report from the private investigator, we’re in no position to decide. Let’s hold off.”

Suzanne barreled through the door with an appointment calendar in hand. “The week the judge has offered—I have multiple conflicts.”

Her brother looked at her in indignation. “You’ll have to cancel them.”

She dropped the book on the table with a bang. “Your son is not my only client. I have a law practice. I have people counting on me.”

Mr. Greene roared, “Your family is counting on you.”

I rose. It was time. “Whoa,” I shouted.

They swiveled in their seats, astonishment on all faces. The family resemblance was remarkable.

In a softer tone, I said, “Let me hear out the investigator, what he’s learned. Whether he’s found us a witness. Then we’ll see where we are.”

Everyone sat down. Suzanne lit a Marlboro. Lee pulled out his blue box of Nat Shermans. He opened the box and offered me one.

My hand reached for it. But I thought better of it. I shook out a Nicorette instead and thought: Darrien and Oscar Summers were a walk in the park. The Greenes will be the death of me.





Chapter 39



SITTING IN THE parking lot outside a bar in a sketchy Vicksburg neighborhood, I was nervous. I was about to meet the man who could be the basis of our defense in the murder case.

Not the private investigator—I’d talked with him earlier in the week. He had set up this meeting.

He’d told me to wait for my witness outside a dive called the Twilight Inn. I was looking for a black man in his thirties, with a goatee, driving a late-model Volvo. He was a detective named Guion who worked vice in Vicksburg.

If ever I’d longed for a nicotine buzz, this was the night. But I’d sworn off Nicorette, decided to kick it altogether when I nearly accepted that cigarette from Lee Greene. I unwrapped a stick of Juicy Fruit gum and chewed on it. It made a poor substitute.

A Volvo pulled into the lot. The driver met the description the PI had provided. I tossed the gum wrapper onto the floorboard of the passenger side and grabbed my briefcase.

The bar was dimly lit, but even so, it was clear that I was the only customer wearing a business suit. I drew a couple of curious stares, which I ignored. My target sat in a booth at the rear. I joined him.

A waitress walked up. “What can I get y’all?”

The man said, “Bud. Draft.”

I smiled, trying to act natural. “Same.”

When she walked away, I said, “I really appreciate you coming out here to meet me, Detective Guion.”

He shook his head with a humorless laugh. “I gotta be crazy. This is the kind of exposure I absolutely do not need.”

The waitress walked up with two mugs of beer, and we fell silent. I reached into my purse for money, but Guion said, “We’ll run a tab.”