Juror #3(46)

I clutched the beer mug. “But I want more information.”

“We’re done talking for tonight.” He began to slide out of the booth.

“No, please. Don’t run off yet.”

Pausing, he gave me a hooded look. In a cynical voice, he said, “If you want, I’ll let you pick up the tab. You can put it on your client’s bill. Pretty sure he can afford it.”

“When can I see you again?”

“I’ll let you know.”

Frustrated, I jerked some cash out of my bag and let him depart. When he was out the door, I slipped out to the safety of my car.

Ten minutes later, I sat in my car a block from the bar, parked under a streetlight. By the light overhead, I wrote on my legal pad like a madwoman, recording every detail of the conversation that I could remember. My confidence in my young brain’s recall didn’t match the faith of my new witness.

My new star witness. That vice detective was going to save the day.

Scanning the notes, I saw the words I’d recorded to describe Monae: snitch, criminal, prostitute, opioids, liar. A chill ran down my spine.

In less than a year, I’d defended two cases in which a woman had been murdered in connection with a sex act. Both times, I had to go on the attack against a dead victim.

I never intended to devote my legal career to this brand of representation. Sitting in the car, I promised myself: when I wrapped up this murder trial, I’d seek out some happy cases. It took me a minute to conjure up an example of a happy case, but I thought of one. Adoptions. I’d do an adoption for free, just for the pleasure of it.

My cell phone hummed; I’d had it on mute in the bar. I glanced at it, irritated by the interruption. But when I saw Suzanne Greene’s name, I picked up.

“Hey, Suzanne.”

“Well? Did he show?”

Her voice crackled through the phone. I was tempted to hold it away from my ear.

“He sure did. Just left him a while ago.”

“And?”

“It’s good. Really good. I don’t know how your New Orleans private eye uncovered him, but it’s worth whatever the Greenes paid. This Vicksburg cop is a gold mine.”

“Well, New Orleans. They know how to find the seamy side.” She paused, then asked, “Did he tell you everything? Everything we were led to expect from the PI’s report?”

“Pretty much. He was holding back, I’m certain. But he spilled the beans on Monae. We can counter the prosecution’s case.”

I thought she’d be happy, but Suzanne said nothing at all. Finally, I said, “Suzanne? Did you hear me? The vice cop will make a great witness for Lee. I guarantee it. I’ve got a nickname for him: we can call him Detective ‘Reasonable Doubt’ Guion.”

She sighed. “Well, hell.”

Surprised, I sat, waiting for her to elaborate.

“There’ll be no holding them back now. Lee wants that early trial setting, and my brother is backing him up. Looks like we’re going to trial.”

Before she rang off, I heard her mutter: “Son of a bitch.”





Chapter 40



I CUSSED OUT loud as I steered my car to the Barnes County Humane Society. It was the Saturday before trial, and I’d been phoning Lee all afternoon, but he hadn’t seen fit to answer my calls.

Pulling into the gravel drive, I recognized the shiny black BMW parked beside the tumbledown shelter and breathed out in relief. Clutching a sheaf of printed notes, I slammed my car door behind me and hurried down an uneven path to the facility. When I saw a man emerge from a rough shed adjoining the main building, I paused.

He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and carried a large bag.

“I’ll be damned,” I whispered. It was my client.

“Lee,” I called, waving my papers. I doubled my pace and met him by the shed.

Lee let the bag slip to the ground and stood up. His hair was tousled. He shook it back and swiped at grime clinging to his shoulder.

“Hey,” I said. When he didn’t respond, I pointed at the bag resting at his feet. “Looks heavy. What are you toting?”

“It’s dog food,” he said stiffly.

“That makes sense. It’s a big old bag.” I bent my head and shuffled through the papers in my hand. “You wanted to look through the jury selection questions in advance of voir dire. I emailed them to you. When you didn’t get back to me, I got nervous. I called you a million times, but couldn’t reach you. Your mom said you were out here.”

He squinted in disbelief. “You called my mother? Really?”

“Is that a problem? I was anxious to reach you.” I twisted around, looking for a place to sit, but there were no chairs or benches. “Do you have a minute to run over these with me? See if they look okay?”

He extended his hand. “Just give it to me. I’ll look over the questions tonight and get back with you.”

“Okay.” I placed the pages in his outstretched hand, alarmed to note a mark on his arm—of a recent bite. I almost reached out to touch the spot on his forearm, but dropped my hand. “Lord, Lee. Is your arm okay? It looks like a dog attacked you.”

He stuffed the pages into his pocket. “It’s nothing serious. My sleeve will cover it at trial.”