The Night Swim(40)
Rachel turned to a fresh page on her notepad as Judge Shaw invited Quinn to deliver his opening statement. She hoped to have a pretty comprehensive, perhaps even word-perfect transcript of both opening statements on the website by the end of the day. She wanted her audience to feel that they were in court themselves, getting all the relevant information so they could come up with an informed verdict. She wanted them to feel as if they were in the jury box.
Quinn stood abruptly, with what seemed to be nervous clumsiness. He took a sip of water and promptly spilled some on his shirt in full view of the jury.
Rachel, who’d studied Quinn’s playbook in her pretrial research, knew it was a trick he’d learned from a legendary trial lawyer he’d interned with during law school. His mentor’s go-to move was to stumble over something in court, be it a briefcase or a table leg. It didn’t matter what he tripped over so long as he tripped. It immediately broke an invisible barrier with the jurors. They connected to him as a person, and by extension to his client.
Quinn made a show of pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at his water-stained shirt as the jury looked on sympathetically. Judge Shaw, who knew all the tricks of the trade, was less tolerant.
“Mr. Quinn.” The judge’s chair squeaked as he leaned into his microphone. “I believe we’re waiting.”
“Of course, Your Honor,” said Quinn. He gave one final dab to his wet shirt and smiled bashfully at the jury. He seemed young and inept compared to Alkins, even though Rachel was pretty sure they were around the same age.
Rachel admired the way Quinn had turned himself into an underdog. After all, who doesn’t like an underdog? The spell that Alkins had cast over the courtroom was broken by the time Quinn opened his mouth to speak.
“About three months ago, I received a telephone call at my offices in Memphis asking me to defend a young swimmer who I’d never heard of before. I don’t much follow swimming. My wife and I have twin babies at home. When I’m not in court, I’m helping her feed and bathe them. So I didn’t know who Scott Blair was when I received the call. I certainly didn’t know he was a potential Olympian when I heard the uncertain voice of a young man asking if I would take his case,” he said. Rachel raced to keep up with him, her pen tearing across the pages of her notebook.
“Well, I immediately said that I would not take any case outside of Tennessee, even though I am licensed to practice law in North Carolina. By the way, that’s nothing against this fine state. I grew up here and have many fond memories of Neapolis. It’s because I promised Beth when she had the twins that I wouldn’t do any traveling until the girls were older. I like to think that I am a man of my word.
“Scott begged me to hear him out. He told me what happened that night last October, the facts of which are as different as day is from night from the version Mr. Alkins gave you,” he said, his grim tone giving extra weight to his words. “That was when I understood that a real miscarriage of justice was taking place here in Neapolis. It bothered me greatly to hear of this boy’s problems. But I could not take his case. I told him so. I had given a solemn promise to my wife.
“I told Beth about his call that night over dinner. Beth insisted that I telephone that boy first thing the next morning to tell him I’d represent him. She told me she’d manage with the babies while I was away. That I couldn’t let this boy’s life be ruined by an unjust conviction.
“So it’s thanks to Beth that I am standing before you to tell you all that Scott, well, he has been unfairly maligned and wrongly charged for a crime that he did not commit. Scott is innocent. Under our judicial system, he is presumed innocent. Unfortunately, long before the trial began, Scott’s good name was dragged through the mud. His reputation has been stained so deeply that I am not sure it can ever be washed clean.
“He has been suspended from the state swim team and barred from attending the national swimming championships. His Olympic dreams are in shambles. His college scholarship has been revoked. His sponsors have abandoned him. This boy’s life is in ruins due to allegations of a crime that he did not commit,” Quinn said.
“Let me tell you a little about Scott. He is nineteen years old and has already set half a dozen state swim records in freestyle. If that’s not enough, he’s come within a razor’s edge of setting national records. Some of our nation’s top swimmers and coaches have said that Scott has the potential to be ‘the greatest swimmer of his generation.’
“It takes a lot to reach this elite level. While all of us were fast asleep in our beds over the years, Scott has dived into the cold water of an Olympic swimming pool before dawn to swim for two hours. He’s been doing it since he was nine years old. Six days a week, forty miles a week. So it’s amazing to me that Scott has still had time for family, his church, and of course his studies.” Quinn put his hands in his pockets as he softened his voice.
“But that’s not all that he’s had time for. In a society in which young people are sadly all too often self-absorbed, Scott devotes his spare time to helping those less fortunate than himself, in his church and in the wider community. You will hear about Scott’s good works that attest to his true character. You will hear powerful forensic testimony from a world-renowned medical expert from Harvard who will tell you that there was no indication of force on the complainant’s body. You will see CCTV footage that shows Scott and the complainant enjoying each other’s company that night.