"That’s right, Paul. It’s a weakness in the prosecution’s case, and I’m going to exploit it all I can."
"It’s pretty weird that you have to testify," Wish said from the couch. "Who’s gonna be your lawyer in case you do something wrong?"
"I’m up on the law, Wish. I don’t need a lawyer. I know I don’t have to go into some things that are privileged. But some events aren’t. I fought the good fight at one of the pretrial hearings, and I lost. I’ll be a witness."
"Aren’t you supposed to, you know, spring some big surprises for them? Something brilliant, so someone stands up in the audience to confess?" Wish said.
"Unfortunately, though it looks good in the movies, it’s not something that’s going to happen. We’re waiting for them to make a mistake," Nina said. "They will. Every case has weaknesses."
"Oh."
"I’m a lousy substitute for Perry Mason," Nina said. "Sorry, Wish."
"And I’m no Paul Drake," Paul said, getting into the spirit. "In spite of the similarly unflawed talent."
"And I’m not good ol’ Della," Sandy said, smoothing her fringed cowgirl skirt.
"Who are these guys?" Wish asked. "O.J.’s lawyers?"
On his way out, Paul said, "Nina, let’s get together Saturday night. Don’t shake your head, you can’t work all the time. You need to relax."
"I can’t, Paul. When I’m not working, I sleep and try to take care of Bob. It’s all I can do right now. I’m sorry.
"If that’s how it has to be. Have you got anything for me to do over the weekend?"
"I don’t think so. I’m working up witness questions and preliminary jury instructions."
"Then I’ll just head down the hill to my neglected life in Carmel." And have a bourbon and soda at the Hog’s Breath, and maybe pick up a nice blond tourist from Sweden, and good luck to you, lady, he thought, exasperated. Competing with both Scott and her workload was getting irksome. "See you Monday."
Back at Tahoe on Monday morning at nine-thirty, Paul ducked reluctantly from the glorious outdoors into the stuffy Superior Court courtroom. He sat next to Nina at the defense table, while she shuffled papers and psyched herself up, ignoring Collier Hallowell and his consorts, ignoring even Paul after a brisk greeting.
Even before the jury selection began, the day slid downhill like a spring avalanche. Kurt dragged in, the deputies helping him shuffle his chained feet. Nina exploded at the sight. Collier Hallowell refused to stipulate that Scott’s shackles could be removed while he was in court, although he had no problem with allowing him to wear his own clothes.
The two lawyers argued heatedly for some time in front of Milne. Nina, who had definitely had a rough weekend, used phrases like "chain him like a wild animal" and "just a ploy to prejudice the jury."
"He’s charged with murder. His home is in Europe, and he’s already engineered one escape from custody," Hallowell practically shouted. "He knocked over a deputy, stealing the key for the handcuffs. I don’t intend to give him a chance to pull another stunt like that one."
"He turned himself in! He didn’t hurt anyone!"
"He was trying to hide the evidence of his wrongdoing," Hallowell said. "He only came back because Mr. van Wagoner, here, managed to talk him into it, and he’s got the bruises to prove it. I’m not going to stipulate to removing those shackles. If she hates them so much, maybe we can cover them up with a blanket or something."
"Sure, make it even more obvious. Humiliate him. Make him look like a dangerous fiend who can’t wait to jump up and rip the throats out of the jurors’—"
"It’s awfully early in the morning for oratory," Judge Milne said. "It’s the policy of the El Dorado Superior Court to shackle defendants in all court appearances after an escape attempt or any violent act. I realize this leads to some prejudice on the part of the jury, Ms. Reilly. If you want, I will caution them that in their deliberations they are not to consider the fact that the defendant is shackled."
"That sort of admonition is just a verbal blanket over his feet, Your Honor. The jurors won’t be able to think about anything else."
"Can you suggest some alternate method of mitigating the prejudice?"
"Well, he could just plead guilty right now," Nina said hotly. "He looks guilty and dangerous sitting there in chains. The jury can see the court considers him dangerous. Please, Your Honor. Don’t shackle him."
Milne said, "Once in a while, couldn’t we just have a trial start on time? All those people are standing around outside, wondering why they had to report so early. Why didn’t you raise this earlier?"
"I didn’t know they were going to chain him up until they brought him in!"
"I’m afraid Ms. Reilly wasn’t aware of the court rules, Judge," Hallowell said. "She isn’t in here day in and day out, familiarizing herself with the processes of this court. She’s off in the mountains running around with escapees."
"Why, Mr. Hallowell, Ms. Reilly here brings out a sarcastic streak in you," Milne said. "Let’s calm down. I don’t want to hand you an issue for appeal this early in the game, Ms. Reilly. I’ll give both of you until noon to bring me some case law. Just attach complete copies of the cases to a sheet with the case heading. Don’t bother to write up an argument. I’ve already heard your points. I’ll read it over the lunch hour, and at one-thirty we will start jury selection, is that understood?"
"Thank you, Your Honor," the two lawyers said in perfect unison, ignoring each other while the audience tittered. Nina came back to the defense table, overtly squeezing Kurt’s shoulder as he was hauled to his feet and herded out. She packed up all the files she had just unpacked, and marched smartly out into the hall, which was full of curious eyes, then made her way toward the law library, with Paul ambling beside her.
"I won’t let Collier get away with this," she said, not slowing her step.
"I thought you were on pretty good terms with him," Paul said.
"That was then. We’re in trial now."
"You started off with fireworks. Why not save them for a grand finale?"
"Listen, I’m sorry. I’ve got to run, Paul. Collier’s going to be back in his office, handing out assignments to a bright paralegal or two. They’ll sit at a computer and access some computerized legal research service. That’s the fast way to go. And people assume with that kind of access they’re getting everything. But you can miss a case, especially if you’re trying to beat the obvious precedents. I’m counting on that. And I’m going to have to dig deeper, over a wider area."
"So split, Paul," he said, sorry for her at that moment. She looked immobilized by the weight of her responsibility, as if the gravity around her pulled harder than it did on other people. "Okay. I wish I could help you."
"You’ve helped enough."
"Is that a crack? You still mad at me?"
"There’s no room for anything inside me right now except to hang on. Try to understand, Paul."
"I’ve got something I left in my car for you. I’ll meet you over there in a few minutes," he said as she tapped off toward the law library. She left without smiling. He’d seen a moment there when she looked like she might, before the old iron wall clanked down.
Shackles. She looked it up in Witkin under S, knowing it wouldn’t be there. Those unworldly scholars who indexed legal books and computerized legal research didn’t think like she did. She was going to have to find every case Collier might come up with in support of his position, as well as offer countervailing authority. Local court rules, exceptions to ... inherent powers of the judiciary ... escape ... prisoners, physical restraints on ...
Paul came back and dropped into a chair beside her.
"Not right now, Paul."
"I’ll just leave these with you, then, and go and have a big breakfast at Heidi’s before I head off to serve subpoenas."
"What are they?"
"Last-minute supplemental reports on the witnesses."
"Anything new?"
"Yeah. Four items. First, I finally lin
ed up the police report from 1984 where Jonathan Sweet supposedly pushed Tamara down the stairs. Jess Sweet signed the statement. She tried to withdraw it the next day, but they wouldn’t let her. He went into some kind of diversion program and the assault charge eventually was dropped. You ought to be able to raise some hell with the report."
"Good work. I can use it to impeach him. It ought to be easy to set him up."
"It could have been Sweet. He doesn’t live up to his name".
"Even if he killed his daughter, I doubt anyone would believe he could kill Terry from a wheelchair."
"One murder at a time," Paul said. "Okay. Second, the prosecution’s lip-reader, Willie Evans, has an estimable reputation. His testimony is really damaging, and our expert’s not helping. Maybe you can get Evans to change his mind."
"Well, I can try. What else?"
"The third thing is that the patrol officer, Jason Joyce, who stopped Kurt the morning after has as bad a reputation for honesty as Willie’s is good. I told you all about it in the reports."
"Thanks, Paul. It’s a big help." Shackles. Fetters, bonds, chains, leg cuffs, irons, manacles ...
"One more fun item, and I’ll go. Jerry Kettrick checks Ralph into the local psychiatric ward once a year, whether he needs to or not."
"Go on," Nina said, keeping her finger in the book to hold the page.
"But that isn’t the most fascinating thing."
"What is?"
"Don’t let me keep you from your books. I’ll just go off and eat my eggs and—"
"Don’t play with me! What?"
"You lawyers can be so humorless," Paul said. "Now, why is that? Ralph is having the occasional psychotic episode. He starts thinking rats are climbing out of the walls and floors and coming to get him. He’s terrified of rats. They think his mother’s drug use during her pregnancy screwed him up."
"God. And I almost let Bobby get up in the cab with him. Where did you find this out?"
"The Filipina nurse on the graveyard shift at the hospital," Paul said. "Of course, if you want the psych records, we’ll have to come up with a reason for a subpoena."
"Okay," Nina said. "I’ll put a subpoena and declaration together tonight. Milne will have to issue it. The hospital will fight." Maybe some smoke and mirrors would appear to obscure the case. "Rats!" she repeated thoughtfully.
"They fought the dogs and killed the cats," Paul said, yawning. "Ralph’s alibi boils down to his dad saying he slept through the shooting. Doesn’t cut it, if you ask me."
"The big smile, the rats, the monster trucks ..." she said.
"He’s a fine young American," Paul said.
"Thanks for all the ammo," Nina said. "Maybe I can use Ralph to raise a glimmer of doubt about Terry’s murder at least."
"How many glimmers does it take to add up to a flaming reasonable doubt?" Paul asked.
"Only the jury knows."
"Well, I’ll let you get back to your labors, unless there’s something I can do to help. There are a few other tidbits about other witnesses you’ll want to read over tonight."
"Okay." Paul lingered for a moment, as if he had more to say. She noted it, then chose to pretend she hadn’t. She kept her nose to the table.
"Bye," she said lightly.
"Wish you could come along." She didn’t react. Shuffling his feet for the briefest moment more, he left.
Nina pulled out her yellow pad and started writing down case citations.
"I’ve read your cases," Milne said after lunch. "I’m going to allow the shackles, though I will admonish the jury to disregard them."
Nina felt the flush of anger coming back up her neck. She said, "Your Honor—"
"Let’s get the pool of jurors in here," Milne said to Kimura.
Put on a happy face, Nina told herself. As the rather resentful-looking people filed in to take up almost all the seats behind her, Nina tried to connect with each of them, adding to her silent hail-fellows an expression of buoyant confidence. "Kurt," she whispered. "Remember what we talked about. Sit up straight and keep your face impassive."
She glanced at Collier. He smiled slightly at the incoming jurors, a practiced smile that gave away nothing. However, she could see from the way he was stroking his tie that he, too, was nervous. She had gotten to know his moods and his moves.
Milne’s brusque demeanor underwent its own transformation, to bland and agreeable. They were all acting for the benefit of the prospective jurors, trying to make a good first impression. From now on, what the jurors thought was the only thing that counted.
The laborious process of selecting the jury began. They broke off at five, and were back at it at nine on Tuesday. All week long prospective jurors had a final opportunity to speak, answering sometimes lengthy questions with lengthy replies. After this, those who were chosen would have to play dumb to the end, at which time the punch line belonged to them.
By Friday night, when the whole process was over, she wasn’t satisfied. She told Paul, as they waited in her office for the pizza man, that there were too many middle-aged women, and that she thought they would tend to support the prosecution.
She thumbed through the piles of paper on her desk and said in a voice that let the fatigue leak through, "I’ll be here until midnight. The trial has hardly started, and I’m already in sleep-deprivation mode."
She wanted some emotional support. But Paul’s blond eyebrows were drawn close together, and his face had a peevish look she hadn’t seen before. She didn’t let herself consider too closely that, after a long, wearing day, Paul might be waiting for a gesture of warmth from her too.
"No problemo," Paul said shortly. "Turn those ladies to your side. Make them feel sorry for him. Use that boyish charm he seems to have for you women. Make him the victim. Make them feel motherly toward him."
"Very good," she said, tapping her pen against her lip and nodding. "I like that. He is a victim."
Her tone seemed to anger Paul.
"That’s how you feel about him, isn’t it? Motherly? You better step up to save him, because he is one sorry S.O.B.," he said, with a hardness she did not like.
"Believe me, I don’t feel like his mother. Maybe you’d like that?"
"You’ve convinced yourself he’s innocent, haven’t you? You actually believe it."
"He didn’t kill Terry London, Paul."
"You’re sure? How are you so sure? Are you keeping something from me? And how about Tamara Sweet? Are you sure he didn’t kill her?"
"I have to believe—I think Terry London killed her, or someone else. Not Kurt."
"I’ve seen many criminals in my time," Paul said, standing up, leaning over the desk, his lips curled into a sneer. "And the women hanging off them. They’re expert manipulators. This guy’s doing fine with the ladies already. He’s got you jumping through hoops, doesn’t he?" He straightened up and kicked at the desk angrily.
"Get off it, Paul. Am I not supposed to have warm feelings toward anyone but you?"
"He’s using you," Paul said savagely. "And I’m getting tired of it. Because of him, your reputation around here is in the dumper. Hallowell’s half convinced that you engineered the escape and the whole town sees you as just another fool in love, soap opera trash. Meanwhile, you’re bankrupting yourself. I know Riesner hasn’t turned over that retainer to you. Sandy says she sends him a letter a week."
The hotter he got, the cooler she felt. It had struck her that she had to sacrifice Paul, get him out of the case. He was too sharp. He was going to figure it out sooner or later. He had to go, and this was the perfect way to make it happen.
She stood up, facing him across her desk. "Keep your voice down. This is my case, and don’t you forget it. I make the decisions. By the way, who’s being motherly here today? I don’t get to toddle two steps without you hovering over me in case I might bump my knee. In between bouts with the jealous-gorilla lover routine, you treat me like a child."
Paul flushed darkly at her counterattack. The veins stoo
d out on his throat, and his eyes bulged slightly. He was tired and spoiling for a fight anyway. He was locked in battle now, and he had forgotten everything else.
She folded her arms, glowering at him.
"Well, make your plans now. After he’s convicted, you’ll be wanting to hijack a helicopter and break him out of the prison yard. You want to go down with your lover, show him you’re loyal wife material for when they let you both out of the pen in twenty years."
"As opposed to being your submissive little play-mate, with never a serious thought in my head?"
"Beats pretending to be a man," Paul said loudly, "in sleazy high heels."
"Dammit, Paul, I’ve got more on my mind than sex, unlike some others in this room."
"I had more to offer than that," Paul said. "I’m going. Back to Carmel. You obviously don’t need me." He stomped out to the outer office.
For some time now the clacking had stopped, and Nina suddenly realized Sandy had been listening, because as Paul threw open the outer door, she heard her say to him, "Get some attitude surgery before you come back."
"Who said I’d be back?" The door slammed behind him, and the thin walls of her office shook.
Sandy came into Nina’s office, hands on hips. "Late for the party, as usual," she said. "Nothing left but cleanup."
"Sandy, I want to ask you something."
Sandy came over to Nina’s desk. "Shoot," she said.
Nina pushed dark blue heels out from under her desk with her stockinged toe. "Is there anything wrong with these shoes that you can see?"
"Well, they’re a little high for my taste," said Sandy, shifting her weight from one tennis shoe to the other.
"No, I mean, are they too dressy for court? It’s not like they’re black patent or something. I paid eighty bucks for these shoes.’’ Nina slipped them on her feet and immediately felt sleazy. "Trust a man to make you feel insecure right down to your most cherished accessory," she said.
Okay, she had played a dirty trick on Paul, and now she felt—
"Very sleazy," Sandy announced. "And I’m not talking about shoes."
She was giving Nina that inscrutable stare that always unnerved her. Nina remembered a short phone conversation with Andrea the day before. Had Sandy been listening?
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