Juror #3

by James Patterson

  “I’ve never seen it.”

  Score. I turned toward the counsel table, prepared to take my victory walk. But before I could say “No further questions,” the officer spoke again.

  “But whether she was a hooker or was seventeen or seventy, the girl is dead. And somebody killed her.”

  Chapter 58

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS later, and the game was the same. I was still slugging it out with the DA and his witnesses.

  I had to get my hands around the challenge: to create a reasonable doubt that would render the jury unable to return a guilty verdict against Lee. But to achieve it, I desperately needed the information my dead Vicksburg detective would have provided at trial. I was trying my best to establish those points through attacks on the state’s witnesses, but my efforts were hit-and-miss. One step forward, two steps back.

  During sleepless hours the night before, I’d decided I needed to visit the sheriff. My dead witness might have had a hard file or electronic file with him at the time of his death.

  So when Judge Ashley declared a lunch break on Thursday, I sent Lee and his parents to Shorty’s, along with Suzanne. And I headed for the Williams County sheriff’s department.

  As I walked around the town square, I rehearsed my pitch. The sheriff would be reluctant to part with evidence in a pending investigation. But if I knew it existed, I’d issue a subpoena duces tecum for the information and he’d have to bring it to court. It could be the shot in the arm my defense required.

  I marched up to the uniformed woman at the reception counter. “Ruby Bozarth to see the sheriff, please.”

  The woman glanced at Sheriff Stark’s office. The door was firmly shut. “He’s tied up.”

  I gave her a brittle smile. “Thanks.” I bypassed her, strode up to Stark’s door, and walked on in without knocking.

  Sheriff Stark sat behind his desk, which was littered with the remains of his lunch: chicken wings and fries. Deputy Potts sat on a folding chair at the sheriff’s right hand, sucking on a chicken bone.

  “Hey, Sheriff.” I shut the door behind me. “Need to talk to you. In private.”

  Stark picked up a paper napkin and wiped sauce from his fingers. “Ruby Bozarth, you must’ve been brought up in a barn. Anyone ever teach you to knock?’

  “Brought up in a barn. That’s funny. Also true.”

  He wadded the orange-stained napkin and tossed it onto his desk. “Ruby, you’ve got one minute to say your piece before I have Deputy Potts escort you out of here.”

  It was an empty threat—probably. The sheriff and I had enjoyed a civil relationship since the outcome of the Jewel Shaw murder trial. But Potts dropped his chicken bone and scooted back his chair with a screech of metal. So I talked fast.

  “Sheriff, I need information about the detective who was found dead on Monday night. He was coming to testify for the defense. What did he have in his possession? I need to subpoena it for trial.”

  The sheriff gave Potts a hooded glance, then said to me: “Not sure what you mean.”

  “In his car, on his person. Files, paperwork, computers, phone.”

  Sheriff Stark cleared his throat. “Can’t say I’m happy to have a defense attorney meddling in an ongoing investigation of the murder of a lawman. It don’t sit right. There’s a brotherhood, Ruby.”

  “Blue brotherhood,” Potts echoed.

  I ignored Potts. Snoop Doggy Dogg, I thought again, wishing I could shove him outside like I’d done yesterday morning.

  But my bad-girl persona wasn’t getting the job done. With a sugary voice, I said: “Lord, Sheriff, I’d hate to do it, but if you won’t share the information with me voluntarily, I’ll have to get a court order. You know I’ll do it. I’m a real pain.”

  I smiled like a contestant for the title of Miss Mississippi.

  The sheriff bundled up the remains of his lunch and pitched it into the trash can. Maybe I’d ruined his appetite.

  He said, “We’ll cut to the chase—save you and the judge some time. The car was clean. Nothing in it but a suitcase.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “Impossible.”

  “It’s true.”

  “What about a phone?” In my dismay, I turned to Potts to support my position. “Everyone carries a phone.”

  Potts shrugged. “Everybody except him, I reckon.”

  Sheriff Stark said, “I thought it was peculiar, myself. But that Vicksburg detective had nothing on him. Potts, you was there when we searched. What did we turn up?”

  “Nothing.” Potts had resumed eating. “Just the body and the gun. Suitcase in his trunk.” He dunked a wing in a plastic container of sauce.

  The sheriff rose to his feet, a clear sign that the discussion was over. As he walked around his desk, he said, “Who knows what he was thinking. Those vice cops, they got a different procedure than men in uniform.” To Potts, he said, “Did you know that dude, Potts? You worked patrol in Vicksburg.”

  Potts swallowed and said, “Not me.”

  I stepped out, deflated. The woman at the counter cut me a frosty glare that made me lift my chin and stand up straight.

  As I headed out of the building, a thought nagged at me. About Deputy Potts.

  He claimed to be a loyal comrade of young Deputy Brockes.

  But was he rooting for Brockes? Or rooting around for the sheriff?

  Chapter 59

  I PUSHED MY way through the lunchtime crowd at Shorty’s diner. Patrons blocked the center aisle, waiting for tables to empty out. Only one seat was open: a stool at the counter, bearing a RESERVED marker. I cast a longing eye at my usual spot but moved on to a table at the rear where the Greene family sat.

  Suzanne removed her bag from the unoccupied chair at the table, and I dropped into the seat.

  “I had to fight for that chair,” she said. “Nearly came to blows with the old fart over there wearing the John Deere hat.”

  I twisted around to check out the man Suzanne described, hoping he wasn’t a member of my jury. Lee’s mother whispered, “Suzanne, please. I’m trying to eat.”

  Suzanne cut her eyes at her sister-in-law. “Who’s stopping you?”

  Mrs. Greene closed her eyes. With a strained voice, she said, “Your language.”

  Shorty walked up and placed a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes in front of me. “Meatloaf special. I’ll get you some sweet tea, Ruby.” He looked at Lee. Lee glanced away.

  I leaned across the table for the salt shaker. In a tone of false cheer, I said, “Pardon my boardinghouse reach. What’ve y’all been talking about?”

  Lee Sr. cleared his throat. “The testimony. Whether we made any progress this morning.”

  “We’re scoring some points. We’ve established that Monae wasn’t a teenager, for one thing. I’m planting seeds about the sex act. They admitted that you might not have been her first customer that night.”

  Mr. Greene said, “None of this makes any sense. Why would the woman have a driver’s license that made her appear younger than her age?”

  His wife’s voice was plaintive as she said, “When Lee was in college, some boys tried to get licenses that made them seem older. To buy liquor.” Her hand snaked across the table and covered Lee’s. “But not my boy.”

  Lee gave his mother a ghost of a smile.

  Suzanne shrugged and said, “Could be she wanted to look younger so she could dodge a criminal charge for prostitution. Or maybe to appeal to the creeps who like young girls.” She picked up the check and showed it to her brother. “You want me to pay this? I’m ready to go.”

  Lee Sr. sat stiff as a statue. “That’s not necessary.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll add it to your bill.” With a grunt, she rose from her chair.

  I jumped up. “Are you leaving?”

  She nodded. “I’ve got a hearing set in Barnes County this afternoon.”

  As she muscled her way to the cash register, I followed at her heels. “Suzanne, you can’t run out on me again. I need you.”

/>   “Honeybun, you’re doing just fine. I kept an eye on you all morning long. You’re hitting all the targets.”

  I grabbed her elbow. She paused, giving me a puzzled look. “What, Ruby?”

  In a panicky undertone, I said, “Suzanne, I thought you’d have my back on this trial. There’s so much at stake—and regardless of what you’ve concluded, things are not going according to plan.”

  She put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed, blocking the aisle. The man in the John Deere hat grumbled behind us, but Suzanne ignored him.

  “I couldn’t have prevented your witness from dying, honey. And as for the rest—you’re handling it.”

  “Suzanne, I don’t have your experience. The legal system—” I began, but she cut me off.

  “There’s more than one legal system in this country, Ruby. There’s one for poor folks, but it doesn’t work very well. They tend to get railroaded. And there’s a different one for celebrities and people with so much money that they’re above the law. That one doesn’t work so hot either. They tend to get off scot-free.”

  I shook my head. Her lecture on class jurisprudence wasn’t helping me.

  “But there’s another one: the system in which Lee Greene resides, where an honorable judge presides over a fair trial, decided by an unbiased jury. In this realm, justice will be done.”

  Frantic, I said, “I’m not reassured. That’s not a guarantee of acquittal.”

  “If he’s not acquitted in a fair trial, well—what does that tell you?”

  My mouth fell open. What did she mean? Did Suzanne harbor doubts about Lee’s innocence? Or was she clinging to a Disney fantasy of the jury system?

  Because anything could happen in this trial. Anything.

  Suzanne moved away, swiping her debit card at the register, chatting with the cashier. As I waited, I caught sight of a blond head in the crowd.

  Cary Reynolds was making his way toward the back of the diner, waving enthusiastically. I turned and saw the target of Cary’s greeting: my client.

  “Oh, Lord, no,” I said, and elbowed my way back to the Greenes’ table. By the time I arrived, Cary was hanging over Lee’s chair, shaking hands with his father.

  Cary saw me and said, “Hey, it’s Ruby Bozarth.” Sliding an arm around my shoulders, he said, “I shoulda known Lee would hire a looker for his attorney. Smart and pretty.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Greene exchanged a glance. Their silence was deafening.

  I edged away from Cary’s arm. “Cary, I’m delighted to see you—we all are. Thanks so much for coming. But Lee really can’t visit with you right now.”

  “What? My old brother?” He looked injured.

  I tugged at his sleeve. “There’s a policy: witnesses can’t discuss their testimony during the trial.”

  “We weren’t! I was just saying hello.”

  “I know, I know. But it’s best to avoid even the appearance of impropriety.”

  I pulled him away from the Greenes and back into the diner crush. He looked over my head and gave a departing wave to the Greenes’ table.

  “If you say so. It’s kind of crowded in here, anyway. Guess I’ll go back across the street.”

  “Good idea.” I watched him leave, to be certain he didn’t change his mind and double back.

  When I returned to Lee, his mother was talking into his ear. I heard her say, “I still don’t recall ever seeing that boy.”

  Lee glanced over his shoulder, probably to see whether he could be overheard. In a low voice, he said, “Mama. He was a dropout.”

  “Oh,” she said, sitting back in her chair. She pursed her lips.

  Lee Sr. shook his head. “I could tell. That hair.”

  Standing over my plate, I took three bites of meatloaf in quick succession, ignoring the pointed stare of Lee’s mother. I swallowed and said, “We need to head on back. It’s almost one o’clock, so Judge Ashley will be starting up again. Cary Reynolds is already over at the courthouse.”

  Then it struck me. Today was Thursday.

  I’d told Cary Reynolds to be in court on Friday. The subpoena I’d served made it clear: he was ordered to appear and testify on Friday.

  What was Cary Reynolds doing in Rosedale on Thursday?

  Chapter 60

  BACK INSIDE THE courtroom, the jurors shifted in their seats, as if they sensed an undercurrent of excitement. Judge Ashley said to the DA, “You may call your next witness.”

  Keet stood. “The state calls Cary Reynolds to the witness stand.”

  And the nugget of dread in my chest exploded like a grenade.

  But I didn’t let it show. My spine remained straight, my face noncommittal. Behind me, I heard Lee’s mother gasp and cough. She leaned forward, whispering, “Lee? Honey? Isn’t that your friend?”

  Lee ignored her. I glanced at Mrs. Greene over my shoulder and narrowed my eyes at her. Her husband wrapped an arm around her shoulder, shushing her.

  When Cary Reynolds’s cowboy boots clicked past me, I looked up. He met my gaze. His face was unreadable.

  After Reynolds was sworn in, he sat on the witness stand, crossing his booted foot onto his knee. Isaac Keet smiled at him.

  And Cary Reynolds smiled back.

  Keet asked him to tell the jury about the evening of March twenty-second, when he’d met with Lee Greene in Vicksburg.

  “I’d set up a meeting with Lee, to talk business. I’m a small businessman; I have a used-car lot in Vicksburg.”

  “What did you and the defendant do on that date?”

  “Well, I thought we’d maybe get some dinner, talk over paperwork. But Lee wanted to get a taste of Vicksburg. The nightlife, I guess. So, we met up at a bar.”

  “And where exactly did you meet?”

  “Roxy’s.”

  I scratched a note onto my legal pad and shoved it toward Lee: Bar was your idea? Lee looked down, shook his head. But there was no time to confer; Cary was talking again.

  “I’d printed out some paperwork that I’d emailed to Lee, thought I’d see if I had my ducks in a row, to file the articles of incorporation with the Mississippi Secretary of State’s office. Lord, I couldn’t hardly get ol’ Lee to look at it. He was on a roll. Wanted to get shitface drunk, just like back in college.”

  With a sheepish face, Reynolds turned to the jury box. “Beg pardon, ladies. But it’s a quote.”

  “How long did you stay at the bar?”

  He tilted his head back as if trying to recall. “Two hours, maybe? He was doing some serious drinking. So I thought I’d best get some supper in him. I drove us to a barbeque place downtown. But I’ll be danged if Lee didn’t drink his dinner.”

  I shot a look at Lee. He was livid; the cords in his neck were visible.

  “Then what happened?” the DA asked.

  “Well, I drove him back to his hotel. I had got a gift for him: a thank-you, for meeting with me.”

  “What was the gift?”

  “It was a bottle of Macallan. Twelve-year-old Scotch.” In a rueful voice, he added: “Lee likes it.”

  Keet’s voice was quiet, deadly. “What happened when you arrived at the hotel?”

  Reynolds uncrossed his foot and set it down. “I handed him the box with the Scotch in it, said thanks a lot. He wanted me to come on up for a drink. I tried to beg off; I’m a workingman, needed to be at the car lot early the next day. But he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  “So you accompanied the defendant to his hotel room.”

  “Yeah, I surely did. He was staying at the Magnolia. Nice place. I thought I’d best hustle him up to his room, see to it he didn’t make a big commotion. I didn’t want him to get kicked out.”

  I shifted my eyes to Isaac Keet. His face was stony. “And on that evening, y’all also obtained the services of a sex worker? A young woman named Monae Prince?”

  Cary Reynolds laughed. It made a jarring noise in the quiet courtroom. “No, sir, Mr. Keet; that wasn’t me. That was all Lee’s idea. Not me, no siree.” He e
dged forward on his seat and placed his elbows on his knees, like he was about to tell a secret. But his voice rang out loud and clear.

  “Lee made that plan at the bar, didn’t need any help from me. He spotted that little ol’ gal outside Roxy’s, made an appointment with her. He was thinking she looked ‘barely legal.’ He even said to me: you think that girl is underage? He said it like the idea gave him a thrill.”

  Reynolds paused. The courtroom was silent but for the sound of choking behind me. It was Mrs. Greene.

  Cary Reynolds looked away from Isaac Keet. His eyes connected with mine. Cary pulled a rueful face and said, “Ruby, you know how Lee is.”

  Then I heard a rustle of fabric and a shout of alarm, as Lee’s mother slid to the floor in a dead faint.

  Chapter 61

  LEE’S MOTHER WAS puddled on the floor of the courtroom gallery. Lee jumped to his feet and bent over the railing. In an urgent whisper, he said, “Mama.”

  Her departure from the courtroom was swift. Mr. Greene hauled her to her feet and she stumbled out, with her husband supporting her on one side and the bailiff on the other. I pulled Lee back into his seat, but his eyes were glued to his mother’s back as she made her way up the aisle with uncertain steps.

  Judge Ashley cleared his throat. “Counsel? Do you require a recess at this time?”

  Isaac Keet glanced my way. “I have no further questions of this witness.”

  I turned toward the witness stand and caught Cary Reynolds looking at me with a glint in his eye.

  I snatched my legal pad off the counsel table and advanced on him. Reynolds leaned forward in his chair, crossing his arms against his chest like a man bent on destruction.

  Looking at the tension straining his jaw, I was reminded of a pit bull. A pit bull could be a dangerous creature.

  But he was no match for a junkyard dog.

  “No recess, Your Honor,” I said.

  The judge nodded. “You may cross-examine.”

  “Mr. Reynolds, we have discussed your meeting with Lee Greene before, haven’t we?”