Juror #3

by James Patterson

  “Yes, ma’am, Ruby.” His body was tense, but his tone was friendly, familiar. “Couple of times.”

  “In fact, you gave me a statement over the phone on two separate occasions, and I discussed the case with you at your car lot in Vicksburg on Tuesday of this week, isn’t that correct?”

  “Sounds right. Probably so.”

  I raised my voice. “Was I or was I not at your office in Vicksburg on Tuesday?”

  “You was—were. Yes, ma’am.”

  “And when we discussed the night in question, you never mentioned that my client was—and I quote—‘shitface drunk.’ Isn’t that true?”

  “Well, I said we went to a bar.”

  “Did you or did you not relate to me the extent of his intoxication?”

  He leaned back in the seat on the witness stand and stretched out his legs. “Well, you’re his lawyer. I figured you knew.”

  I heard a snicker behind me in the courtroom and had to restrain myself from turning to give the gallery a Medusa glare.

  “You told me, in fact, that you conducted important business with my client. That Lee Greene gave you valuable legal advice, for which you were most grateful. Isn’t that correct?”

  He shrugged, apologetic. “I might have said something like that. I was trying to be polite.”

  I turned to the jury with a look of disbelief, then focused back on Reynolds. “Were you deliberately trying to mislead me on Tuesday night?”

  “No! No, ma’am.”

  “Has your recollection of events changed or altered in forty-eight hours?”

  “No, don’t think so.”

  “Then you’re misleading us now.”

  He gaped at me, shaking his head. “No, ma’am. Swear to God.”

  “Mr. Reynolds, you never told me that my client hired a prostitute, did you?”

  “What?”

  I walked up to the witness stand and gripped it with my right hand.

  “You never said my client hired a prostitute. You said you did it.”

  “I don’t think—” he began, but I cut him off.

  “You hired Monae Prince. It was your idea, you brought her to the hotel as a gift for my client.”

  Reynolds didn’t answer. Isaac Keet jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. The counsel for the defendant is badgering the witness, is not permitting him to answer.”

  The judge fiddled with his ear. “Sustained.”

  I stayed rooted to the spot; for an extended moment, Cary Reynolds and I engaged in a staring war. He blinked first.

  In a calmer tone, I said, “Let me repeat the question, Mr. Reynolds. Did you tell me that you hired Monae Prince to come to Lee’s room at the Magnolia Inn?”

  “Never.” The pit bull had disappeared; his voice oozed sincerity.

  “May I remind you, sir, that you are under oath?”

  As I asked the question, I heard a buzzing sound. At first, I thought it was coming from inside my head, but it grew louder, intensifying into an excruciating squeal. Three of the jurors clapped their hands over their ears.

  Isaac Keet rose to his feet. “Judge Ashley.”

  Making an apologetic face, the judge pulled out the hearing aid and tinkered with it until the whine subsided and the room fell silent.

  The judge looked at me. “Where were we? Do you need the court reporter to repeat the last question?”

  Cary Reynolds spoke up. “No sir, Your Honor. I remember.”

  “You may answer.”

  Reynolds turned his face to me. I read the challenge in his eyes before he spoke.

  “Yes, ma’am, I know I’m under oath. I swore I’d tell the truth, about that night in Vicksburg with Lee. And about the other night when we had our little chat. I’m under oath.”

  He coughed into his fist, then added. “But you ain’t. Surely do wish you’d got it down in writing.”

  Reynolds’s statement was accompanied by a smirk. The sight of his face caused a ball of fury to wedge in the center of my chest.

  As I struggled for control of my anger, Judge Ashley said, “Ms. Bozarth? Any further questions of this witness?”

  My voice sounded hoarse when I answered. “Not at this time, Your Honor.”

  “Redirect, Mr. Keet?”

  “No, sir,” the DA said.

  “May this witness be excused?”

  As Keet opened his mouth to speak, I jumped in. I’d regained my voice.

  “No, Your Honor, he may not. Mr. Reynolds is under subpoena to appear tomorrow, and I want the opportunity to call him.”

  I fixed Reynolds with a junkyard glare as I added:

  “As a hostile witness.”

  Chapter 62

  AS CARY REYNOLDS stepped down, Judge Ashley announced that he was adjourning court early due to a personal matter. While the judge spoke, Reynolds brushed by the counsel table, refusing to meet my eye. I tensed in my seat, eager for the judge to depart. I intended to waylay Reynolds and demand that he explain himself.

  But Judge Ashley called the DA and me up to the bench to explain the reason for his early exit. As the judge spoke, mentioning something about his wife’s medical appointment, I glanced over my shoulder and watched Cary Reynolds disappear from the courtroom.

  By the time the judge had left the bench, my client was disappearing as well. I had to elbow through the courthouse spectators to catch up to Lee, slipping away at a brisk pace.

  I chased Lee down the courthouse steps, calling his name, but he ignored me. I had to break into a run to catch up.

  I managed to grab on to his suit jacket. He paused, then spun around. In an angry whisper, he said, “Why didn’t you depose him?”

  I was breathing hard; the past hour had been beyond stressful. “I tried to, twice—you know that. He bailed on us, had insurmountable conflicts both times.”

  Lee shook his head with a humorless laugh. “Right.”

  I kept my voice low as I said, “You said it would be fine. You told me a deposition wasn’t crucial. You said that it was just as well because we wouldn’t give Isaac Keet a shot at him before trial.”

  I was nose to nose with Lee, but he wouldn’t meet my eye. A suspicion took hold in my brain.

  He sighed, with a weary sound. Looking up at the courthouse clock, he said, “I wish I were dead.”

  “Stop it. Don’t say that to me.”

  “It would be better than this. Better to just disappear. I can’t take any more of this.”

  He still wouldn’t make eye contact.

  I knew Lee well. Well enough to know he was less likely to contemplate suicide than anyone on this side of the Mississippi River.

  And he was entirely likely to deceive me when he thought it was in his best interest.

  I pointed at a stone bench on the courthouse lawn. “We’re gonna stroll over there and have a talk, Lee.”

  I took his arm and he followed my lead, walking like an automaton. Once we were planted on the bench, I took a careful look around to make sure no one was within earshot.

  Then I lit into him.

  “It’s high time you told me the truth about your relationship with Cary Reynolds.”

  Lee looked down, where my fist was still clutching his arm. In an offhand voice, he said, “You’re missing a button. On your jacket.”

  It distracted me for a moment. I looked down at my cuff; as Lee said, a bare thread dangled where a navy button used to be. On my brand-new suit.

  But if I was still Raggedy Ruby, I was also the HBIC. I reached over and jerked a brass button from his chest, then threw it across the courthouse lawn. “You’ve lost a button, too. So what? Don’t you dare dodge me, Lee. What happened with Cary Reynolds?”

  His head dropped, and he didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he spoke in a halting voice.

  “It was the semiformal. At the fraternity. Sophomore year.”

  He paused. To prompt him, I said, “Cary Reynolds’s sophomore year.”

  He shot me an impatient look. “My sophomore
year. Cary was a pledge, a freshman.”

  I waited for him to elaborate. What could happen at a dance that would be so terrible? Then I had an unpleasant suspicion. “Was it hazing? The university doesn’t allow it, not these days.”

  He laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Oh, Ruby. There are so many things you’ll never understand.”

  I didn’t argue. “Okay. Tell me about it.”

  He rubbed his thighs with the palms of his hands, which left a damp spot on the fabric. “Cary was all psyched about the dance. I asked if he needed me to fix him up—because I was his pledge father. He told me he was going to bring his old high school girlfriend from Vicksburg. Said she was a freshman at Ole Miss.”

  “So what was the problem? I know you, Lee—you’re about to tell me she didn’t measure up. Not pretty enough?””

  He grimaced. “She was black.”

  I pulled a face of disbelief. “Oh, my God.”

  “Well, she was.”

  “And that was a problem?”

  He looked away, defensive. “Do you want to hear this? Or do you want to preach at me?”

  He had fallen silent again. I nudged him. “And?”

  He looked chagrined when he spoke. “When they saw Cary’s date, the brothers were appalled. They said he had to get her out, that if he was interested in becoming a member of the fraternity, he’d never bring a black girl into the house again.”

  I tried to keep my face impassive. Lee was my client, not Cary. But I couldn’t stop myself from asking: “And you went along with that? You didn’t stand up for him?”

  “You don’t know what it’s like. The peer pressure in an organization like that.”

  I shook my head. “Oh, Lord.”

  He lowered his voice to the barest whisper. I had to bend my head to hear.

  “The brothers pulled me aside, said it was up to me to drive the two of them home and make sure they didn’t return. I dropped Cary off first; his dorm was close to Greektown. When I pulled into his date’s parking lot, she was crying in the backseat.”

  Oh, hell. A feeling of dread came over me. I had a pretty good idea what was coming next.

  “I got into the backseat with her. Seduced her, I guess you’d say.”

  I made a snort of disapproval, and he turned on me with burning eyes.

  “It was consensual.”

  I shook my head; my face wore an expression I didn’t try to hide. “You kicked them out and screwed his date? You’re shitting me.”

  “Oh, Ruby, you’re so crass.”

  I didn’t take the bait. He was going to finish telling the tale, regardless of the number of slights he launched in my direction.

  When I didn’t respond, he sighed and went on. “I’m really not the villain of this tale. The girl told Cary about it—God knows why.”

  “How did he react?”

  He made a face of distaste. “He beat the tar out of her. Somebody reported it, and Cary was kicked out of the university. Which apparently was the end of his academic career.”

  Lee let out another breath, the sound of a long-held confession finally released. I waited, wondering whether there was another horrific chapter to the episode, but none came.

  I finally said, “But what about the girl? What happened to her?”

  He looked at me with surprise. “Good Lord—how would I know? I never saw her again.” He paused. “I don’t even remember her name.”

  Recalling the conversation at lunch, when Lee described Reynolds as a “dropout,” I felt that I should have known there was more to the story.

  But I had a last question. “You knew Cary Reynolds had good reason to hold a grudge against you. So why on earth did you agree to meet up with him in Vicksburg?”

  He huffed out another breath that sounded like a groan. “I know you like to think I’m a total ass. But how things went down with Cary…it’s bothered me for years. I thought I could make amends by doing him a favor, giving free representation. It could be payback. You know?”

  Oh, I knew. What transpired in court today was payback, all right. Just not the kind Lee had predicted.

  Chapter 63

  LEE WENT IN search of his parents, leaving me alone on the bench. As he walked away, I unearthed a nugget of Nicorette and chewed down on it.

  Lost in thought, I stared at the patchy grass and kicked at a clump of it with the toe of my shoe.

  Cary Reynolds had transformed from a supportive defense tool into a poison pup, but at least I knew why. He had an ax to grind because he was bearing an old grudge. In my head, I pictured him returning to the witness stand, and tried to calculate how I might undo the damage without opening the door to further injury. If I opened the door on the reason for his bias against Lee, it would muddy my client as well as Cary Reynolds.

  When my cell phone hummed, I was tempted to ignore it. I was in no mood for conversation. But I pulled it out of my pocket just before it went to voice mail, and though it was from an “unknown caller,” I answered.

  “This is Ruby Bozarth.”

  “Yeah, this is Officer George, with the Vicksburg PD. I’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon. I got your message.”

  I sat up straight. “Oh, thank God.”

  “Did you get my message?”

  “No, I’m sorry, Officer George. I’ve been in court all day. You worked undercover in Vicksburg, right? With Detective Guion?”

  Since Tuesday, when I’d learned about the death of my Vicksburg cop, I had tried repeatedly to reach his coworker, without success. I was so happy to hear him on the phone, I almost swallowed my gum.

  In a voice pitched so low I had to strain to hear it, he asked, “How’d you get my name?”

  “Detective Guion mentioned you, said you were a good cop. That he trusted you. I’d really like to talk to you. Can I meet you somewhere?”

  He hesitated. “I’m beat. I’m on a crazy investigation, haven’t hardly slept in two days.”

  I stood, pacing in front of the bench. “It’s really important. We can meet anywhere you like, whatever is convenient for you. But I have to talk to you, and I want to do it in person.”

  He sighed into the phone. “Okay. I gotta eat something, anyway. You know the Seven Gables truck stop? It’s on the highway, outside the Vicksburg city limits.”

  I didn’t know the place, but I said, “Sure. I’ll meet you there. Six o’clock?”

  “Okay.”

  When he ended the call, I took off for my car at a run.

  Chapter 64

  WHEN I REACHED the truck stop, I walked into the adjoining restaurant, taking a careful look around. I hadn’t asked him for a description, figuring I could spot a cop. But walking through the tables of customers, I didn’t see anyone who looked like a law enforcement officer.

  As I cruised by a booth in the back, a shaggy-haired man in a camouflage jacket nodded at me. I paused by his table. He pointed to the opposite side of the booth and said, “Sit down, Ruby.”

  I slid into the vinyl seat across from him. “You had me fooled for a minute.”

  “That’s the idea.” He leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “I’m undercover. Don’t blow it.”

  “Right.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “I represent Lee Greene. He’s on trial for the murder of Monae Prince last spring.”

  When the cop didn’t say anything, I went on. “Your friend Guion was supposed to testify at the trial.”

  He blinked. “Got him killed.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but he was mute. So I said, “Really? You think?”

  “Monae was snitching for him.”

  “Yeah. I know that. He was going to testify at trial about her criminal background. Her prostitution and drug use. But—obviously—Monae is dead. So why would talking about her put Detective Guion in danger?”

  The officer rubbed his face with his hand. He had a three-day growth of whiskers. “Monae knew too much.”

  Again, I waited in vain for him to say more. W
hen he remained silent, I prodded. “Too much about what?”

  He looked like he was trying to decide whether to answer me. Finally, he shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, he said, “What Monae told him was bigger than prostitution. It was a major drug trade, and a big meth ring. So much money involved, there was a money-laundering operation to cover up the illegal funds.”

  “Wow. I didn’t know all that. He didn’t tell me.” I reached into my bag for a legal pad, but the officer stopped me with a warning shake of his head.

  So I whispered again. “This insight into Monae’s life could have a crucial impact on my trial. I need to establish it in court. Can you testify? Tomorrow? Or next week?”

  “No.”

  I sat up straight in the booth, attempting to look intimidating. “If you are under subpoena, you’ll have to appear. You know that.”

  His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I can’t testify because I don’t have the personal involvement. There’s nothing I could say that would get into evidence. Never worked with the snitch, never even met her. Guion kept her under wraps. And he kept the information close to his chest.”

  “But he must have submitted reports in writing. Someone has to know about this, someone who can help me.”

  “He was after a major player. And the guy had connections. That’s the worst part. Someone inside the department was on this dude’s payroll. Guion didn’t trust anybody with the information. He was afraid of a leak.”

  I slumped in my seat. “No hard file I can access, maybe?”

  “Nothing.” He picked up a coffee mug and wrapped both hands around it. “Nothing at all.”

  Shortly after that, the cop left the booth. As I watched his camouflage jacket disappear through the door, I was so frustrated I wanted to spit. The testimony I needed to defend Lee was buried with Detective Guion. Literally.

  Chapter 65

  SO, IT WAS back to Plan B: Cary Reynolds. Somehow, I had to back him down from the damning testimony he’d given in court. I turned to the window and looked down the highway toward Vicksburg. I wasn’t all that far from his car lot. It occurred to me: what if I surprised him in his office?