Every Reasonable Doubt

by Pamela Samuels Young

  Just as I was about to pick up my cell phone to make a distress call, I spotted my destination, as well as a convenient place to park. The Montgomery house, or should I say mansion, was hidden behind huge steel gates and thick shrubbery. It stretched the length of what would have been about three houses in my neighborhood. The modern, brownish beige monstrosity could have been lifted right off the pages of Architectural Digest. I made my way up a long, stone walkway bordered on both sides by a lawn so green and plush just looking at it made me want to lie down and take a nap.

  A petite woman, dressed in a snowy white sarong that fit her like a tent, answered the door seconds after my first press of the doorbell. She had a subdued, exotic look about her. Her toffee-colored skin was only a shade lighter than mine and she spoke in a soft East Indian accent. I followed her into a sizeable entryway where she instructed me to wait.

  The view from the street advertised a world that was quite different from my own, but the home’s foyer shrieked it. Large enough to be a bedroom, the marble floor, the natural lighting and the Oriental vase full of fresh tulips reeked of a life of privilege. One where the cost of a particular item played no role whatsoever in the purchasing decision.

  When I was finally escorted into the living room, I could sense that Tina Montgomery had already bonded with the more experienced half of her defense team. A nervous churning deep in my gut also told me that Neddy had probably arrived early to accomplish precisely that goal. The muscles in my neck began to contract as a flashback of one of my clashes with David during the Hayes trial replayed in my head. I was not looking forward to another case where I had to engage in a daily battle of one-upmanship with my co-counsel.

  What I saw in the living room concerned me. Tina and Neddy were both sipping red wine, Neddy from a crystal wineglass and Tina from a gaudy silver goblet. A fancy gold-plated serving tray held an array of tiny edibles that looked as if they had been whipped up by Wolfgang Puck. This was a business meeting, not the cocktail hour. We needed to be all business.

  I quickly scanned the rest of the room. A wall of French doors framed an expansive yard with landscaping Martha Stewart would have envied. The living room, color-coordinated in varying shades of grays and purples, was too big to be comfy. The furniture, mostly over-sized pieces, slanted toward the contemporary. Every piece had a one-of-a-kind museum feel, designed for guests to take an admiring look and move on.

  Neddy was relaxing in a cushy lavender armchair. Tina sat across from her on a dark purple couch that looked more like a work of art than a place to rest one’s tush.

  The partial smile on Neddy’s face was the happiest I could remember seeing her. Ever.

  “Nice to meet you Mrs. Montgomery. I’m Vernetta Henderson.” I extended my hand, then pulled a business card from my purse.

  “Yes, I recognize you from the news stories about your recent trial.” She reached for my business card and placed it on the coffee table in front of her without looking at it. Her eyes looked everywhere, except at me. “And, please, call me Tina.”

  Her handshake was reasonably firm, but her baby-soft skin told me that manicures and paraffin treatments were part of her weekly regimen. She reminded me of what Halle Berry would probably look like in twenty years. Her short, curly hair was sprinkled with just a hint of gray and her makeup had a clean, polished look to it. At fifty plus, she was a beautiful woman. Twenty years earlier, she had probably been a knockout.

  I wiggled out of my jacket, laid it across the arm of a chair next to the one Neddy occupied, and sat down. The small woman in white appeared from nowhere and retrieved it.

  “We were just chatting until you arrived. Let’s get started.” Neddy set her wineglass on the coffee table. Her voice was soothing and sympathetic. This was obviously an act she saved for clients. “Mrs. Montgomery—excuse me—Tina, why don’t you tell us why you called our firm.”

  Tina curled up on the couch and placed her hands in her lap. It was a seductive, feminine move that might have been useful had any testosterone been in the vicinity. During the Hayes trial, our jury consultant had taught us how to study body language. If Tina had been in our jury pool, I would have pegged her as a woman who enjoyed enticing men.

  “I’m probably just being paranoid.” Tina reached for her wine goblet and cupped it with both hands. She glanced at me, then turned to Neddy. “I guess I just got scared when the police said they wanted to talk to me and look through Max’s home office. When I refused, they got pretty pushy.”

  “What happened?” Neddy asked.

  “They went from empathetic to confrontational. One of the officers threatened to get a search warrant.” Her eyes indeed bore the pain of a woman who had just lost her husband, and I could tell she was struggling to hold it together. Though she had tried to camouflage the puffiness around her eyes by applying extra foundation, the grief still seeped through.

  Tina’s refusal to talk to the police left me unsettled. If someone had killed Jefferson, I could not imagine telling the police that I needed to call a lawyer before I would talk to them, and I was a lawyer. When someone you love is killed, you don’t think about yourself. If you’re innocent, that is. So if Tina had nothing to hide, what was she so concerned about? Didn’t she want the police to find her husband’s killer?

  “Why’d you refuse to talk to the police?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.” I noticed her body shudder. I thought she was about to start crying, but she held it in. “He wasn’t killed here,” she continued. “I didn’t want them barging in and destroying my home. We’ve all heard about the L.A.P.D. engaging in some pretty outrageous conduct. I just didn’t trust them.”

  “Well, as far as I’m concerned, you did the right thing,” Neddy said.

  I wasn’t so sure. “Has anyone told you you’re a suspect in your husband’s death?” I continued.

  I noticed Neddy shift in her seat.

  Tina’s eyes nervously darted about. “No, of course not. I’m just being cautious.” I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Neddy cut me off.

  “Well, we’re glad you called us. Even though the police are likely to get more suspicious if you insist on having a lawyer present during your questioning, it’s really in your best interest to do so.” Neddy had real empathy in her voice. Her new softer side was making my head hurt.

  Tina smiled. She seemed happy whenever Neddy offered words of approval. The room fell uncomfortably silent, which apparently bothered Tina because she proceeded to fill the void.

  “There’s no reason for anybody to think that I killed my husband.” A single tear rolled down her cheek and she reached for a Kleenex from a box on the coffee table and dabbed at her cheek. “I just know how the police can turn things around.”

  Something still didn’t sit right with me. Her run-for-cover attitude just didn’t make sense. “Have you had any prior run-ins with the police?”

  Tina’s face told me that she was offended by the question and I immediately regretted asking it.

  She stared down into the goblet. “No. But I read the newspapers. They can make you a suspect and destroy your reputation without ever arresting you. In that JonBenet Ramsey case, the police leaked enough evidence to convict the parents without a trial. Same thing with that security guard who saved those people during the Olympics in Atlanta a while back. I’m just being cautious.” The woman in white appeared from nowhere and refilled Tina’s wine goblet.

  “We’d like to ask you some questions about your husband,” Neddy said. “Some of the same questions the police will likely ask.”

  Neddy spent the next few minutes covering various innocuous details of Tina and Max Montgomery’s life together. How long they had been married, where they had met, and what Tina knew about his business affairs.

  I was a little perturbed that Neddy seemed to be beating around the bush about the very reason we were there. I also wished someone would offer me something to drink other than win
e. Maybe the woman in white could bring me a Diet Coke.

  I decided to interject and get to some of the important stuff. “Do you have any idea who may’ve wanted to kill your husband?”

  I wasn’t looking over at Neddy, but I could feel her staring me down.

  I couldn’t tell whether Tina noticed the tension between us. She’d had three glasses of wine since I’d arrived. Probably not.

  Tina took a moment to mull over my question. “Frankly, I have no idea who could’ve killed Max.” I heard sadness in her voice. “But I don’t think it had anything to do with his business.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “My husband was extremely ethical when it came to his professional life. He never cheated anybody.” She stopped to take another sip of wine. “He saved that for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She raised her head slightly and her words came out much softer than the ones before. “Let’s just say honoring his marriage vows wasn’t exactly high on my husband’s list of priorities.”

  She seemed embarrassed to be discussing such a personal subject with us. Her husband’s riches had allowed her to distance herself from ordinary life and mundane people. Her days were filled with formal dinner parties, trips to tropical islands, and extravagant shopping sprees. But the state of her marriage would definitely be pertinent to the police, so I forged ahead.

  “You didn’t have a happy marriage?” I asked.

  “I didn’t say that.” She seemed close to breaking down now. “It was as good as any marriage of twenty-seven years. We treated each other civilly, made our obligatory public appearances and kept our disagreements to ourselves. Max may’ve been seeing other women, but I still believed he loved me. And, of course, I loved him very much.”

  “Were you and your husband still intimate?”

  This time I felt Neddy hurling invisible daggers my way. I had no idea why. I had asked a legitimate question. We needed to know the real deal about the Montgomerys’ relationship.

  “Of course we were intimate. He was my husband.” Her suddenly snippy tone conveyed that my question was ridiculous. “But Max had a sexual addiction. There was no way one woman could satisfy him.”

  A heavy silence hung in the air. “Were you okay with him…

  uh…” I wasn’t quite sure of the appropriate verb to use, “seeing other women?”

  “No, of course not.” She paused to take another sip of wine, then looked away, in the direction of the French doors and into her beautiful garden. “Max did his best to keep his affairs from me.”

  I decided it might be best to back off, so I turned to Neddy.

  “He was a good provider and a good husband,” Tina continued, as if she regretted painting such a bad picture of her dearly departed. “As long as you didn’t include monogamy in the definition of marriage.”

  I crossed and uncrossed my legs, feeling as uncomfortable as Tina apparently did. I wanted to get this interview over with. “Tina, I hate to ask you this next question, but the police are certainly going to ask it, so it makes sense for us to get it out of the way now. Did you kill your husband?”

  She did not flinch or blink, but turned to face Neddy, not me. “Of course not, I loved my husband more than I loved myself.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed her. There was nothing about her body language that told me she was lying, but my gut just wasn’t willing to commit to her innocence yet.

  “Where were you the night your husband was killed?”

  She briefly closed her eyes. “That’s the problem,” she said, sitting her wine goblet on the coffee table and wringing her hands. “I was attending a Crystal Stairs fundraising dinner at the Ritz-Carlton in Beverly Hills. I was chairperson of the committee that organized the dinner.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “You were at the same hotel where your husband was murdered?”

  Tina nodded.

  I tried to will the astonishment from my face. “Did you two go to the dinner together?”

  “No.”

  Neddy also sat at attention. I paused to give her time to ask the next question. When she didn’t, I continued.

  “Did your husband know your fundraiser was being held at the Ritz-Carlton?”

  “No,” she said shaking her head. “He’d planned to escort me, but the day before, he told me he had to leave town on business. At least, that’s the lie he gave me. I never got a chance to tell him where the dinner was. The events I organized were usually at the Century Plaza or the Biltmore.”

  Neddy and I looked at each other without meaning to.

  “It gets worse,” Tina said softly. “During the middle of the event, I wasn’t feeling well, so I went back to my room to lie down.”

  “Wait,” Neddy said, “you had a room there that night?”

  “Yes. I’d checked in the prior evening. I had to be there throughout the day to make sure all the proper arrangements were made for the dinner.”

  “Don’t tell me,” I said. “Your husband was killed during the time you went back to your room to lie down?”

  Tina’s eyes finally met mine. “Exactly.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The woman in white showed us to the front door and Neddy and I trudged down the long walkway toward the front gate in silence. When I opened the gate, Neddy reached in front of me and slammed it shut.

  “I don’t know how you conduct client interviews in employment cases, but what you just did in there won’t work in a criminal case,” she snapped. She sounded like a high school coach berating a player for fumbling the game-winning play.

  It took me a few seconds to gather my thoughts. First, because I had a habit of momentarily retreating when under attack and second, because I had no idea what Neddy was so mad about. I did know, however, that if we were going to be equals on this case, I needed to start laying the groundwork now.

  “I don’t like the tone of your voice,” I said, my attitude just as ugly as hers. “Since we’ve been assigned to handle this case together, you need to show me the basic courtesy of talking to me like an adult.” My right hand was confidently planted on my hip. My left gripped the handle of my briefcase so tightly a shot of pain went halfway up my arm. “Anyway, I have no idea what you’re upset about.”

  Neddy seemed surprised that her words had not caused me to cower. Most associates at the firm never stood up to her, but Neddy’s seniority and extensive trial experience didn’t intimidate me one bit.

  Her lips twisted into a frigid frown. “Interviewing clients is a skill you apparently haven’t mastered yet. In a criminal case, it’s not your job to question your client like you’re some prosecutor or a damn rookie cop. Particularly not during the first interview. Our first priority is to gain the client’s trust. Most of your questions, particularly your little ‘Did you do it?’ inquiry, were way out of line.”

  I didn’t know what to say next. I was certain I’d seen Eugene on The Practice ask his clients if they did it, but I wasn’t about to admit that TV was the source of what little I knew about criminal law. Okay, so I screwed up. Like a skilled politician, I sidestepped the real issue.

  “What’s up with you? Why’re you always so angry? We need to be working as a team. Okay, so I’m not a criminal lawyer. O’Reilly knew that when he assigned me to this case. But I’m a good litigator and I learn fast. If you’d take that mountain-size chip off your shoulder, maybe we’d be able to focus on defending our client rather than battling it out with each other.”

  Neddy sighed loudly. “I’m not looking for a fight. Lord knows I’m already fighting enough battles in my life right now. Just don’t go asking any more stupid-ass questions, okay?”

  “Fine,” I fired back. “I’ll be more careful with my questions if you agree to work on your bitchy attitude. We’re supposed to be trying this case together. So the first thing you need to do is stop acting like you’re my mama. If that’s the kind of relationship you want, then go home and make a baby.”

  Neddy
looked as if I’d just slapped her across the face. Her eyes moistened and she seemed momentarily stunned. I quickly replayed my words in my head, trying to understand why they seemed to hit so hard. I was mad as hell, but I still liked to play fair.

  “And anyway,” I said, “I don’t understand what was so wrong with my question. Are you telling me criminal lawyers don’t ask their clients if they’re guilty?”

  “No! Not lawyers who know what they’re doing.” Neddy acted like she wanted to put up her dukes. “Our investigation will lead us to Tina’s guilt or innocence. And besides, if she’d admitted killing her husband, it wouldn’t have changed anything. We’re still going to defend her. You’ve defended supervisors accused of discrimination. You can’t possibly tell me the first thing you do is ask your client if he’s a racist?”

  “Not in those words. But I certainly want to know if the allegations of racism are true. When I know early on that my client screwed up, it affects my approach to the case. I have to decide if it’s a case I’m willing to try or whether the information is so damaging, I’m better off trying to settle.”

  “Well, it doesn’t work that way in a criminal case,” she snapped. “In my world, a settlement still means prison time. And that’s not usually a viable option for most clients. You think Johnnie Cochran asked O.J. if he did it? I don’t think so. It’s irrelevant. Guilty or innocent, our job is to defend.”

  I still wasn’t willing to concede this point to her. “I just don’t see the harm in asking. Anyway, our conversation is attorney-client privileged. If we know whether she did it or not, then we’ll know how hard to fight.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Neddy had an incredulous look on her face. “First off, the harm is the client’s perception. No matter what, we want her to trust us. And second–and this is a very big point so you’d better commit it to memory–guilty or innocent, you always defend your client with everything you got. If you can’t do that, then you need to get off this damn case. Now!”