Every Reasonable Doubt

by Pamela Samuels Young

  I sat up straight in my chair and proceeded with my mission. “I want off the Montgomery case.”

  His face showed no reaction. “Why?” he asked, taking a big bite of his sandwich.

  “Personal reasons.”

  “I’m listening,” he said, his eyes glued to his sandwich.

  “O’Reilly, I’m not a criminal attorney.” My voice came out in a childish whine and I wanted to kick myself. The girly emotional stuff didn’t work with O’Reilly. I needed to be firm, not wimpy.

  “That’s a good thing in a case like this,” he said. He was making an annoying smacking sound between sentences. “It means you’ll be apt to think outside the box. Anyway, like you told me the other day, who says there’s a case yet? It hasn’t even been a week since Mrs. Montgomery retained you. She may never even be charged.”

  “I know, but something tells me she’s guilty as hell and I’m not sure I have what it takes to defend a murderer. At least not on an emotional level.”

  O’Reilly stopped chewing and stared at me. “Since you work here, I gather that you did graduate from law school, so I know you’re familiar with the concept that everyone is entitled to a strong defense.” He took another sloppy bite from his sandwich and continued talking with stuffed cheeks. “Since when does guilt or innocence have a bearing on what we do?”

  Since my husband wants me to have a baby and since you assigned me to work with the Antichrist. I didn’t respond, at least not with words.

  “Everybody–innocent or guilty–deserves the best defense that money can buy,” he continued. “And that’s exactly what we provide. This could be one of the most watched cases this city has seen in years. Do you know how many people had ties to Max Montgomery? I bet every dignitary in L.A. and several politicians from Sacramento and D.C. will show up at his funeral.”

  “I just don’t know if I want to be consumed by another long case. The Hayes trial took a lot out of me.”

  “Criminal cases move much faster than civil. You don’t have all those bullshit motions and discovery battles to deal with.”

  My appeal for release wasn’t quite working out the way I’d expected it to. I needed to tell him the real deal. “To be honest, Neddy and I don’t seem to click,” I said.

  That excuse didn’t move him either. “Give it some time.”

  Time would only make matters worse, I thought. We would probably be throwing blows in a week. I wanted to be straight with O’Reilly, but I also didn’t want to come off like I was trashing Neddy. No matter how much I disliked her, we were still the only two black attorneys in the firm. Our not getting along wouldn’t just reflect badly on us. White folks had a way of attributing negative behavior by one black person to the entire race. If word got out that we despised each other, every other black attorney who stepped foot in the firm would be tainted by it. So I had to tread carefully, even with O’Reilly. I tried another tactic.

  “David’s a former D.A.,” I said. “Wouldn’t he be a better fit for this case?”

  “Nope.”

  “I disagree,” I said defiantly.

  O’Reilly chuckled. “You’re overruled.” He unwrapped his second sub and went to work devouring it. “Besides, the client wants you.”

  “She doesn’t want me,” I said. “She wants Neddy.”

  “No, she wants both of you,” he insisted. “I didn’t have to work hard at all to sell you two as a team. Your stock is up right now after all the press coverage from the Hayes trial. You did a fantastic job and got an incredible verdict. You need to jump on that wave and ride it out. I know you think I assigned you and Neddy to this case primarily for publicity reasons. I’ll admit that was a factor, but I also felt you two would do a good job. You think this firm wants a malpractice lawsuit?”

  O’Reilly was doing an excellent job of stroking my ego, but with Jefferson pressuring me about starting a family and Neddy acting like we were marching off to war, it made sense for me to pass on this case. There would always be others.

  O’Reilly popped three pickle wedges into his mouth. “I can’t believe you, Vernetta,” he said, crunching loudly on his pickles. “Lawyers pray for cases like this.”

  “So you’re telling me I should be looking at this case for what I can get out of it?”

  He grunted. “Aw, don’t go getting all weird on me. This is business. In a high-profile case like this, win or lose, you win. If you get her off, other clients’ll be lining up at your door expecting you to perform the same miracle on their behalf. If you lose, people won’t blame you because a guilty verdict means she did it and deserves to be punished. In the interim, you get a chance to show the world what a helluva lawyer you are. In a year you’ll be asking me for a leave of absence to write a book or quitting to take a job as a legal consultant for some TV station. It’s a win-win for you.”

  I slumped down in my seat. “Wow, I guess I should be happy a man was killed.”

  “Stop it with the self-righteousness, Vernetta. You know exactly what I mean. You can’t possibly be that naïve.”

  “If you’re so hot on all the publicity this case’ll attract,” I said, “why don’t you try it with Neddy?”

  I knew that was out of the question. O’Reilly hadn’t tried a case in over ten years. He was more of an administrator/PR man than a lawyer. A job he relished.

  “No go,” he said with his mouth full. “The beauty of this case is the all-black, female cast.”

  “O’Reilly, it’s not appropriate to assign cases based on race or gender.”

  He stopped chewing. “That’s crap. I assign cases based on whatever factor I think’ll give us an edge. We just got a case before Judge Vanderbuilt. The man’s close to seventy and thinks women should be nurses and kindergarten teachers. You think I’m sending a woman into his courtroom to argue a motion before him? Hell no. If I did, the client would suffer because of it. That’s not sexism, that’s reality. Judge Mansfield thinks any lawyer who graduated from Stanford Law School, his alma mater, is God’s gift to the legal profession. And when we get a case before him, you’re damn straight I’m giving first shot at it to one of our lawyers from Stanford. And I’m definitely assigning a Jewish lawyer to Judge Levin’s cases.”

  “You act like a lawyer can win a case simply by playing to the judge’s biases. There are some judges out there, you know, who actually focus on the evidence, not the lawyer who’s presenting it.”

  “I never professed to be describing all judges.” He took a sip of his Pepsi. “But if I know a judge has a particular bias, I’m definitely playing to it. The same rule applies to the jury. If Tina Montgomery is charged with murder and it gives her an edge with the jury to have two black female attorneys flanking her in the courtroom, that’s a good thing.”

  “It could also backfire,” I said. “We might look like three scorned women. Having a guy on the case would add some balance.”

  O’Reilly shook his head. “Not buying it.”

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure jurors care about race or sex. What matters most is whether the attorney trying the case walks into that courtroom with an air of confidence, as opposed to arrogance. That he or she knows the facts, doesn’t talk down to the jury and treats them with enough respect that they actually begin to have as much faith in the attorney as they do in the evidence that the attorney is presenting. That’s what wins cases.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all that,” O’Reilly said. “But if you have that and some extra edge, you need to use it. I still think people in general identify with people who look like them and who share their same experiences. This is a criminal case. All you need is one juror to go your way to win. If you happen to connect with some black juror, it may mean the difference between a guilty verdict and a hung jury.”

  “That’s crap, O’Reilly. You act like every black juror is going to ignore the evidence and vote not guilty because they like me.”

  “I’m not saying it’s that black and white,” he said, holding his sandwich with
both hands. If there’s a shred of reasonable doubt, a shred of uncertainty about Mrs. Montgomery’s guilt and they like you and think you’re credible, I do think they’re more likely to go your way.”

  I didn’t want to admit it, but there was a sliver of truth to what he had just said. I wasn’t sure where to go from here, so I decided not to push the issue any further. For now. I got up to leave. Just as I reached for the doorknob, O’Reilly’s words stopped me.

  “She needs you.”

  “What?” I said, turning back to face him.

  “I said she needs you,” he repeated

  “Who needs me?”

  “Neddy.”

  I laughed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

  He folded up the remains of his sandwich and waved me over. “Close the door and sit back down.”

  O’Reilly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. As I rejoined him at the table, I noticed a big grease stain on his shirt, right below the collar. I decided to let somebody else give him the bad news.

  “I knew Neddy when she worked at the P.D.’s Office. Back then she was a friendly outgoing, free spirit who was everybody’s pal.” His onion breath was pretty strong. I hoped he didn’t have any afternoon meetings.

  “That seems hard to believe,” I said.

  He ignored my skepticism. “I don’t know how much you know about her personal life, but she’s had it pretty rough lately. She’s in the middle of a very heated divorce. Her husband is a complete jackass. I hear he’s trying to get alimony. You think Max Montgomery had a reputation for getting around? Neddy’s husband could’ve given him a run for his money. On top of that, she lost a young son about a year ago. After that, she just closed up like a clam, to everybody. I think this divorce is about to push her over the edge.”

  I considered everything he was telling me without responding.

  “I had more than one reason for putting the two of you together on this case,” he continued. He was no longer lecturing me. He was talking to me like an ally. “She needs a friend–badly. When you work together day and night on a murder case, the day-to-day pressures of litigation force you to bond. She’s hurting and I think you can help her.”

  “She doesn’t seem to want any help.”

  “That’s only because she’s not used to asking for it. She’s pushed everybody away who’s tried to help her, including me. And all her family’s back in Chicago. You’re a lot like her. You’re both smart, strong women. You’ll be able to penetrate the walls she’s put up to protect herself.”

  Of course, there was no way I could bail out after that sappy appeal. I got up to leave.

  “Hey,” he said, as I opened the door, “keep this stuff to yourself. I wouldn’t want anybody else to know I actually have a heart.”

  CHAPTER 9

  O’Reilly’s revelations about Neddy forced me to look at her in a far more sympathetic light. I understood now why my remark about making a baby when we were going at it outside Tina Montgomery’s house the other day stopped her in her tracks. And I felt pretty bad about it.

  My guilt did nothing, however, to help me deal with my own little mama drama. I would just have to pray that the cops found a suspect other than Tina Montgomery and that my eggs could outrun my hubby’s sperm in the interim.

  I could still smell O’Reilly’s sandwich and it made me hungry. I pulled ten bucks from my purse and headed for the Subway shop in the lobby of our building. Before I reached the elevator, I had a kind thought. I did an about-face and made my way past my office, down the hall to Neddy’s.

  Since it looked like I was going to be stuck on this case, Neddy and I had to mend our working relationship. If O’Reilly was right and there was a decent human being hiding under her mean-spirited exterior, her alter ego had to make an appearance sooner or later. I was still pissed at the way she had attacked me outside Tina’s house, but I decided to suck it up for the sake of the case. Somebody had to extend the olive branch and that somebody was going to be me. Maybe we could start this whole bonding thing over lunch.

  When I reached her doorway, I saw Neddy standing near the window. She was on the telephone, her back facing me.

  “I don’t give a damn about that spousal support order!” she hissed into the telephone. Her voice was low and controlled but at the same time filled with rage. “I’ll kill you before I give you a dime.” She turned and slammed down the phone just as I took a step backward, out of her line of vision.

  My timing sucked. I wanted to flee, but I wasn’t sure whether she had seen me. I counted to five, then knocked on her open door.

  Her palms were planted flat on her desk and her head hung low. When she saw me standing in the doorway, she composed herself.

  “Do you have lunch plans?” I asked hurriedly. “I was going to run downstairs and pick up a sandwich. Want to join me?”

  Neddy stared at me, but not in an annoyed way. There was a contemplative look on her face. She was probably trying to figure out how much of her conversation I had overhead. I assumed she was talking to her no-count husband.

  “I usually skip lunch, but thanks.” Her lips attempted to turn upwards into a smile, then suddenly stayed the course.

  “Can I bring you back a soda or something?” I asked.

  “No. But thanks for asking.” She pulled out her leather chair and sat down.

  Her face looked grim, no doubt enhanced by the fact that she wore no makeup, not even lipstick. Her short hair was unstyled and needed a trim. I was certain I saw her hands tremble.

  Just as I was about to leave, she actually said something nice.

  “Hold on a minute. I never got a chance to congratulate you on the Hayes verdict. So congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  I didn’t know what else to say and I guess she didn’t either. “Heard anything more from Tina Montgomery?” I asked.

  “Nope,” she said. “No news is good news, I guess. I just hope Tina had nothing to do with her husband’s murder. I really can’t handle another big case right now.”

  We had finally found something we could agree on. “You’re reading my mind,” I said.

  CHAPTER 10

  I left work around four so I could spend some quality time with my husband while I still had some time left to share with him.

  We were sitting at the kitchen table finishing up some lard na noodles with chicken, pad prik green beans, and vegetable spring rolls delivered by our favorite Thai restaurant. The house was quiet, except for the soothing vibes from an old Maxell CD.

  “I always thought married life would mean I’d get a home-cooked meal every night and wild sex 24/7,” Jefferson joked, stuffing half of a spring roll into his mouth.

  I leaned across the table and kissed him on the forehead. “Well, somebody lied to you big time, baby. Because we ain’t Ozzie and Harriet and it ain’t 1955.”

  “That’s cold. Y’all rope a brother in with regular home-cooked meals and nonstop sex, then you pull a bait ‘n switch. You used to cook for me all the time when we were dating.”

  “What can I say? Next time I guess you better get it in writing.”

  He grinned. “So how’s work?” I could tell Jefferson had something on his mind. He was just trying to find the right moment to strike.

  “Fine,” I said.

  He put down his fork and pushed his chair back from the table. “I see you haven’t started using that ovulation kit yet.”

  Damn. Back to the baby stuff.

  I took my time chewing my green beans. They were extra spicy tonight. “Jefferson, I can’t get pregnant just like that,” I said, snapping my fingers. “I have to go off birth control first.”

  “So when’s that going to happen?” His arms were tightly folded across his chest, which made his biceps more pronounced. I remember learning in my freshman psych class that this posture communicated defensiveness.

  “As soon as I make an appointment with my gynecologist,” I said.

  “And when’s that going to h
appen?”

  “As soon as I get some time.”

  “And when do you plan to make some–”

  I held up my hand. “Jefferson don’t do this. You know I want kids, too, but you can’t expect it to happen overnight.”

  “Why not?” He had purposely lowered his deep baritone

  Hell if I know. “Because I have a job that requires me to plan something like this.”

  He stared at me without blinking. “Have you told them we’re thinking about having a baby?”

  “Of course not. And when I do tell them, it’ll be after I’m already pregnant.” I stuck a fork full of lard na noodles into my mouth so I’d have a reason not to talk.

  We continued to eat in painful silence.

  Jefferson stood up and walked over to the sink and began rinsing his plate. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to just tell me the truth,” he said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just go ahead and admit that you don’t want to get pregnant instead of stalling and beating around the bush like you’re doing now.”

  Unfortunately, Jefferson knew me like a book. “I do want children…I’m just not sure I want any right now.”

  He didn’t say anything at first. Then he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, something he only did when he was pissed. “Okay,” he said slowly. “If you don’t want kids now, when do you want them?”

  “I don’t know,” I snapped. If I gave him a time frame, he would hold me to it.

  I looked down at my food, but I could feel his frustration without even seeing his face. “This is starting all over again,” he said, trying to temper his anger. “I thought you had your priorities in order after leaving Brandon & Bass. But it looks like our marriage is being pushed off to the side again.”

  “That’s not true.” I didn’t want to look at him, so I picked up one of the Styrofoam containers and dumped more green beans onto my plate even though I had lost my appetite. I wanted to run from the room, or maybe even the house.