Every Reasonable Doubt

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “Girl, I can follow his ass. I’d be good at it, too. I had to follow this fool I was dating last year. I knew his ass was messing around. Caught him red-handed and wasn’t shit he could say. Never even knew I was tracking his ass. If I could find the start-up cash, I’d open me up a private investigations firm specializing in tracking down cheating men,” she said. “I already thought up the name. ‘Bust-A-Brother.’”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “Special, I’ve got a serious problem and you’re cracking jokes?”

  “I’m not joking.” She was actually offended by my lack of support for her proposed business venture. “My office would be right on Crenshaw Boulevard and MLK across from Wal-Mart. That’s a high-traffic area so I know I’d get a lot of business.”

  “Well, thanks, but no thanks,” I said. “If I need a private eye, I’ll hire a real one. You’re not even supposed to know about our little problem, remember? So please don’t mention it to Jefferson. I just have to figure out how to make him stop feeling like he’s defective or something.”

  “He’ll come around,” she said, reaching over and squeezing my hand. “But in the meantime, it’s only natural for him to feel like less of a man. You know how much stock brothers put into their penises. Jefferson’s a good dude, but he’s going to need you to be patient with him. You don’t have to coddle him, just be somewhere in the vicinity when he’s ready to reach out for you.”

  As crazy as Special acted sometimes, what she said made sense.

  “I just wish I could take some time off, but I can’t,” I said. “I’m praying Neddy doesn’t end up being charged with her husband’s murder. That means I’ll effectively be handling the Montgomery case by myself because David is useless and I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

  “Girl, you don’t have to be everybody’s savior. You’re doing the same thing you did when you worked at Brandon & Bass. Putting your job before your man.” She stopped to wag a disapproving finger in my face. “You lucked out once. You may not be so lucky the second time around. Anyway, don’t be putting your neck out for Neddy’s behind. She probably killed that man.”

  “No, she didn’t,” I said.

  Special’s hands flew to her hips. “And just how do you know that?”

  “Because I just do,” I insisted. I tried to block out the angry words I heard Neddy shouting at her husband. I’ll kill you before I give you a dime. I refused to believe she could be guilty of murder. Tina, yes. Neddy, no. Hell no.

  “Girl, sometimes I wonder how you ever got a law degree.” Special picked up a cube of ice from her drink and started crunching on it. “Is that what you’re going to tell the judge? ‘Neddy’s innocent because I just know she’s innocent.’ I wouldn’t blame her if she did kill that fool. Ain’t no way in hell I’m paying a man alimony, particularly some sorry chump like that. Does she have an alibi?”

  “Not really. She was home by herself. Didn’t make any phone calls and can’t point to anyone who can verify her whereabouts.”

  “Damn,” Special said, turning up her glass. “It definitely don’t look good for that sister.”

  CHAPTER 39

  I spent the next few days preparing motions in limine, exhibit lists, witness lists, and all the other boring but important administrative paperwork required before trial. Neddy was available when I needed to bounce an idea off of her, but she was growing increasingly distant. My hopes that the police would find another suspect and take her off the Most Wanted List were fading fast.

  As I was leaving the office late one night, it hit me that I should be doing something besides waiting on the police to clear Neddy’s name. Since she was always bragging about what a great sleuth Detective Smith was, maybe he could help track down Lawton’s killer.

  I tried to set up a lunch meeting, but Detective Smith was conducting a stakeout for another client and couldn’t see me until the following evening. We met at seven at the California Pizza Kitchen not far from the O’Reilly & Finney offices.

  “Thanks for meeting with me,” I said, once we were seated.

  “No prob. Anything I can do to help Neddy, I’m in.”

  From the hopeful look on his face and his eagerness to help, I sensed that he might have an interest in Neddy that extended beyond her legal predicament.

  “As you can imagine, the fact that the police actually consider Neddy to be a suspect in her husband’s death is really getting to her,” I began. “The firm took her off the Montgomery case because of it. I know Neddy didn’t kill her husband and I need to find some evidence to prove it. Except I’m not an investigator. That’s why I need your help. Where should I begin?”

  Detective Smith pulled a small notepad from his shirt pocket. “We typically start with the evidence we find at the crime scene: fingerprints, footprints, blood, and so on. If that leads no place, then we focus on the people who had a motive for wanting the victim dead.”

  “Unfortunately, most of the evidence leads straight to Neddy,” I said. “Her fingerprints, and probably her DNA, too, are all over the house because she lived there. And she was in a bitter divorce battle with Lawton, so there goes motive.”

  “Yeah, I hear he was trying to get alimony.”

  “You heard right,” I said. “So how do I find out who did it, or how do I prove Neddy didn’t?”

  He stopped to think for a minute. “Where was she at the time he was murdered?”

  I picked up my water glass. “At home, but there’re no witnesses to confirm that.”

  “Did she make any telephone calls?

  “Nope.”

  Detective Smith scratched his ear. “What time did she leave the office that night?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “It’s really hard for people to accurately recall their whereabouts with respect to time,” he explained. “I’ve seen it happen all the time at trial. People make guesses that are really way off. For example, what time did you get home three nights ago?” he asked.

  I tried to remember. “I think I worked late. I’d say I probably got in around eleven.”

  “Probably or definitely?” he probed.

  I tried, but I couldn’t remember for sure. “I would say 11:15 would be a pretty good estimate.”

  “If your life’s on the line, you need to know for sure. Could you swear that it was 11:15 when you walked through the door?”

  I stopped to think again. “I remember turning off my computer around 10:30. It would take me about ten minutes to gather my stuff and take the elevator to my car and another twenty-five minutes to drive home. Yeah, I’d say it was sometime between 11:05 and 11:15.”

  “So now it’s possibly as early as 11:05. Ten or fifteen minutes can make a big difference. Just ask O.J.”

  I nodded. “I see exactly what you mean. So where do we start?”

  “Does she live in a house or an apartment?”

  “A condo. In Redondo Beach. Why?”

  He asked for her address and scribbled it down. “Because even though she claims nobody saw her come home, that doesn’t mean somebody didn’t. It’s good that she lives in a condo. It’s very possible a neighbor saw her.”

  “So I should go knock on doors and ask people?”

  “Not you, me.”

  “You’re willing to do that?”

  “Of course. Neddy and I go way back. Like you, I find it hard to believe that she could’ve killed the man.”

  We signaled our waiter and ordered lemonade, Sedona tortilla soup, and a couple servings of the sesame ginger chicken dumplings appetizer to share.

  “I should also talk to the neighbors on the street where her husband was murdered,” he said. “They may’ve seen something. And then I’ll check my sources to see if I can find out what evidence the police have collected.”

  “What can I do while you knock on doors?”

  “How about just being a good friend to Neddy. I’m sure she needs that right now.”

  “That’s not a problem.” His though
tfulness amazed me.

  “Hey,” Detective Smith said, as if a light bulb just flashed on in his head, “do you have to swipe a key card to get into your office building?”

  “Not the entrance to the building. Just the parking garage and the floor we work on. Why?”

  “I think those things are computerized. There should be a record showing what time Neddy left. In a fancy high-rise like yours, there might even be videotapes. That would confirm what time she left the office that night for sure. You should also get a record of when she logged off her computer.”

  I began to get excited. “This is great. I’ll check with Building Security and our Information Technology department first thing in the morning. You have no idea how anxious I am to get the cops off Neddy’s back.”

  He smiled and saluted. “I’m here to serve.”

  CHAPTER 40

  I left my meeting with Detective Smith optimistic that we were going to find some evidence to clear Neddy. I hoped Jefferson was home. I wanted to share my good news and devote the rest of the evening to him.

  When I opened the front door, the stench of alcohol slapped me in the face. Jefferson was sitting in the living room, still dressed in his work clothes. A floor lamp in the far corner of the room provided virtually no light. All the windows were closed and the air was muggy and suffocating. I was not happy to see him lounging on our beige Ethan Allen couch in his grimy work pants. His feet, still wearing his dirt-encrusted work boots, were propped up on the glass coffee table next to a bottle of Hennessy. He was holding an empty glass in his hand.

  “The great lawyer has arrived,” he said, raising his glass toward me in a makeshift toast. His words were slurred.

  I’d never seen him this drunk before and I didn’t know what to say or do. I felt totally inept at helping him deal with his pain. I knew that lighting into him about his drinking and abusing our furniture would be a mistake.

  “How was work today?” I asked, unable to come up with anything better or safer.

  “Just fine. What about you? How many murderesses did you save from the gas chamber today?” he said laughing.

  I refused to take his sarcasm to heart. “Maybe one. Detective Smith may be able to help me find some evidence that could clear Neddy.”

  “Aw, that’s some really great news, baby. Congratulations.” Though his words were slurred, I could still detect the contempt in them.

  I pulled off my jacket and took a seat next to him on the couch. I reached for his right hand and slipped my fingers through his. I wanted to tell him that it was okay, that it didn’t matter that he was sterile, but I kept hearing Special’s voice ringing in my head, telling me that that best thing to do was just be there for him. So as hard as it was to do, I sat there beside him, saying nothing.

  After a few minutes, he laid his head on my shoulder. He reeked of sweat and alcohol.

  “This is a muthafucka, ain’t it?” he said, jerking away from me and leaning forward to place his glass on the coffee table. He missed it by several inches. The glass fell to the carpeted floor and rolled away.

  “Oops!” he laughed. “I guess I’m a little drunk, huh?”

  A little drunk my ass.

  “You know what I’m going to do tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going to call up Belinda Caldwell and tell her about herself.”

  Now I was beginning to fear that he was getting delirious. “What are you talking about, Jefferson? Who’s Belinda Caldwell?”

  “She said I got her pregnant in the eleventh grade, but that couldn’t have happened since…” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “I gave her ass five hundred dollars for an abortion. I always thought she was lying ‘cause she looked too happy when I saw her at school two days later. I’m calling her ass up and getting my money back.”

  I pulled him closer to me, but remained silent.

  “This is really a muthatfucka, ain’t it?” he said again, scratching the two days of growth on his chin. “I guess I should’ve figured it out. I did a lot of unprotected fuckin’ after high school, and I never once got a babe pregnant.” He raised his hand and pretended to aim a gun at me. “Pow, pow,” he laughed. “Oops, I missed. The great Jefferson Jerome Jones is shooting blanks.”

  I could still hear Special whispering instructions in my ear and it was the only reason I was not saying something useless, like everything would be fine.

  “Man, man, man.” A sharp whiff of alcohol closely followed each of his words. “This is so fucked up.”

  Jefferson pulled away from me, pressed his chin to his chest and stared down at his groin. “How could you betray me like this, man?” he said, roughly grabbing his groin. “This is pretty fucked up, you know that. As much pussy as I got for you? I got you some of the baddest babes in L.A. and this is how you treat me? I always took good care of you. Never let you get gonorrhea or syphilis or none of that other shit. And just because I banged you up one fuckin’ little time, you go and do some shit like this to me. This is really fucked up, man. You know that? This is really fucked up.”

  Tears began to stream down his cheeks.

  I slid into Jefferson’s lap and wrapped my arms around his thick neck and pressed my cheek against his. The stubble along his jaw felt like sandpaper. He was holding onto me so tight I had to struggle to breathe. I felt his chest heave up and down and I knew that he was trying hard to keep his anguish inside. When his silent cries finally found a voice, his sobs escaped in strong, muffled surges.

  I cried with him, the reality of our situation painfully clear. I would never give birth to a little boy who would be the spitting image of his father. And if Jefferson’s views on adoption didn’t change, we would never be parents—to any child. The same way Jefferson’s sterility had rocked him, the thought of us never being parents was an unbearable possibility for me.

  The lawyer in me continued to search my mind for words of comfort, though deep down, I knew that words would not help him. It took some time, but I eventually gave up. I don’t know how long we sat there. But for some time we held onto each other, rocking and crying until we both drifted off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 41

  Jefferson and I spent a long weekend together, just kicking it at home. We watched a string of old movies and ordered out for pizza on Saturday and Chinese food on Sunday. I got to work early on Monday and had a fairly productive day. Close to six, while I was debating whether to call it a day, I looked up to find Neddy standing in the doorway of my office. The old, bitter Neddy, not the one I now considered my friend.

  “I understand you’ve been playing detective,” she said. Her voice had a vile undertone to it.

  I knew she’d had it rough lately, so I decided not to take her nasty attitude personally. “Yes, I have,” I said smiling.

  I hadn’t heard back from Building Security or the IT guy yet, so I didn’t want to get her hopes up until I had an idea of exactly what the records would show. But since she’d apparently found out, I’d have to tell her something. “I talked to—”

  “Detective Smith. Yeah, I know. Why don’t you just mind your own business?”

  “What?”

  She walked closer to my desk and hovered over me, her eyes filled with rage. “I said why don’t you mind your own damn business?”

  I was dumbstruck. Why was she attacking me? “I was just trying to help you,” I said, struggling to maintain my cool. “And I think I have.”

  “I don’t need your help,” she snarled.

  I was ready to take the same spiteful tone, but, as with Jefferson, my gut told me to cool it. If I were in her shoes, I’d be a bad-tempered basket case, too. “Maybe you should sit down,” I said.

  She ignored my suggestion and remained standing.

  “I’m going to do you a favor right now,” I continued. “I’m going to assume that you’re attacking me because you’re stressed out from everything you’ve been going through. So I’m not going to take it personally, and—”

  “I’m attacking you b
ecause you apparently think I killed Lawton,” her voice cracked slightly. “I know you heard me that day I was on the phone with him, when I told him I’d kill him before I’d pay him alimony.”

  I started to deny that I had heard anything, but changed my mind. “Yeah, I heard you, but you’re wrong. I don’t think you killed your husband. Why’re you so angry? I’m just trying to help.”

  “First, I find out that you’ve got Detective Smith talking to my neighbors, then you have the nerve to ask Building Security for my key card printout to see when I left the building.”

  I glanced at the open door, knowing I should go over and close it, but I didn’t. We might be resorting to blows shortly and somebody would need to come in and break up the fight before we killed each other. “I asked for that printout so I could help show you couldn’t have killed Lawton because of the time you left the office. I’m trying to help you, Neddy.”

  “Are you?”

  I couldn’t believe it. She was serious.

  “David said you didn’t like the fact that Tina and I were so close. He thinks you’re jealous of me.”

  I was speechless. How could she possibly give credence to anything David had to say? I’d been working my ass off trying to save her behind and this was the thanks I got? I inhaled and tried to remember that she was not herself.

  I stood up so I could gawk back at her on a more level basis. “Why don’t you go someplace and calm down and come back and talk to me when you’ve had a chance to think about what you’re saying.”

  She continued to glare at me. “I know exactly what I’m saying. According to David, you’re happy to have the lead on the Montgomery case.”

  Every time she mentioned David’s name I wanted to scream. I walked around to the front of my desk and stood inches from her. She took a single step back. “You’re really trippin’, now,” I said, my voice low, but angry. “You’re attacking the wrong person. Anything David says is a lie. I can’t believe you’re jumping all over me when all I’ve been trying to do is help you. Can’t you see what David’s trying to do? If he drives a wedge between us, he’s the next logical person to try this case.”