The Jury

by Fern Michaels

  “He’s a basket case. The judge is with him. I know he didn’t want that but he didn’t know how to tell her he didn’t want anyone around. Time will help. He and Jenny have a lot of friends and they’ll be there for him. I’m kind of hungry, how about you?” Jack asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “I’m starved. How about you fixing something or ordering in? I want to take a shower. And a fire would be nice. We can eat by the fire, nothing fancy, a sandwich will do and some nice wine. I need to talk to you about something, Jack,” Nikki called over her shoulder.

  Jack blinked. Food, fire, talk. “Sure.”

  Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d built a fire this early in the year. His mother, before she became ill, liked to sit and knit in front of a fire. Once, in the middle of summer, he’d gone to visit her and she’d had the air-conditioning set at fifty-five degrees with a fire going. She’d knitted him a bright-blue watch cap that summer. He felt so choked up at the memory he had to bite down on his lower lip. Then he thought about Brad and how many memories he’d have to contend with.

  Jack stood back when the dry wood and the artificial log caught and sparked upward. Done. Now he had to rummage for something to eat. He knew his choices were limited, but he was game. In the end he fried up bacon and two eggs and made sandwiches. He was carrying the tray along with a bottle of wine into the living room just as Nikki plopped down on the sofa.

  “Fried bacon and egg sandwiches, mmmm. They look good,” she said. Jack preened at the compliment.

  They sat together, egg yolk and ketchup dribbling down their chins. “These really are good. The last time I had one of these was —”

  “When we were together and happy and planning a future together,” Jack said without missing a beat. “So, what do you want to talk to me about? Brad will be all right in time. He has to go through the grieving process. The judge…I don’t know, Nik. I want to believe she’s a tough old bird and will get through it. Myra did.”

  Nikki wiped her chin. “Myra almost didn’t; you know that.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said softly as he poured more wine. “Life is for the living. Some doctor told me that. I wanted to smash his face in. Come on, what do you want to talk about?”

  Nikki cleared her throat. “This is all hypothetical, Jack. What would you do as a friend, an outsider, if you found out that Brad was a wife-beater? Let’s say a year ago, before Jenny got pregnant but it was going on for years. And Jenny wouldn’t press charges. Let’s say you found all this out in a circuitous way.”

  Jack bolted upright. His face was a mixture of anger, disbelief and then red-hot rage. “Are you saying…No, I know Brad. He would never…I’d beat the living shit out of him and then haul his ass to jail.”

  “No, no, not Brad. That was just an example. I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t phrase that very well. We’re still in our hypothetical mode here. How about a high-profile man, someone high up in the present administration? Someone you’d never think would do something like that. Same scenario, just a different man. A powerful man.”

  Jack sat down with a plop. The relief on his face was almost comical. “Those bastards are clever. I prosecuted quite a few. The kicker is, the woman usually goes back, eight times out of ten. It’s all up to the woman.”

  Nikki played with the stem of her wineglass. “What if she’s afraid of this high-profile guy? I said he’s high up in the administration. What if she’s afraid he’ll kill her because his career in that high-powered job would be over and he’d face jail time?”

  Jack squirmed on the couch until he was facing Nikki. “This isn’t hypothetical at all, is it?”

  Nikki shook her head. “No, it isn’t. I don’t know what to do.”

  Jack chewed on his lower lip, never taking his eyes away from Nikki. “You personally, Nik, or your little…organization out there at ye olde farm? Why don’t you tell me everything and then we can talk it to death?”

  She did. Jack listened, his jaw dropping. “Holy fucking shit!”

  “Well, yes, that pretty much sums it up,” Nikki said as she poured more wine into both their glasses. “We both know the court system won’t work for Mrs. Woodley. Even if it ever got close to an actual courthouse. Let’s not bullshit each other, Jack.”

  “Nikki, listen to me. Knowing what you and your buddies are doing is one thing. Helping you is something else. Do you have any idea what you’re asking me to do here? You are asking me, aren’t you?”

  Nikki looked Jack straight in the eye. “Yes, I’m asking for your help. You know how the Feds work, you know people who can help you.”

  “Not those kinds of people. They’re real high up there on the food chain. Remember those guys with the presidential gold shields? I’m dead meat if I poke my nose into shit like that.”

  Nikki’s shoulders slumped. “Is that a no? You didn’t see her, Jack. She was almost dead.”

  Jack threw another log on the fire just to have something to do. “No, it’s not a no. I need to think about this. The guy is best friends with the President of the United States.”

  “I know. It’s asking a lot, Jack. I think we can take him on and pull it off, but we’re going to need some backup. You’re the backup.”

  “That’s just another way of saying we’re all dead. The guy has three more years in office, so that means Woodley will be at his side for those three years. He’s going to want to cover his ass all the way. If his wife didn’t turn him in by now, she’s never going to do it.”

  “I know that too, Jack. That’s why we’re going to do it for her. We aren’t even going to tell her. She’s got a long road of recovery ahead of her. For now she’s safe and sound and hopefully on the mend, but Charles said she’s never going to be the same. I don’t know what that means exactly.”

  “You better find out damn quick before you start anything. For God’s sake, give some thought to the possibility she’ll recant. Then where will you be?”

  “We’ll keep her safe and away from him. We know how to do that. You know, those guys you had spying on us are pretty good. Do you think…?”

  “No, don’t even go there. This is a whole other ball game. You’re going to be messing with some over-the-top powerful people.”

  “What about your friend from the Post? A dropped word here or there. You know, to start the ball rolling.”

  Jack poked at the fire. A shower of sparks shot upward. It was getting warm in here. Still, he added another birch log. When he was satisfied with his fire, he returned to the sofa. “Don’t go there either, Nik. Are you thinking of a smash and grab? What? You do know people like Woodley have special security, right?”

  “I’m aware of that. Don’t sell us short, Jack.”

  “God forbid. OK, let’s formulate a plan that you can take back to your…vigilante group.”

  “You’re in then?”

  “I’m in.”

  Fifteen

  September gave way to a dismal gray October and a briskness in the air that hinted at snow in the not-too-distant future. The days simply cried for a cozy fire and a mug of hot apple cider. The brilliant fall foliage was almost gone, replaced with bare, arthritic branches that looked like skeletons. The lawn this morning was covered in frost, and it was just a little past nine o’clock.

  Nikki climbed out of her BMW and walked around to the front porch to see the Halloween display the girls had created for Julia’s home-coming. Her eyes started to burn at the memory of Julia. Halloween was just two days away.

  Nikki lifted the top off one of the carved pumpkins. No one had bothered to light the candles at night. She shrugged. Having Judge Easter as a month-long guest wouldn’t have allowed for such frivolous things. She was here now to drive the judge back to the city. She shrugged again at the thought that Nellie had put a time limit on her mourning period. A month was all she’d allowed herself to grieve, and now that month was up. Maybe putting a time limit on her grief was the only way she could go on without her daughter and the grandc
hild she was never going to see.

  Judge Easter was sitting in the kitchen, her packed bag by the back door. She was dressed in a dull gray pantsuit that matched her pallor. She sipped coffee. The moment Nikki entered the kitchen, she was on her feet. She carried her cup to the sink before she hugged Myra and Charles, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “I’m ready, Nikki. I must say, you folks do provide service. I was prepared to take a car service but Myra wouldn’t hear of it.” She turned to Myra. “Thank you, my friend, for allowing me to stay here and for putting up with me. Charles, thank you for all the wonderful dinners.”

  Nikki picked up the judge’s bag. She turned and mouthed the words, “I’ll be back by noon. Call the girls.”

  Myra nodded.

  The women all wore somber expressions as they took their seats in the war room. Charles took his position on the raised dais, his fingers poised over his computer keyboard. He looked down at the little group, noting the absence of any paperwork on the table. The shoe box sat in the middle of the table. He waited as Myra brought the little meeting to order. Once, his gaze strayed to the far end of the room where Julia’s chair nestled in the corner. He quickly averted his eyes.

  “Ladies, I personally want to thank you for your condolences and your patience. It’s been a horrific month, but life and time go on, as we all know. We’re all women so we will persevere and prevail. Now, I yield the floor to Nikki,” Myra said.

  Nikki nodded before she turned to look up at Charles. “Has anything changed in regard to the Barringtons?”

  “No, I’m sorry to say. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to make a suggestion.” He looked down to see all the women nod for him to continue. “I suggest then that we hold the Barringtons in abeyance and continue with Nikki’s suggestion that her mission becomes what you all discussed among yourselves during our tragic misfortune. Nikki, tell us what you want done.”

  “I would like to see that little weasel, Karl Woodley, the President’s national security advisor, put to the test. I’d like to see how he holds up under a battering. The kind he gave his wife, Paula. The problem is, how do we get to him?

  “I know for a fact that the Woodleys live in the Kalorama section of Washington. No one sells houses or rents them there. I don’t think people die there. It’s very exclusive and I doubt Woodley could afford to live there if it weren’t for his wife’s money. Considering his position, I would imagine he has top-notch security. How do we penetrate that?

  “We need to know, Charles, where Mrs. Woodley is and how she’s doing. One of us has to talk to her. My office manager, Maddie, told me that when she picked up Mrs. Woodley, at Mrs. Woodley’s sister’s request, she wrote a note for the husband and Mrs. Woodley signed it. It said simply that she’d had enough and was leaving. Period. I’ve been scouring all the papers every day and there has not been one word about either one of the Woodleys in regard to their personal lives. The NSA is all over the place with his government duties but I have to think he’s worried that word of his ugly deeds might be forthcoming.

  “Paula Woodley gave my law firm her power of attorney and as such we closed down all her bank and brokerage accounts. Right now, Karl Woodley doesn’t have a dime except for his salary as national security advisor. I have to believe the upkeep is tremendous on the Kalorama house. Maddie is working on the sister to see what, if anything, she knows that can help us without alerting the sister to the extent of Mrs. Woodley’s precarious life.”

  Alexis leaned forward. “Where is Mrs. Woodley? Don’t you think her husband, considering his position in the administration, can find out? Are you prepared to have your office subpoenaed and your files taken?”

  “We have it covered,” Nikki said. “I personally do not want to know where Mrs. Woodley is located. If we don’t know, we can’t tell. However, I do want to talk to her. As to the NSA, I doubt he would raise any red flags in regard to his wife. Wife-beaters go to great lengths to keep their habit secret. And make no mistake, it is a habit.”

  “I can arrange a phone conversation,” Charles said.

  Kathryn spoke. “I suppose it’s possible the NSA is just going to suck it up. Maybe he’s afraid if he makes waves, it will get out. But,” she said and held up her hand, “creeps like him only feel good when they have some woman to use as a punching bag. Who is he going to vent on if she’s gone? I think he’s got private people looking for her. Is she safe, Charles? I mean really safe?”

  Charles looked especially smug. “She is really safe, Kathryn. I also think you’re right. There are people searching for Mrs. Woodley, but probably from the private sector. Rest assured, Paula Woodley will never be found unless she wants to be found.”

  Nikki’s sigh was long and loud. She took the floor again. “Should we assume that someone is watching the sister in Pennsylvania? If so, and if her phone is tapped, I don’t want Maddie anywhere near her.”

  “I think we must assume Mrs. Woodley’s sister is under surveillance of some sort. I’ll run a profile on both the NSA and Mrs. Woodley. I’ll also get the blueprints of their house. While I’m doing that, the rest of you decide how you want to handle this particular punishment. Almost a month has gone by since Maddie spirited Mrs. Woodley away. The NSA could either be resigned that she isn’t coming back or he could be livid. Keep that in mind as you plot your course.”

  The women huddled around the table throwing out idea after idea. Finally, when everyone was turning testy, Kathryn said, “Why don’t we just get a bead on the guy’s habits. Like what time he gets home from work, what times he does whatever he does. We boldly go up to the door, knock, and say we’re there to talk about his wife. Maybe we could pretend to be reporters doing an article for the Sunday lifestyle section of the paper. There’s a lot to be said for boldness.”

  Alexis had a sour expression on her face. Her time in prison and her dealings with the police were all too fresh in her mind. “While we’re doing that, what will his private security be doing? They’ll be hauling our asses off to jail, that’s what they’ll be doing.”

  “You’ll be altering our appearance, for one thing. How about if we show up, calling ahead and leaving a message, that we’re in the area and will stop by for a hen party, for want of a better explanation? We could pretend to be old friends interested in renewing old friendships, that kind of thing. We can pretend we’re old college friends or high school friends, or some of her Olympic friends, something like that. If we call from the District and use one of those prepaid phone cards, there’s no way it can be traced. We can call during the day when the NSA is at work. He won’t get the message till he gets home. We won’t be leaving a number for a call back. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he’ll be waiting for us when we arrive. That’s how we get into his house. Why are you all looking at me like that?” Isabelle demanded.

  “Because it’s a good idea,” Nikki said. “Let’s kick it around a little. We have to remember who we’re dealing with and how powerful the man is. And if we do manage to get inside the Kalorama house, we have to decide what we’re going to do to Mr. Woodley.”

  The women laughed. Up on his dais, Charles thought he’d never heard a more evil sound in his life. He looked down to see his lady love smacking her hands together in anticipation. He was glad that he was on the good side of these talented, dedicated women who were trying to right serious wrongs in the judicial system.

  Back at the table, Nikki was speaking. “I’ll go on the Web to see if I can find an alumni list from Mrs. Woodley’s college and her friends from the Olympic team. We need legitimate names in case the NSA decides to check out the message we leave him.”

  Yoko spoke softly. “Do you think it might be a good idea to pick one of the neighbors to talk to? I could deliver a flower arrangement with some made-up sender, or maybe we could pretend it was for Mrs. Woodley. We might be able to get access to the inside of the neighbor’s house and maybe they’ll talk.”

  “Another great idea,” Nikki said. “We can get Cha
rles to check the property listings and run checks on the neighbors. I think we’re on a roll, girls. Any more ideas?”

  The women batted ideas back and forth and finally decided that Yoko would say, if anyone asked, that a woman came into her flower shop saying she was from a real estate office and wanted flower arrangements sent to all the residents on Benton Street in Kalorama in the hopes of securing a house listing.

  “All any of Yoko’s people will be able to remember is that the request came via a Century 21 realtor, in case anyone asks. And the customer paid in cash. But we can’t do that until Charles comes up with a list of homeowners on Benton Street. Yoko can use her business van and deliver to one side of the street and one of us will deliver to the other side. We’re sure to get at least one person who will invite us in,” Nikki said.

  “Brilliant, dear. Just brilliant,” said Myra. “Perhaps I should be one of the delivery people. People are comfortable talking to an older person. I would like to do it.”

  “OK, you and Yoko will be the delivery people. Now, we’re going to need someone to go to Yoko’s shop with a wad of money. Who wants to volunteer?” Nikki grinned.

  “I’ll do it,” Kathryn said.

  “It’s coming together. Keep talking, girls. I’m going into the house. I want to call Maddie. On second thought, I think I’ll drive to the drugstore and pick up some prepaid phone cards and call Maddie from there. No sense giving anyone an edge. If you come up with any more ideas, write them down. Do you want me to take Murphy and Grady?” Alexis and Kathryn nodded. “Good, I’ll be back in an hour. Anyone want anything from town?” The women declined the offer. “Then I’m outta here.”