Would it be better if we were married?
She rinsed the conditioner out and pulled a brush through her hair, all with the shower still running. She thought for the thousandth time that she was lucky that she didn’t have to pay for hot water. The prospect of not seeing Jakob for the rest of the weekend saddened her. She tossed and turned in bed, the rollercoaster of a week leaving her anxious, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
CHAPTER 5
“I’ll have a tall coffee, room for milk, please.”
Liana had resisted calling a small coffee a “tall” coffee for years, finding it just utterly absurd corporate manipulation, but lately she’d decided that she better learn to pick her battles. After last week’s encounter with Gerry, she felt like she had an actual fight on her hands. She hoped against hope that there was a killer good legal issue in Shea’s case so she could whale on his brief and make Gerry eat his words. Liana wasn’t ordinarily a violent person, but when she got offended, the litigator in her came out.
“Sometimes I wonder what your insides must look like from consuming all that caffeine,” Deb said by way of greeting as they got into the elevator.
“My insides are just fine; they thrive on corrosive materials,” Liana replied. “But that reminds me, are you feeling better?”
“I’m not sure. My stomach hurts sometimes, and I have to pee a lot. And no, don’t ask if I’m pregnant—definitely not.”
“Don’t you have a doctor you could go see?” Liana asked again when they reached their office. She herself didn’t believe in routine medical care; she went to the doctor only in dire emergencies. “I’m offering to go with you—take me up on it before I wimp out.”
“I really only have my obstetrician from when Max was born,” she said.
“Well, maybe that’s an okay place to start.”
“Okay, okay, little Miss Pain-in-the-Ass. I’ll give her a call. And I don’t need you to hold my hand, although I do appreciate your asking.” Deb put on her earphones, tuning out Liana and everyone else, and went to work.
Liana eagerly turned her attention back to Shea’s case. She felt as if she had been holding her breath all weekend, waiting to get back to that rooftop. His direct testimony was not very long; Liana supposed that defense counsel felt he had done enough damage when he’d cross-examined Ms. Nash that he didn’t need to drag out Shea’s side of the story, which would, in turn, expose him to an extensive cross-examination by the prosecutor. After Shea was sworn in and gave his name and address, the following testimony was taken:
Defense Counsel: Mr. Shea, how old were you on July 4, 2010?
The Defendant: I was 24.
Defense Counsel: And were you working or in school or what?
The Defendant: I was working in construction for my Uncle Liam. I worked whatever jobs he had—it wasn’t really regular hours, but it was enough work to pay the rent. At night I took classes at Brooklyn College toward my BA. I was taking the summer session. I would get out of class most nights at around 9.
Defense Counsel: Okay. And what would you do after you got out of class? Would you head straight back to your apartment?
The Defendant: No. After class, I would head over to the McDonald’s on Flatbush Avenue and grab some dinner. I knew it wasn’t very healthy, but the first time I went in there, around the middle of June when classes started, I saw a cute girl behind the counter, and I had to come back.
Every night for a few weeks, I made sure to order just from her—to let other people in line go ahead of me even. And as the weeks went on, we became friends. She would ask me about the classes I was taking and the projects I was working on for Liam, and I would ask her about her family and her plans for the future. Nothing heavy, just friendly repartee. I didn’t really think it would go anywhere; I was just killing time with a pretty woman.
Defense Counsel: And how old did you believe Ms. Nash to be?
The Defendant: Old enough to know she was flirting.
The Prosecutor: Objection.
The Defendant: I mean, I knew she had graduated from high school. She wasn’t jailbait.
Defense Counsel: Okay. So let’s talk about July 4, 2010. Tell us what you remember about that night.
The Defendant: Well, first of all, I didn’t have work or class that evening, because it was July 4th. But I had gotten so accustomed to my interaction with Jennifer that I figured I would go to the McDonald’s anyway, in case she was working the holiday. I got there around 9. Even though the sun had already set, the heat and humidity were relentless.
“Repartee,” “relentless.” Who the hell is this guy?
Liana was reminded of his letter to her in the file, where he had used the words “remiss” and “propensity” and “glean.” This was no ordinary defendant. Half of her clients would write the word “trail” instead of “trial” in their letters. She wasn’t making fun of anyone; most of these men had never had a real opportunity to go to school and make something of themselves. But Shea’s accurate usage of high-wattage SAT-quality words was both startling and somewhat unnerving.
Defense Counsel: So, you got there at 9, and did you go into the McDonald’s?
The Defendant: I went in, and I immediately spotted Jennifer behind the counter. There was a bit of a line—it seemed like people were trying to get their food sorted out before the fireworks display at 11. I waited until I could be next in line for Jennifer to take my order, and I asked for a Big Mac and fries. I could see right away that she looked distracted. I asked her what was up, and she said her boyfriend had broken their date for later. I admit that my heart skipped a beat—I thought, well, now she’s free tonight, maybe she’d be willing to hang out with me.
Defense Counsel: So did you make a plan with her?
The Defendant: Yes. I told her I would wait for her out in the playground until her shift ended, and then maybe we could go up on the roof and watch the fireworks and chill out. I had brought some weed with me, and while she finished working, I went to the bodega on the corner and got a six-pack. I didn’t have any thought that I would really get anywhere with her; I just figured we could have some fun.
Defense Counsel: Okay. So her shift ends. Then what happens?
The Defendant: Well, she came out to find me in the playground like we had arranged. I guess over the two hours since I had seen her she had gotten kind of worked up over the boyfriend, and she was crying. Now, I’m not saying I am any kind of Prince Charming, but I can’t help being gallant with a damsel in distress.
The Prosecutor: Objection, Your Honor. This defendant is trying to make a mockery out of this trial.
Defense Counsel: Your Honor, he is entitled to testify on his own behalf and to tell the story from his point of view. It will be the jury’s province to decide whose version to believe.
The Court: Well, I agree that the defendant’s presentation has been more colorful than we usually hear, but let’s carry on, Counselor.
Defense Counsel: Okay, cut the fancy language, Mr. Shea. Just tell us what happened next.
The Defendant: So I gave her a clean tissue I had in my pocket, and she mopped up her face a little—her eyeliner was running, and she looked pretty bummed out. I suggested again that we go up on the roof, and she said okay. We went up there, and we relaxed. We shared a J, and we each had a beer. The beer was really cold because I had just bought it, and it was incredibly refreshing in that heat. I think she was feeling better, and I was just happy to be there with her. Jennifer was a sweet girl. I liked the way she always wore her long brown hair pulled back. I’m not saying I had any big designs on her. I’m just saying it was a nice way to spend some time.
Defense Counsel: Now, you heard Ms. Nash say that you sort of half forced her, half cajoled her up onto that rooftop. Can you explain that?
The Defendant: Yes. She was flirting. She wasn’t a child; she was a woman who had a boyfriend, maybe others in the past. She knew how to play the game.
The Prosecutor: Objection, Your Hono
r. This was not a game that night, and this is not a game that the defendant is playing here.
Defense Counsel: Your Honor, I asked the defendant a question about his perspective on testimony that the prosecution’s witness gave here on the stand under oath. He is entitled to give his version of events and to express himself in his own words.
The Court: Okay. No one is going to abridge Mr. Shea’s right to testify and invite a reversal on appeal. Go ahead, Mr. Shea.
Too bad.
This judge was awfully evenhanded, going above and beyond to protect the defendant’s constitutional rights. If he’d been a bit more rash—told the defendant to wrap it up or something—Liana might have had something to work with. As it stood, this was a classic “she said, he said” case, and the jury had accepted what “she” said, even though “he” was more eloquent. Appeals that relied on trying to show that “he” was actually the more believable one rarely went anywhere, as the jury’s decision was given deference by the reviewing court.
The Defendant: I wasn’t trying to give offense. All I am saying is that she came up to the roof with me of her own free will, even if she was kind of a tease along the way. After we had smoked and drank a little, it was like she said—I asked her to dance. And after we danced under the stars for a while, we started to mess around.
Defense Counsel: Okay. So far, except for the minor details, you and Ms. Nash are largely in accord. From your standpoint, what happened next?
The Defendant: What happened next is that Jennifer was in a good mood. She had a buzz going, and she was angry with Daryl for ditching her. She said she was on the pill, and I took that as a green light. I’m not denying that I took the lead—that’s the guy’s prerogative.
Jeez. Maybe this jury just didn’t understand this guy. He might’ve done better if he’d left his five-dollar words at home.
But she had to admit that his way of expressing himself was compelling to her; she could listen to him talk all night long. It was more than his vocabulary—although his use of language said something profound about him—he was a dramatic storyteller. Shea’s narrative captivated Liana in a way no defendant’s had before. He practically demanded that she believe his story.
The Defendant: So I undid her jeans and pulled down her underwear, and did the same for myself, and we made love standing up against the brick wall on the roof landing with the fireworks going off overhead.
The Prosecutor: Objection, Your Honor, to the term “made love”—that’s a gross mischaracterization of the evidence.
The Defendant: What do you want me to say? We had sex? We fucked? I mean, yes, we did that too, but that isn’t the way I talk. And I’m sorry if my understanding of what went on that night doesn’t match Jennifer’s, but I am happy to leave that decision in the capable hands of a jury of my peers.
Defense Counsel: Okay, Mr. Shea. No speeches. Just tell us what happened while you were having sex with Ms. Nash.
The Defendant: Well, things were going along fine. I was almost ready to climax, and I believe, based on my experience, that Ms. Nash was as well, and all of a sudden her younger brother and his friend appeared on the rooftop. Jennifer freaked. She was still living at home, and I think she panicked that her brother had seen what she was doing and would tell her parents. She ran out of there so fast she left her purse on the roof, which I picked up and took down to the lobby. I wasn’t waiting for the police to come; I’m not an idiot. I had no idea anyone was calling the police because I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. I was waiting to see if Jennifer would come out so I could give her the purse and see if she wanted me to meet her parents and allay their fears if Jimmy had said anything.
Instead, I found myself surrounded by officers and hauled down to the precinct.
Defense Counsel: And do you have any prior criminal convictions, Mr. Shea?
The Defendant: No, sir, I do not.
Liana quickly read through the prosecutor’s cross-examination of Shea. Although the assistant district attorney was combative, she didn’t gain a lot of ground—the defendant was cleverer than she was, and she ended up looking a little prissy. Defense counsel then made the ballsy and unusual move of calling to the stand as a defense witness the first police officer to respond to the scene. The cops were almost always witnesses for the prosecution, not the defense, for obvious reasons. Although the officer testified that Ms. Nash appeared shaken—she was crying and being comforted by her parents—he also confirmed that he found Mr. Shea sitting in the lobby, holding Ms. Nash’s hot-pink Gucci knock-off purse, a little wasted but plainly surprised when the police rushed into the building.
After the officer testified, the prosecutor and defense counsel entered into a stipulation that was read to the jury. In it, the parties represented that an expert in DNA testing and analysis from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner would have testified that the vaginal swab in the rape kit collected from Ms. Nash was tested and semen was found. Two profiles were obtained from the vaginal swab; one female DNA, which belonged to Ms. Nash, and one male DNA. The male DNA profile matched a sample taken from Mr. Shea.
“You know what I hate most about sex crimes?” Liana asked, rolling her chair so close to Deb that their legs almost touched. “Hey, take out those earphones—I’m talking to you!”
“I heard you. Anyway, that’s a pretty vague question, Counselor,” Deb said. “And could you give me a little space here?”
Liana moved her chair back over to her desk. “I hate DNA!” She pounded her fist into her desk. “Once you have DNA evidence, you’re totally fucked!”
“Literally,” Deb said and then laughed at her own joke.
“I’m serious,” Liana protested. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with this case.”
“Well, DNA does present the ultimate ‘deny what you can’t admit, and admit what you can’t deny’ scenario,” Deb said, more reasonably. “I mean, once your guy’s DNA was found in that girl’s vagina, he couldn’t say that the sex didn’t happen or that he wasn’t the one. The only defense left is that they were two consenting adults.”
“And that defense almost never works,” Liana said. The jury hadn’t bought it here. But Liana wasn’t so sure. Maybe Liana was swayed by Shea’s good looks or the gripping way he expressed himself and his obvious intelligence. Or maybe it was the weeks of courting and the slow dancing that preceded the first kiss. More than anything, it was the fact that Shea had sat in that lobby with Jennifer Nash’s purse in his hands. Although it was impossible to tell without seeing his demeanor on the stand, Liana thought that if she had been a juror, she almost certainly would have bought Shea’s story, hook, line, and sinker.
“Deb, do you think there’s any chance he could be telling the truth?” She couldn’t believe she was even entertaining the question in her head, and now she had said it out loud.
“Does that matter to you?” Deb asked, not unkindly.
“No, I guess it doesn’t,” Liana answered.
Just going to do my job.
“Get some rest, Cohen—this case is messing with your head,” Deb said, checking her watch and then heading for the door.
With the office to herself, Liana spun her chair around slowly, eyes on the ceiling, until she felt as physically disoriented as she did mentally. She had a lot of work to do. No way was she raising some lame generic issue that the prosecutor hadn’t proved her case “beyond a reasonable doubt.” Now that she knew the story and had been introduced to the cast of characters, she would read all of the sections of the record carefully—the pretrial hearings; the closing arguments; the judge’s instructions to the jury on how to evaluate the evidence; and the notes sent out by the jury during the deliberations, asking the judge for clarifications on the law or asking to see exhibits. Liana knew there’d be something she could sink her teeth into; she could feel it in her bones.
As she got her things together and straightened up the surface of her desk, she noticed the message light flashing on her office p
hone. She’d barely moved from her chair since her midafternoon coffee run, but somehow she’d missed a call. Liana hit play and heard a recording of Tony accepting a collect call from Dannemora Correctional Facility, then transferring it to Liana’s line. Danny Shea’s voice was smooth and steady, with only the slightest tinge of fear.
“Hello, Ms. Cohen. This is Danny Shea. I hesitated before reaching out to you. I don’t want to take you away from your work.” Shea paused, either composing himself or deciding what to say next, Liana couldn’t tell. “I really just wanted to make contact with you so you hear my voice in your head and aren’t just reading my words on a typed page. Maybe it doesn’t matter—” And now his voice broke slightly. “I just want to be real to you, Ms. Cohen. I want you to picture me, to hear me, to understand that there’s a man in that trial transcript. I want you to feel how much is at stake here for me.” She heard him inhale deeply before continuing. “That’s all I wanted to say. Get home safely.” And then the line went dead.
Liana stood staring at the telephone for a minute, as though she expected Shea to materialize in her office. She played the message again; Shea’s voice was deep and soothing, a trace of pleading just below the surface of strength and confidence. He had no idea how real he was becoming for her, despite her best efforts to keep him at arm’s length. She picked up her backpack and turned off the lights, standing in the darkened room, momentarily forgetting her own resolution to excise all emotion and sentimentality from her representation of Danny Shea. She felt wired—ablaze with professional lawyerly excitement and a pure hormonal rush that coursed through her in a volatile combination.
That night, after sleep eluded her for several hours, she took an Ambien and drifted off, visions of Jakob and Rabbi Nacht, Brad Pitt, and Danny Shea merging uncomfortably in her confused mind.
CHAPTER 6
Breakfast? Liana texted Jakob on a Sunday morning in late July.
Awesome, he texted back a few minutes later.
Unreasonable Doubts Page 6
