Unreasonable Doubts

by Reyna Marder Gentin

  The sound grew louder and louder and resolved into a familiar Jewish celebratory tune, and she saw Zach enter the room, supported at either elbow by his father—Jakob’s Uncle Hal—and Maggie’s father. Zach was beaming, if pallid, and all his young friends and even Rabbi Nacht were marching in behind him, singing and clapping. She spotted Jakob in the clump of men, looking bewildered but caught up in the joyous throng. Zach reached Maggie and bent toward her. He whispered something in her ear that Liana couldn’t hear and looked adoringly into her eyes before kissing her tenderly on the top of her head and lowering her veil. All of the parents gave quick hugs and kisses to Maggie and Zach, and then one of Zach’s friends hoisted him up on his shoulders and carried him out of the room, the rest of the men singing at the top of their lungs as the trumpets blared, clapping and hooting as if they were at a college basketball game. Liana hadn’t realized it, but tears were streaming down her face. She had never seen anything so beautiful before in her life.

  After the drama of the bedeken, the actual wedding ceremony was almost anticlimactic. Maggie and Zach stood under the chuppah, the wedding canopy, surrounded by their immediate family and the hordes of bridesmaids and groomsmen. Rabbi Nacht read the lengthy marriage contract in Aramaic, and distinguished male guests were invited up to recite the seven blessings of the wedding ceremony. The rabbi spoke a little bit about the couple, but it sounded stilted, as though he didn’t really know them.

  If this were my wedding, at least Rabbi Nacht would have something to say about us.

  Then the rabbi began to sing a traditional Hebrew wedding ballad, “Night of the Roses.” He sang about myrrh and roses and doves, the words incomprehensible to Liana, but the passion and longing palpable.

  At the end of the ceremony, Zach smashed a glass, which turned out to be a light bulb wrapped in a napkin, with his foot, in commemoration of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem by the Romans in the year 70 CE and to remind the young couple that in life there is also sadness amidst great joy.

  “Is that allowed, the whole light bulb substitution thing?” Liana whispered to Jakob.

  “I think so,” he said. “But I agree with you, it’s kind of cheesy.” The shouts of “Mazel tov!” were deafening, especially combined with the now earsplitting trumpets. The rest of the night was a whirlwind of traditional hora circle dancing, gorging on too-rare prime rib, and winding up, at nearly two in the morning, with slow dancing. Jakob held Liana close as they swayed, and she felt as though she could stay in the moment for all time, protected and safe and loved.

  “Hey, Jay, listen to what they’re playing!”

  “Mmm,” he murmured in her ear, “I had a little word with the bandleader. . . .”

  The tones of “Till There Was You” filled the ballroom.

  This is so perfect. Why am I so scared?

  CHAPTER 8

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Deb exclaimed in mock horror when Liana showed up to work close to ten thirty the morning after the weekend sojourn to Atlanta.

  “Not that I owe you any explanations,” Liana grumped, “but I had a showdown with a three-inch long water bug in my bathroom this morning. It was either going to be me or that big boy if I was getting into the shower, and in the end, I had to just close the bathroom door and run out of the apartment.”

  “Ew!” Deb squealed. Deb was the kind of woman who’d never leave home without being totally groomed, top to bottom. The thought of not showering wouldn’t cross her mind, no matter the circumstances. “Well, you just stay on your side of the office,” she warned, which was laughable—the office was so small that when both women sat at their desks, which were positioned on opposite sides of the room, the backs of their chairs touched. The guys in the mailroom had tried rearranging the furniture, such as it was, a dozen times—their desks, a couple of file cabinets, two low bookcases, two computer stands—but nothing they did made the office feel any more spacious. The room was meant as a single and was being used as a double, but Liana and Deb had stayed together even when they had been offered their own offices.

  “Anyway,” said Liana, settling into her chair, “I’ve been here a hell of a lot more than you have lately. How are you feeling? What did your doctor say?” August was always the slowest time in the office, with the attorneys taking vacations and days off here and there, a pattern of near work-stoppage that Gerry railed against every year but which persisted nonetheless. Liana had chalked up Deb’s occasional absences to time spent with Max. She realized with a pang of guilt that this was the first she’d asked after Deb’s health in a while. Deb sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

  Was she trying not to cry?

  “She said she doesn’t know what’s wrong with me yet but that she believes me that I’m not feeling right. She’s going to run some more tests, and then I guess we’ll make a plan. But at least she took me seriously; she didn’t treat me like some drama queen.”

  “That’s because she doesn’t know you well enough,” Liana said.

  “Screw you,” Deb said. Their dynamic intact, they both turned back to their work.

  Liana had almost finished going through the entire record of Danny Shea’s trial with a fine-toothed comb, and she still didn’t have much she could raise on his behalf. It was now August, and she had worked all through July on his case—devoting more time than she should have allotted if she was going to stick to the schedule that made quota.

  “So what do you have so far?” Deb asked.

  “Nothing that doesn’t suck,” Liana responded. “I could cobble together an argument that he was denied a fair trial. At one point, the judge cut defense counsel off when he started questioning the girl about her prior sexual relationship with her boyfriend Daryl.”

  “Okay—but that’s standard. The rape shield law protects the victim from having to give irrelevant and embarrassing details of her personal life on the stand,” Deb said.

  “I know, I know. What about this? At another point the prosecutor commented that Danny Shea had sat through the whole trial before he was called to the stand to testify—and that he ‘tailored his testimony’ as much as possible to match what the other witnesses had said, especially the victim, to make himself look more credible,” Liana offered.

  “All of which is probably true—although the DA’s not supposed to say it because the defendant has a constitutional right to be present at his own trial. I don’t know, Liana; you’d need a lot more egregious prosecutorial misconduct than that to do this guy any good on appeal,” Deb said, shaking her head.

  “You don’t say?” Liana buried her head in her hands for a moment and then resumed reading the transcript.

  Right before noon, Gerry strode into their office. “Deb, darling, how are you feeling, my dear?” As much as Gerry liked to needle Liana whenever possible, he loved Deb with a devotion beyond measure. She was just the sort of woman Gerry admired—she was beautiful but could curse like a sailor, and she was irreverent about everything from religion to relationships and all topics in between. Deb also knew how to play the game in a way Liana didn’t; she harbored many of the same doubts about her clients, but she had learned long ago to keep those thoughts under wraps.

  “I’m doing okay, Ger. Thanks for asking,” Deb said, revealing nothing.

  “And you, Liana? How are you coming with that brief? It seems like you may be falling behind. When can I expect to see it?”

  “Slow but steady wins the race, Gerry. It’ll be worth the wait.”

  When Gerry left, Deb turned to Liana.

  “Cohen, you need a break. You’re beginning to lose it. Come on, we’re going out,” Deb said, grabbing Liana by the arm and marching her down the hallway.

  “Tony, we’ll be back in hour,” Deb announced at the front desk.

  “Where are we going? I have work to do. I haven’t found an issue yet,” Liana protested, knowing full well she would follow Deb wherever she led.

  “You’re never going to find an issue in thi
s case by banging your head against the wall. You need to look at it with fresh eyes. Right now, we’re going shopping,” Deb announced.

  “Oh, no! I’m not going shopping with you!” Deb had a sense of style and a brash quality that telegraphed self-confidence and evoked Manhattan in a way that Liana’s Long Island origins would never allow. Liana was utterly intimidated by her. Shopping was out of the question.

  “Don’t be stupid,” Deb said. “We’re not going to do a whole makeover. We’ll start with something simple,” she said, looking Liana up and down as they waited for the elevator. When it arrived, it was packed with people going out for lunch, and Liana and Deb just squeezed in as the doors closed.

  “It’s your shoes,” Deb announced to the assembled riders. “Look at those clunkers—they’ll put us over the weight limit.”

  Liana, along with everyone else, turned her attention to her feet, where she was sporting an ancient pair of thick rubber-soled sandals with wide faux-leather straps.

  “Hey, my favorite weatherman on Good Morning, New York said there were going to be thunderstorms and flash floods today. These are perfect! I can go hiking in them through streams and jungles and during monsoons,” Liana said.

  “This isn’t an episode of Survivor, Liana. You’re at work. And there isn’t a cloud in the sky,” Deb said, the other elevator occupants all nodding and murmuring their agreement.

  When the doors opened, Liana and Deb spilled out into the lobby, and Deb took off down the street, Liana in hot pursuit. They quickly reached the shoe department of Century 21. Within minutes of perusing the displays, Deb approached Liana, holding a red leather gladiator sandal, straps lacing all the way up to the knee.

  “What about these? They’re fabulous!” Deb cooed.

  “Now where would I possibly be going in those?” Liana said. She picked up a pair of black patent-leather ballet flats. “These are pretty and very sensible.”

  “I’m sorry, I got distracted. I thought I heard your mother talking. Kill me now,” Deb said. “You’re hopeless. This is going to be more frustrating than fun. I have another idea. Follow me,” she said, leading the way to the escalator to the first floor as Liana, disappointed, rushed to put down the shoes.

  Before Liana could get her bearings, Deb had honed in on an exquisite silk scarf, all purples and blues with flecks of gold.

  “Everyone needs a great scarf,” Deb said. “Put this on.” She handed it to Liana, who looked at it adoringly.

  “It’s gorgeous, Deb. I love it. But I don’t have any idea how to wear a scarf—I don’t really accessorize, if you know what I mean.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Deb teased. “Anyone, even you, Cohen, can learn to tie a scarf.” Deb gently folded the material and tied it loosely around Liana’s neck, turning her toward the mirror on the counter. “It’s stunning. Get your credit card out,” Deb ordered.

  Liana carried her purchase all wrapped up like a present to herself that she wasn’t sure she deserved. As they walked the few blocks back to the office, she felt her stomach begin to rumble. “Let’s stop for a quick bite, okay? We still have time on our hour,” she said.

  “I’m not hungry, but I’ll sit with you,” Deb said.

  They stepped into a Middle Eastern place a couple of doors down from their building. “I’ll have a falafel with every-thing—salad, tahini, pickles, eggplant, cabbage, hot sauce . . .” Liana pointed to each component as the man behind the counter stuffed more and more into the pita bread. Deb looked queasy and retreated to a seat by an open window.

  “Thanks for getting me out of the office,” Liana said. “I do feel better. I can’t explain why I feel so desperate to find something really great to argue in this case, but I do.”

  “Well, I can come up with two reasons. First, your job is on the line. And second, you believe in Danny Shea. You think he didn’t do it.” Deb brushed some crumbs left by the last diner onto the floor and tried not to look at Liana, who had tahini dripping down her chin.

  “I don’t know,” Liana said between messy bites. “I think my job is safe as long as I keep my mouth shut. And as for believing in Danny Shea, I will admit only that my interest is piqued.”

  “Okay. And we’ll just pretend that Mr. Innocent isn’t so hot that his mug shot burns a hole in your file,” Deb said, making unseemly kissing noises in Liana’s direction.

  “Stop it! Don’t be crazy.” Liana swallowed the last bite of her sandwich and took a swig of her Diet Coke. “Hey, can I ask you a serious question?” Liana said.

  “If you must,” Deb answered.

  “Why did you and Steven break up? I mean, I know it didn’t work out, but when you got married, were you both one-hundred-percent confident that it would last forever? Like, did you start out really happy, and then things just disintegrated?” Liana wiped at her mouth with the little square napkin.

  “Wow. Are you and Jakob talking about tying the knot?” Deb asked.

  “Not exactly. Jakob’s talking about it, and I’m mostly avoiding the conversation,” Liana said, gathering up the detritus of her sandwich in an effort not to meet Deb’s gaze. She was relieved when Deb had mercy and didn’t press her for details.

  “Well, of course we went into the marriage confident and in love—why else would we have gotten married? And it was good for a couple of years. We had a really fun New York lifestyle—we went to clubs at all hours of the night and drank to excess in bars with beautiful and interesting people and got last minute tickets to indie rock band concerts.”

  “That sounds awesome; we don’t really go anywhere. So what happened?” Liana hoped she wasn’t overstepping her bounds.

  “What happened is that I got pregnant with Max, and Steven thought all the fun would continue straight through until the delivery and then afterward. And I wasn’t feeling it anymore.” Deb’s face went sour with the memory, and Liana wished she hadn’t brought the topic up. They had been having such a good time.

  “Wow. I didn’t know,” Liana said.

  “You want to hear something ironic? Before the ink was dry on our divorce, he married some cute young thing from his firm, undoubtedly thinking he had found the ticket to a good time again. And guess what happened? She’s pregnant!” Deb looked absolutely gleeful.

  “No! How do you know?” Liana asked.

  “Women’s intuition,” Deb said. When Liana blanched, Deb said, “Oh, don’t be silly. Max told me. Although he thought she just had a basketball under her shirt. Come on, we better get you back to the office; you have a handsome young man to vindicate.”

  Liana was about to call it a day when she found it—the issue that she knew immediately would force the appellate court to reverse Danny Shea’s conviction and order a new trial.

  Bingo!

  A reversal could be big for Shea. One of three things could happen: he could go to trial again with a new jury and be acquitted the second time around (unlikely); the district attorney could offer him a deal—plead guilty in exchange for less prison time than he was currently serving (possible); or he could go to trial again, be convicted again, and get the same exact sentence, arguably a huge waste of time and taxpayer money but, in some ways, validating that the system works (virtually certain). But for Liana, as his attorney, no matter what, a reversal of Shea’s existing conviction would count as a huge win.

  As if magically drawn by Liana’s moment of legal inspiration, Gerry sidled into the office and leaned against Deb’s desk, his arms crossed over her his chest and an expectant look on his face.

  “What’ve you got, Liana?” he said. She stared at him in disbelief. Gerry continued, “You yelled ‘Bingo!’ so loudly that I thought I was back in my grandmother’s nursing home in Miami Beach. You must’ve found something.”

  Liana looked to Deb for confirmation that she had, in fact, spoken out loud.

  “I was planning on ignoring you, as usual,” Deb said.

  “Come on, Liana, don’t hold out on us,” Gerry said, his unique bl
end of animated and annoying on full display.

  “Yeah, Liana, don’t hold out on us,” Deb mimicked.

  Amazing how she gets away with that.

  “Well—this is all very preliminary,” Liana said. But she knew. The issue was so deceptively simple but so very powerful. “The jury had been deliberating for three days, meaning that at least one of the jurors believed Shea’s story that the sex was consensual over Jennifer Nash’s that she was forced. On the fourth day, the jury sent a note requesting to see the lab report that said that Shea’s DNA was a match to the sample in the rape kit collected from Nash. Shortly after the jury was given the report, it sent out a follow-up that read, Who is Alba Velez?”

  Liana paused to let Gerry and Deb envision the scene before continuing.

  “The judge called the attorneys into the courtroom, and they examined the lab report. In addition to stating that Shea’s DNA matched the sample taken from Ms. Nash, it also indicated that there was a second match between Shea and a sample taken at some prior time, from some other woman named Alba Velez.”

  Gerry looked as though he wanted to pace, but the confines of the room wouldn’t allow for it. He settled for wringing his hands.

  “Well, Liana, was your client previously convicted of sexually assaulting this Alba Velez? Because if he was, under certain limited circumstances, that prior conviction could have been admissible against him in this trial, although it clearly was very prejudicial.”

  “Like if maybe this was his modus operandi,” Deb suggested. “He takes women to rooftops, gets them a little high, slow dances with them, and then rapes them.” Deb surreptitiously lifted up the copy of Entertainment This Week she had bought on the way back from lunch, revealing the cover photo of Brad Pitt. She mouthed “I love you” at Liana, quickly putting it down again before Gerry could turn to see.

  “No, Shea had never been convicted of anything before,” Liana said, trying to ignore Deb. “And the way this unfolded—it’s like damnation by rumor. There are all sorts of innocent explanations for why Velez’s name appeared on the lab report as being a hit to Shea’s DNA—it could have been a clerical error or a false accusation or a mix-up of the rape kits. But once the jury saw this report, his ability to get a fair trial on this case was shot to hell. It was almost inevitable that the jurors would conclude that Shea had raped a woman named Alba Velez and that he was therefore guilty of raping Jennifer Nash as well. And that’s what happened. An hour later, the jury convicted Danny Shea of first-degree rape.”