Every Reasonable Doubt (15 page)

W
hen David and I met with Tina Montgomery later that evening, she did not respond well to the news that Neddy would not be handling her preliminary hearing.

“Neddy’s the main reason I hired your firm,” she said, her eyes wide, her face wrinkled with worry.

David and I were seated in Tina’s living room, the weird green one. Her court-ordered ankle bracelet was hidden by a pair of extra-long slacks. This was the first time I’d seen her without her silver wine goblet.

“Well,” I began, “Neddy’s facing a difficult time right now. The police think—”

“I don’t know if you’ve been reading the
L.A. Times
,” David said, rudely interrupting, “but Neddy’s husband was murdered and she’s a suspect in his death.”

Tina raised both hands to her mouth. “Oh my God!”

I didn’t like the way David had characterized Neddy’s predicament and I needed to correct it. “Well, she’s not exactly a suspect,” I clarified. “The news story hinted at that because, as you know, Neddy and Lawton were going through a bitter divorce. Frankly, I think the D.A.’s office may’ve planted the story as a way of hurting your case.”

“I haven’t been reading the newspapers or looking at TV because of all the ridiculous things they’re saying about my case.” Tina was shaking her head, as if she couldn’t believe what we were telling her. Then her eyes clouded. “Who’s making the decisions down there at the D.A.’s office, a bunch of kids?” Her voice was full of anger.

Both David and I interpreted that as a rhetorical question and let it ride. As if on cue, Kinga appeared with Tina’s wine goblet.

“So Neddy didn’t ask to be taken off my case?” she said, reaching for the goblet and taking a sip. “Your firm took her off?”

David turned to face me as if I should respond to Tina’s question. I just glared back at him. Since he’d jumped in and started running the show, he could take the heat from our disappointed client.

He swallowed, then looked over at Tina. “Well, with this kind of attention focused on Neddy, right now—”

“I hate it when people avoid answering my questions,” Tina said abruptly. “Did the firm take her off my case or was it Neddy’s decision to leave?”

“It was the firm’s decision,” David said, growing suddenly timid. “O’Reilly didn’t think it would be good for her to be trying a murder case right now. Her situation would draw unnecessary attention to your case.”

“There couldn’t be any more attention placed on my case than there already is. She didn’t kill that man any more than I killed Max and I still want her to defend me. She’ll know firsthand what it’s like to be falsely accused of murder.”

“Well, if you want her back on the case, you should give O’Reilly a call,” I eagerly suggested. Maybe Tina could help me ditch David. “We think this is only a temporary situation. Of course, Neddy will be working with us on strategy from behind the scenes. In the meantime, we need to prepare you for your preliminary hearing. It’s only three days away. First—”

“Let me explain what’s going to happen,” David said, cutting me off again.

I couldn’t believe this. O’Reilly had a long conversation with both of us and made it clear that I would be lead counsel on the case in Neddy’s absence. But David was plodding along as if he was the kingfish.

“A preliminary hearing is like a mini-trial,” he explained, “except there’s no jury. All the evidence is presented to the judge and decided by the judge. The prosecutor has the burden of proving that there’s enough evidence to proceed with a trial. Unlike at a trial, however, the prosecution doesn’t have to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, only that there is probable cause to believe that you murdered your husband.”

“So if they don’t prove that, then there’s no trial and I go free?” she asked.

Neddy and I had already gone over this with Tina. She was obviously testing David.

“Yes,” David said cautiously. “But the burden of proof at a prelim is very easy to establish. In a case like this, it would be very unusual for the judge to find that there wasn’t sufficient evidence to proceed to trial.”

“So then this is just a waste of my time?”

“Well—uh—you could look at it that way,” he said, “but there is also an advantage for us. The prelim gives us a chance to hear the prosecution’s theory of the case and to lock in the testimony of their witnesses.”

“Will I have to testify?”

“No,” David said quickly. “Not at the prelim and not at trial either.”

Tina pressed her hands against her cheeks. “I still can’t believe this is happening to me.”

David didn’t attempt to offer any words of comfort to his new client. “We’d like to go over the testimony we think the prosecution’s going to present as well as the evidence we plan to introduce.” David started combing through a folder stuffed with papers. After his search turned up empty, he pulled out his car keys.

“Vernetta, I think I left the folder with my witness outlines in my car. Could you run out and get it for me?” The keys were dangling inches from my nose.

I sucked in air and mentally counted to ten before opening my mouth, realizing I might not be able to control the words that came out. Instead of giving him a piece of my mind, however, I calmly took David’s keys and stood up.

Once I’d made it outside, I parked myself on Tina’s front steps and tried to practice a new meditation technique I’d read about in
Shape
magazine. Anybody watching me would have thought I was hyperventilating. Surprisingly, it made me feel much, much better. I could almost visualize my body temperature declining.

I had a very important decision to make. I could go back inside, take David’s neck in my hands and squeeze it until his eyes popped out. Or, I could go fetch the folder, make a serious effort to tolerate him, and spend all my free time praying to God that the police found out who really killed Neddy’s husband before I was forced to murder David.

A
nurse from Dr. Bell’s office called early the next morning to ask if Jefferson and I could make it to her office that afternoon to discuss the results of our fertility tests. Anxiety seized my body. When the nurse refused to give me any specifics over the telephone, my anxiety turned to panic.

During the drive over, Jefferson tried valiantly to calm me down.

“Stop overreacting, baby. It’s probably no big deal.” He gripped the steering wheel with his left hand and used his right to hold both of mine.

“I know she’s going to tell me I can’t have kids,” I said, close to tears. “I never should’ve gotten that IUD.”

“Hey, c’mon, you have to calm down. Didn’t Dr. Bell say that with the help of technology it was almost impossible not to have a baby these days? So what if we have to make my boy in a test tube?”

He smiled over at me, but I didn’t smile back.

“I’m so sorry for stressing you out about starting a family. Now, I probably can’t even have a baby.” Tears rolled down my cheeks. “It’ll kill me if I can’t give you a son.”

Jefferson didn’t say anything. Instead he made a sharp right turn and pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall.

“What’re you doing?”

After turning off the engine, he hopped out, walked around to the passenger side and gently pulled me out of the car.

“Jefferson, what’s going on?”

“Come here,” he said, taking me into his arms. “I love you. And no matter what the doctor tells us, I’ll still love you. And if the news is bad, I’ll handle it. We’ll both handle it.”

We stood there in broad daylight in front of 7-Eleven, holding each other.

“I don’t deserve you,” I said.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he grinned.

This time, as we waited in Dr. Bell’s office, all the baby pictures plastered behind her desk haunted me. I could not shake the feeling that we would never be able to paste one of our kid’s pictures on that board. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer.

When Dr. Bell walked into the room, there was no trace of a smile on her face and the aloof way her eyes avoided mine told me that whatever was wrong was not some minor, fixable matter. She took a seat behind her desk before greeting us.

Jefferson squeezed my hand. His eyes told me that no matter what the problem was, he would fix it.

“I’ve never been good at delivering bad news,” Dr Bell said, glancing down at a single sheet of paper on her desk. “So I’ll just spit it out. The fertility tests detected a problem.”

I grabbed Jefferson’s knee.

He scooted his chair closer to mine and slid his arm around my shoulder. “C’mon baby, don’t freak out. Calm down.”

“According to the tests we took,” Dr. Bell continued, “I’m afraid you’re sterile…Jefferson.”

The arm that had been holding me so tightly moments before, fell away. “Sterile?” Jefferson sat up straight. “You must’ve gotten somebody else’s tests results mixed up with mine, Doc.” Jefferson tried to smile.

Dr. Bell looked apologetic. “I’m sorry.”

Jefferson responded with a resentful huff. I tried to take his hand in mine, but he shook off my touch like it was toxic. “What do you mean, sterile? Are you saying my sperm count was low or something?”

Dr. Bell kept her gaze on me, unable to hold up under Jefferson’s angry gaze.

“No. The tests showed no sperm at all,” she said gently. “This is typically what happens when there’s damage to the groin area as a child. Jefferson, do you recall suffering a groin injury as a kid?”

“No, I don’t.” He was incensed at the question. “This is some bullshit. I’m—”

He stopped and turned his head in my direction, but was actually looking past me. He’d obviously remembered something that caused him to freeze.

“What is it?” I reached over and forced my hand into his.

“I had an accident on my bike when I was about ten. Ran into a fence and got banged up pretty bad. Particularly my nuts. I remember my mother always telling me she was worried I wouldn’t be able make any babies.” He turned back to Dr. Bell. “Are you telling me that because of that accident, I can’t have kids?”

Dr. Bell’s lips formed a straight line. “That’s probably it.”

Jefferson closed his eyes and his chest heaved forward.

“Why don’t I give you two a few minutes alone.” Dr. Bell picked up a folder and headed for the door.

Once she had left, I searched for words of comfort to shower him with. The thought of Jefferson having a fertility problem had never crossed my mind and probably not his either. “Jefferson, it doesn’t matter,” I said.

He responded with a cold, sarcastic chuckle.

“We can adopt,” I said. “There’re so many kids who need good homes. We can—”

He held up his hand. “Please, just stop.”

“Baby, I know this is devastating news, but we love each other. It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s bullshit! Of course it matters.”

His voice was razor sharp. I felt like he had just thrown ice water into my face. He got up and walked over to a window near the door. He kept his back to me, blocking me out.

“Wait a minute, Jefferson,” I said. “Isn’t that what you just said to me on the way over here, when we thought it might be
me
with the problem? You said we could handle this. Are you saying it’s different because it’s you?”

At first, he didn’t answer and just continued to stare out of the window. “Hell, yeah, it’s different,” he said finally.

Now I was getting incensed. “Why? Why is it different?”

“Because I’m a fuckin’ man,” he said heatedly. “I bet you know fifty women who can’t get pregnant for one reason or another. How many brothers you know with a zero sperm count?”

I tried not to take the anger in his voice personally, but his look was too intense for me not to. “Jefferson, the fact that you’re sterile doesn’t mean you’re not a man.”

His cheeks filled up with air and he let it slowly seep out. “Damn. The word even sounds fucked up. ‘Sterile.’ Ain’t this a muthafucka.” He gripped the window ledge.

I stood behind him and forced my arms around his waist, pressing my face into his back. He remained rigid at first, then turned around and took me in his arms. I could feel the heavy pounding of his heart. His eyes were closed and he was biting his bottom lip.

When he finally spoke, I realized that I had never heard fear in his voice before. “Baby,” he said, his voice filled with resignation, “this is some shit I ain’t too sure I know how to handle.”

D
avid and I sat stoically facing each other in one of the firm’s large conference rooms. Stacks of documents and boxes from the Montgomery case covered the long rectangular table. It had only been a couple of days since the news from Dr. Bell and Jefferson was still walking around like a shell-shocked Vietnam vet. I felt guilty as hell about being at work instead of at home with him. But Tina’s preliminary hearing was less than forty-eight hours away and we still had a lot of work to do. I decided to work late tonight, to avoid an all-nighter tomorrow. I promised Jefferson that I’d be home by nine and I planned to keep that promise.

“Okay, let’s go over the cross-examination outline for Oscar Lopez one more time,” I said. “Then we can get out of here.”

“I still say you’re making a mistake not using the stuff we found out about Lopez’s propensity to stretch the truth.” David’s tone was critical.

“Look, Neddy’s already made that call and I agree with her. Even if we used what that waitress told us to discredit Lopez’s identification of Tina, there’s still a very strong chance that the judge is going to find probable cause. Since there’s going to be a trial anyway, we’ll be better off surprising Lopez with that information on our cross in front of a jury.”

David started doodling on the side of his Starbucks cup. “The fact that the guy may have being lying about seeing Tina with a knife is some pretty powerful evidence. I would take the risk and use it at the prelim, even if the odds of success are low.”

“You made that argument when we discussed this with Neddy.” I was tired and I didn’t want to expend what little energy I had left arguing with David. “How many times do we have to rehash this? That was the problem during the Hayes trial, you could never support a decision that wasn’t yours.”

He shifted in his seat. “No, the problem during the Hayes trial was that
you
refused to consider any idea that you didn’t come up with.”

I smiled to keep from blowing my top. “That’s not true,” I said calmly. “I considered every single idea you proposed. I just rejected them because they weren’t workable. And obviously, I made the right decisions, because we won.”

David had no response to that. He sat up in his chair and tossed his empty cup toward the trash can, missing it by a mile. “There’s something else we need to figure out then,” he said.

I couldn’t imagine what was on his mind now. There was nothing else to figure out. The same game of one-upmanship that drove me nuts during the Hayes trial was happening all over again. With the news about Jefferson, and then Neddy possibly facing a murder charge, I was under too much stress to deal with any bull from David, and I planned to make that clear right now.

“Exactly what do we have to figure out, David?” I said, turning to look him in the eye.

“I think we should rethink your taking the lead at the prelim.”

I chuckled. “That’s already been decided. I know the case.”

He loosened his tie and began rolling up his shirtsleeves, still avoiding my gaze. “I know the case, too, and I also know criminal procedure. You don’t.”

“I know enough,” I said. “The prelim’s not going to be any different than presenting evidence at a civil trial. I can handle it. You’re just filling in until Neddy’s back on the case, remember?”

“She may not be back on the case,” he said.

“Do you know something I don’t know?”

David rested his arms on the table. “Look, I’m the criminal attorney. There are a lot of procedural rules that could come up that you may not be equipped to handle.”

“When that happens, then you should feel free to step in. Anyway, I doubt you’ll have to. I’ve been brushing up on the rules of criminal procedure.”

“I still think I should take the lead.”

I forced myself to stay cool. My lips formed a fake smile. “Like I said, David, this is a simple probable cause hearing. I can do it and I’m going to do it.”

His face had turned beet red.

I went back to reading the Lopez outline, hoping I hadn’t missed any important areas. I was so focused on the document, I almost forgot David was sitting there sulking until he abruptly stood up and slammed his chair into the table.

“Okay, go ahead,” he muttered. “Everybody knows the only reason you’re on this case in the first place is because you’re black.”

An unknown voice from someplace on high quietly encouraged me to count to ten before opening my mouth. I decided to count to twenty. I put down the Lopez outline, but continued to stare down at the documents in front of me.

“You can believe I’m on this case for whatever reason suits you,” I said, still visibly unruffled. I knew David wanted to get a rise out of me, but I refused to give him that satisfaction. White folks were always claiming that we played the race card, but they had a whole deck that they pulled out whenever it suited them.

“Every time a whiny little white boy like you doesn’t get his way, he has to find something or somebody to blame,” I said, still outwardly calm. “But you and I both know that I’m good—very good—at what I do. Now if you can’t handle that, so be it. But the fact remains, I’m taking the lead at the prelim and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

“Fine,” he said, snatching his papers from the table. “I guess there’s nothing more you need from me tonight. I hope you break a leg.”