Every Reasonable Doubt (2 page)

T
he brain is a funny thing. Sometimes it’ll just go numb for no apparent reason. Like when you’re in the middle of a conversation and whatever you were about to say just tumbles out of your head. That’s exactly what happened when I heard the jury’s verdict. My brain went totally numb.

“Congratulations, counselor,” beamed David Winslow, my ever-arrogant second chair and a fellow associate at O’Reilly & Finney. He was smiling just like Howdy Doody. “Think this verdict’ll get us a multimillion dollar book deal?” he whispered.

I took exception to his use of the word “us” since he’d been nothing but a pain during the entire trial, and shook his extended hand anyway. I could smell the stale scent of the three double lattes he consumed each morning before eight.

Turning away, I gripped the edge of the plaintiff’s table and tried to steady myself. I’d just won the biggest verdict of my career and I felt faint. The entire courtroom was one big, beige blur. The judge was speaking now, but I didn’t hear a word he was saying. I was buzzed from a strong blast of adrenalin, but trying hard to play it cool. As if juries handed me five-million-dollar verdicts every day.

I suddenly remembered my client, Roland Hayes, standing next to me. He was gasping for air like an elderly asthmatic. The verdict obviously meant a whole lot more to him than it did to me. He’d be set for life. I pulled out his chair and motioned for him to sit.

When I saw the jury rise, I assumed we were done. I sloppily stuffed papers into my Coach briefcase, hugged Roland for the second time, and watched as he ran off into the arms of his ecstatic wife. David, meantime, was flashing our despondent opposing counsel a gloating smile.

As we headed out of the courtroom, a gang of reporters rushed toward us, nearly knocking us back inside.

“Vernetta Henderson,” somebody shouted, “the jury’s five-million-dollar verdict is a pretty hefty award in a single-plaintiff race discrimination case. How do you feel?” I looked to my left and saw that the question came from the skinny blonde with the bad split ends from Channel 7.

Before I could answer, another reporter hurled a question my way. “Ms. Henderson, why do you think the jury went so heavy on the punitives?”

Because my client worked for a bunch of racist yahoos
. I squeezed through the crowd, chin forward, shoulders erect, ignoring them. Just like they did on
Law & Order
. I looked over at David. His thin lips were tightly pursed. No one had bothered to stick a microphone in his face and he was pissed.

When we reached the elevators, we found the down button blocked by a fortress of reporters. The hot, gleaming lights from a small TV camera nearly blinded me and somebody’s microphone kept nudging me in the back of the head.

“Ms. Henderson, were you surprised at the verdict?” yelled a voice from the rear.

I brushed passed the inquisitive mob, determined to ignore them. “No questions for now,” I said finally, as David and I escaped toward the stairwell. “We’ll talk to the media later this afternoon.”

B
y the time we made it back to the offices of O’Reilly & Finney, word of the verdict had already raced through the firm. I barely had time to touch up my lipstick and shove my purse underneath my desk before I was whisked off to the twentieth floor to continue bathing in the glory of my mind-blowing victory.

A handful of my colleagues pounced on me the second I stepped into the conference room, corralling me in a small circle of professional envy. Lawyers are a lot like ten-year-olds. They smile and pretend to be happy when someone else wins the big case, but on the inside they’re pouting.

Al McAndrews, a tax partner, was the first to congratulate me. “Incredible work, counselor,” he said, giving me a benign pat on the back. McAndrews routinely ignored me during our morning elevator rides. I hoped this didn’t mean I would have to make small talk the next time we were stuck in an elevator together.

For the next twenty minutes, I graciously accepted praise heaped on top of praise even though I knew most folks were there for the jumbo shrimp. I spotted David across the room entertaining his own flock of worshippers. I could hear snatches of his conversation. He was explaining how well we had worked together. All lies.

The post-trial victory celebration was an O’Reilly & Finney tradition. It was a first for me, having been at the firm for only nine months. I scanned the room, looking for Jim O’Reilly, the firm’s managing partner, but he was nowhere in sight. When I saw Neddy McClain walk in, my body stiffened.

For a reason I had yet to figure out, the woman acted as if she despised me. The fact that we didn’t get along was especially tragic since we were the firm’s only African-American attorneys. Black folks are like crabs in a barrel, my grandmother used to say. As soon as one climbs up, another one pulls ‘em back down.

As usual, Neddy’s lips were ziplocked into an obnoxious frown, broadcasting the perpetual state of discontent that she wore like an old sweater. Thank God we had different practice areas and never had to work together.

I took a sip of a Diet Coke somebody handed to me and checked my watch. If I didn’t leave soon, there was no way I was going to make it across town for dinner with my husband. I had promised Jefferson that as soon as the trial ended, I was all his. I had also promised to give some serious consideration to starting a family. The first pledge I planned to keep. I was still searching for a loophole big enough to get me out of the second one.

All the bodies hemming me in were beginning to make me feel claustrophobic. Just as I was about to make a break for it, an attorney I barely recognized shoved his way through the huddle. “Way to go, Henderson!” he yelled, giving me a high five.

All I could do was grin. The rays of praise beaming down on me felt so good I almost wanted to squeal. Truth be told, I had actually fantasized about this day in law school. This was what it was all about.

While the praise-fest continued, I watched out of the corner of my eye as Neddy studied the colorful display of hors d’oeuvres. She did not appear anxious to make her way toward me, but decorum dictated that she must. I wondered just how long it was going to take her to march across the room and give me my props.

O’Reilly finally towered in, giving her a temporary reprieve. He grabbed an empty wineglass from the tray of a passing waiter and gently clinked it with a knife.

“May I have your attention?” He didn’t actually need to ask for the floor. When O’Reilly walked into a room, all heads automatically turned his way. An oversized, gregarious Irishman with curly, reddish-brown hair, he had an easygoing, Clintonesque style about him. He was just as comfortable addressing a room full of wealthy bankers as a congregation of black Baptists.

“I want to give an official O’Reilly & Finney congratulations to Vernetta and David on the Hayes verdict and a jury award so big even I couldn’t believe it.” O’Reilly looked extremely pleased. Probably because forty percent of that five-million-dollar award would go straight into the coffers of the eighty-attorney litigation boutique founded by his grandfather.

“It just shows you what good, solid legal work can produce. Keep on kicking butt, guys!” He raised his glass and everyone applauded. Except Neddy. Her hands were conveniently occupied. She took a sip of wine and dipped a broccoli spear into a bowl of ranch dip.

A few minutes later, O’Reilly headed my way and pulled me off to the side. “You won’t believe it,” he whispered excitedly. “You heard about Max Montgomery’s murder Saturday night, right?”

Who hadn’t? Max Montgomery was a local icon. Rich, attractive, politically connected, and undeniably brilliant. His investment banking firm owned most of the city’s prime real estate. The murder made the front page of the
L.A. Times
and every news station in town was milking the story like it was a cow with fifty udders.

“Well, guess who’s a suspect, and guess who wants our firm to defend her?”

I had absolutely no idea who “her” could be.

“His wife!” There was sheer joy in O’Reilly’s voice. “And you, lucky lady, are going to be sitting at the defense table.” He turned his back to me and began scanning the room.

He was right. I couldn’t believe it. This was the kind of case that turned lawyers into celebrities. Although I was wiped out from the round-the-clock hours demanded by the Hayes trial, the prospect of handling a sensational murder case filled my weary body with a tingle of excitement. Then I remembered my promise to Jefferson. He would freak when he found out I’d taken on another, even more demanding case. I downed the last of my Diet Coke and momentarily wiped that worry from my mind. I’d deal with Jefferson later. I was about to be catapulted into super-lawyerdom.

Then I heard O’Reilly call Neddy over and my heart did a flip-flop.

“This is going to be a helluva case,” he said, turning back to face me as Neddy walked up. “You ladies can thank me later.”

“Thank you for what?” Neddy asked.

“For teaming you up on L.A.’s next high-profile murder case.”

Neddy and I locked eyes, but we both chose to exercise our right to remain silent.

O’Reilly, still all smiles, threw his burly left arm across my shoulder and pulled Neddy to him with his right. We were the perfect
Jet
Picture of the Week.

“Yep,” he said, looking first at Neddy, then shining his gaze on me. “I’d say you two ladies are about to become very, very famous.”

I
tried to ignore the knots forming in my stomach as I followed O’Reilly and Neddy out of the conference room and into O’Reilly’s spacious corner office. As soon as he closed the door, his face took on a childlike elation. “L.A.’s long overdue for another big, juicy murder trial and this is it.” He sat down in his cowhide chair and propped his feet up on the desk. He was smiling so hard his cheeks looked like they had been stuffed with grapefruits.

Neddy and I took seats in the matching Queene Anne chairs in front of his desk. We had yet to acknowledge one another.

“The police tried to question Montgomery’s wife last night, but she refused to talk without representation.” He turned to face Neddy. “She called us because she remembered that acquittal you got in the Langley murder case last year. But it was my idea to pair you up with Vernetta.”

O’Reilly was definitely satisfied with himself. I almost expected him to stand up and pat himself on the back.

This kind of case was right up Neddy’s alley. She’d spent fifteen years at the Public Defender’s office before O’Reilly & Finney recruited her four years ago to strengthen the firm’s criminal defense practice. Since joining the firm, she had successfully defended a string of high-profile criminal cases, including two wealthy murder suspects and a string of accountants and bankers accused of securities fraud. My practice area, however, was strictly employment law.

I was the first to speak. “O’Reilly, have you forgotten that I’m not a criminal attorney?” I couldn’t exactly tell him I didn’t want to team up with Neddy just because she walked around acting like the Wicked Bitch of the West.

“Wait a minute,” O’Reilly protested, “didn’t you tell me you’d be open to learning other practice areas when I hired you? Well, now’s your chance.”

I hated having my own words thrown back at me. “You’d actually want me to cut my teeth on a case this big?”

“Why not? You’re an incredible litigator, Vernetta. You just won one of the biggest verdicts this firm has ever had. And without a doubt, Neddy’s sharper than ninety-nine percent of the prosecutors down at the D.A.’s office. You two have ‘Dream Team’ written all over you.”

Neddy’s left eye began to twitch.

“And anyway,” he continued, “Tina Montgomery was elated when I mentioned your name. She’s been following the Hayes trial on TV.”

O’Reilly was leaning forward now, his elbows planted on his desk like a pair of inverted turkey legs. “Think about it? Two smart, attractive African-American women defending a prominent, African-American socialite accused of murdering her wealthy husband. Hell, the defense team’ll get more publicity than the trial.”

So that was it. We would no doubt be the first all-black, female defense team to handle such a high-profile case. That would mean coverage in the mainstream media, the legal press and the black community. And O’Reilly was banking on all that publicity bringing more clients through the door. But teaming up with Neddy would relegate me to second-class citizenship. That definitely wouldn’t work. I had to find an escape clause, and fast.

“So let’s be clear here,” I said, feigning indignation. “Are you assigning us to this case because we’re black or because we’re women…or both?”

“Aw, don’t give me that politically correct bull, Henderson.” O’Reilly swatted away my question with one of his mammoth hands. “You two know me better than that. I’m all about getting whatever mileage I can out of any case that comes through this door. Do you know how many attorneys would kill for a case like this?”

“But I’m not a criminal attorney, O’Reilly.” Of course, that hadn’t been a concern for me when he first mentioned the case. I slowly inhaled and hoped I didn’t sound too whiny.

“Yeah, but Neddy is. And she can teach you all the procedural stuff you need to know inside of two weeks. The real job in trying a case like this is analyzing the evidence. It’s all about how you present the good facts and how you spin the bad ones. You’re a whiz when it comes to the nuts and bolts of a case. And don’t quote me, but after the Hayes verdict, with this case on your resumé, when your name comes up for partnership next year…” He arched his eyebrows and smiled.

Finish the sentence,
O’Reilly
. But he wasn’t stupid enough to make that kind of binding oral promise with a witness present. I knew he was right. After the Hayes victory and an attention-grabbing murder case like this, win or lose, my fate as far as partnership was concerned would be happily sealed. I’d become the firm’s first African-American partner.

I wondered why Neddy was playing mute. I doubted she wanted to work with me either. But O’Reilly couldn’t dangle the partnership carrot in front of her face. She had negotiated a deal for a permanent of-counsel position and seemed satisfied with that arrangement.

While I was still pondering my predicament, Neddy finally opened her mouth.

“Hold on a minute,” she said. I couldn’t tell from her tone exactly how she felt about O’Reilly’s proposed arrangement. “You only said the police wanted to question Montgomery’s wife. Who says she’s even a suspect?”

O’Reilly smiled. “C’mon Neddy, don’t bullshit me. We both know innocent people don’t go calling lawyers just because the cops want to talk to them.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Neddy challenged. “Anybody with any sense knows you don’t talk to the police without a lawyer present. Thank God she was savvy enough to demand one. It doesn’t mean she killed the man. If you ask me, it just means she’s smart.”

O’Reilly frowned. I could tell he was alarmed that his visions of a media feeding frenzy might be vanishing before his eyes.

“I agree,” I said hurriedly. “Maybe she’s just being cautious. There’s no reason for us to assume the police plan to charge her with murder.”

O’Reilly leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. “Well,” he said, with a sly grin, “I don’t know about you two, but I’m sure hoping like hell they do.”