Every Reasonable Doubt (3 page)

I
t was close to eight and I was twenty minutes late for a romantic dinner at G. Garvin’s on Third Street with my handsome husband of fourteen months and two days. Not that I was counting my blessings, that is. I would have called to let Jefferson know I was running late, but he routinely turned off his cell phone after seven o’clock. He was an electrician who, unlike me, refused to allow distractions of any kind to interfere with his personal time.

When I approached the table, Jefferson did not give me the look I expected. The one that silently chastised me for devoting more time to my job than to him. Instead, he jumped up and locked me in his arms.

“Sorry, I’m late,” I said, out of breath. “Please don’t be mad.”

“How can I be mad?” he said, pecking me on the lips and pulling out my chair. I was 5’8” and in heels I had almost an inch on him, something that had taken a little time for me to adjust to, but had never been a big deal for Jefferson. “A brother don’t mind waiting for the finest, smartest, baddest attorney in L.A.”

This time I leaned over and kissed him.

“I heard them talking about the trial on KNX on the way over here,” he beamed. “Congratulations, baby.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said.

Jefferson had a thick, muscular, Mike Tyson-like build, and a genuine self-confidence that I found attractive from the first moment we made eye contact while standing in adjacent lines at the Albertson’s supermarket, a block from my old apartment. Tonight he was wearing black linen slacks and a black Lycra shirt. The one he knew I liked because of the way it showed off his pecs.

“I’m just glad that damn trial is finally over.” He smiled seductively. “Now I finally get to spend some time with my woman.” We kissed again, this time for much longer.

“Did you order for me?” I asked.

“Nope, I was beginning to think you might’ve forgotten. You’ve been so wrapped up in that trial. But some appetizers should be here in a minute.” He handed me a menu. “So,” he said smiling, “how much of that five mil are we getting?”

“None of it,” I laughed. I wiggled out of my jacket to reveal a soft gray chiffon blouse underneath my navy blue, good-luck Tahari skirt suit. After tossing my car keys to the valet outside, I’d unbuttoned an extra button on my blouse to reveal what little cleavage I had. Just because I was a successful, determined lawyer by day didn’t mean I couldn’t be a sexy vixen by night.       

Jefferson shook his head. “I’ll never figure out how this law firm shit works. It would seem to me that the person who did all the work should at least get part of the damn jury award.”

“Sorry, babe, it don’t work like that. I’ll get the same bonus everybody else gets at the end of the year.” I turned to inspect a delicious-looking spinach salad a waiter was delivering to an adjacent table. “But when I make partner next year, I’ll get a piece of the pie. A pretty nice piece. So, what were they saying about my case on the radio?”

“That the verdict was pretty surprising and that it should be a wake-up call to other companies,” Jefferson said, with real pride in his voice, as if it were his victory, too. “I bet you don’t regret leaving Brandon & Bass now, do you? When they hear about that verdict, they’ll know what a mistake they made not making you a partner.”

The mention of my prior law firm still caused a miserable lump to settle in my throat. I’d worked my butt off at Brandon & Bass, assuming I was on track for partnership. Unfortunately the joke was on me. I left after six years to join O’Reilly & Finney and, so far, hadn’t regretted it one bit. Jefferson was right. Their loss.

A waitress approached our table. “Your appetizers will be right out,” she said to Jefferson. “And here’s your Diet Coke, easy ice, Mrs. Jones.”

I liked it when Jefferson ordered for me, but I was not pleased when people automatically assumed that I’d taken his last name. This time I let it pass.

Jefferson smiled as the waitress walked off. “Mrs. Jones,” he said, holding his chin between his thumb and forefinger as he mulled over the words. “I like the sound of that. You know, it’s not too late to go the more traditional route.”

“Nah,” I said, taking a sip of my drink. “Vernetta Jones just doesn’t have the right ring to it. Besides, you just want to keep me barefoot and pregnant.”

“Now that’s a segue if I ever heard one.” Jefferson reached underneath the table and retrieved a package that was about half the width of a videotape, but four times the height. It was wrapped in gold foil, and tied with a long red ribbon. The uneven corners and the lopsided bow told me Jefferson had wrapped it himself.

“You bought me a present?”

“Yep,” he grinned.

When I extended my hand to take it, he playfully pulled it out of my reach.

“Hold on, hold on. You have to hear my speech first.”

Jefferson cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair. He placed the box off to the side and grabbed both of my hands. He had long, thick fingers that could have belonged to a man twice his size. As our palms met and our fingers entwined, I could feel calluses that publicized what he did for a living. Still, his touch was gentle.

“I was going to start by telling you how much I love you, but then I said, ‘nah, she already knows that.’ So I had to come up with something else.” He paused. “Now, I didn’t practice this, so don’t be too hard on me.”

I loved it when Jefferson tried to be romantic. It was not something that came naturally for him. But what he lacked in finesse he made up for in raw sincerity.

“Being married to you has been pretty cool. Cooler than I ever thought it would be. When I was listening to that radio show on the way over here, I kept saying to myself, ‘that’s
my
woman they’re talkin’ ‘bout.’ Before I met you I didn’t believe in all that soul mate stuff. But now I can definitely say you’re my soul mate. And I love you to death.”

He squeezed my hand and we kissed again.

Before I could ask for my gift, the waitress set a plate of miniature crab cakes on the table, my favorite.

Jefferson stuffed one into his mouth, quickly chewed it, and continued his presentation. “And if the rest of our marriage continues to be half as cool as it’s been so far, then I know we’re going to live happily ever after. Okay, now you can have your present.”

He handed the box to me and I slowly untied the ribbon. I had no idea what was inside. It was too large for jewelry and not big enough for a pair of shoes. Not that I needed more of either.

“Is this a victory present?” I was bubbling with excitement as I tore off the beautiful wrapping paper.

“Nope.” Jefferson was leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Then what’s the occasion?”

He grinned big. “Let’s just say it’s time.”

I had the box completely unwrapped, but still couldn’t tell what it was. I picked up the tiny table candle and angled it so I could read the writing on the side of the box. When I finally made out the words, my throat constricted.
Clear Blue Easy Ovulation Prediction Test Kit.

Jefferson mistook the shocked look on my face as confusion.

“C’mon, girl, how many degrees do you have? You don’t know what that is? It’s an ovulation kit,” he said proudly. “And we might as well get started tonight.”

There was a long silence as I sat there, trying to remember how to breathe.

T
he day after my husband set his sights on putting my womb to work, I left the office at one o’clock for a meeting with my new client, Tina Montgomery. And if getting there was supposed to be a test, I was about to flunk it.

My frustration level was growing as I circled the winding streets of Brentwood, the L.A. suburb best known as the place where O.J. allegedly murdered Nicole. If I didn’t find the house in the next thirteen minutes, I was going to be late. That would be unacceptable.

I had dreadfully mixed emotions about my new case. There was no question that it would be great for my career. What it would mean for my marriage was another story. Jefferson would be furious when he found out I would be tied up on another, even bigger case. Then there was the Neddy issue. Luckily, I had not asked God for any really big favors lately, so I still held out hope that He was going to answer my prayers and make the case disappear.

The pleasant voice coming from the navigation system of my new Toyota Land Cruiser had just informed me that my destination was ahead on the right. The damn thing must have been broken because for the life of me I couldn’t find the house number I was searching for. Then I had a disturbing thought. Maybe Neddy had given me the wrong address. As evil as she was, I would not put it past her.

“How could anybody locate an address in this neighborhood?” I mumbled to myself. The streets curved and twisted in eight different directions and you needed binoculars to read the house numbers from the street. This was broad daylight. Finding an address in the dark must be next to impossible.

I continued to peer out of the window, straining my neck as I tried to read the numbers painted along the curbs. Neddy and I had talked briefly about our meeting just before lunch. We agreed that there was no strategy to plot until we heard what our new client had to say. Neddy had abruptly rejected my suggestion that we drive together. Said she had an errand to run afterward. A definite lie.

Just as I was about to pick up my cell phone to make a distress call, I spotted my destination, as well as a convenient place to park. The Montgomery house, or should I say mansion, was hidden behind huge steel gates and thick shrubbery. It stretched the length of what would have been about three houses in my neighborhood. The modern, brownish beige monstrosity could have been lifted right off the pages of
Architectural Digest
. I made my way up a long, stone walkway bordered on both sides by a lawn so green and plush just looking at it made me want to lie down and take a nap.

A petite woman, dressed in a snowy white sarong that fit her like a tent, answered the door seconds after my first press of the doorbell. She had a subdued, exotic look about her. Her toffee-colored skin was only a shade lighter than mine and she spoke in a soft East Indian accent. I followed her into a sizeable entryway where she instructed me to wait.

The view from the street advertised a world that was quite different from my own, but the home’s foyer shrieked it. Large enough to be a bedroom, the marble floor, the natural lighting and the Oriental vase full of fresh tulips reeked of a life of privilege. One where the cost of a particular item played no role whatsoever in the purchasing decision.

When I was finally escorted into the living room, I could sense that Tina Montgomery had already bonded with the more experienced half of her defense team. A nervous churning deep in my gut also told me that Neddy had probably arrived early to accomplish precisely that goal. The muscles in my neck began to contract as a flashback of one of my clashes with David during the Hayes trial replayed in my head. I was not looking forward to another case where I had to engage in a daily battle of one-upmanship with my co-counsel.

What I saw in the living room concerned me. Tina and Neddy were both sipping red wine, Neddy from a crystal wineglass and Tina from a gaudy silver goblet. A fancy gold-plated serving tray held an array of tiny edibles that looked as if they had been whipped up by Wolfgang Puck. This was a business meeting, not the cocktail hour. We needed to be all business.

I quickly scanned the rest of the room. A wall of French doors framed an expansive yard with landscaping Martha Stewart would have envied. The living room, color-coordinated in varying shades of grays and purples, was too big to be comfy. The furniture, mostly over-sized pieces, slanted toward the contemporary. Every piece had a one-of-a-kind museum feel, designed for guests to take an admiring look and move on.

Neddy was relaxing in a cushy lavender armchair. Tina sat across from her on a dark purple couch that looked more like a work of art than a place to rest one’s tush.

The partial smile on Neddy’s face was the happiest I could remember seeing her. Ever.

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Montgomery. I’m Vernetta Henderson.” I extended my hand, then pulled a business card from my purse.

“Yes, I recognize you from the news stories about your recent trial.” She reached for my business card and placed it on the coffee table in front of her without looking at it. Her eyes looked everywhere, except at me. “And, please, call me Tina.”

Her handshake was reasonably firm, but her baby-soft skin told me that manicures and paraffin treatments were part of her weekly regimen. She reminded me of what Halle Berry would probably look like in twenty years. Her short, curly hair was sprinkled with just a hint of gray and her makeup had a clean, polished look to it. At fifty plus, she was a beautiful woman. Twenty years earlier, she had probably been a knockout.

I wiggled out of my jacket, laid it across the arm of a chair next to the one Neddy occupied, and sat down. The small woman in white appeared from nowhere and retrieved it.

“We were just chatting until you arrived. Let’s get started.” Neddy set her wineglass on the coffee table. Her voice was soothing and sympathetic. This was obviously an act she saved for clients. “Mrs. Montgomery—excuse me—Tina, why don’t you tell us why you called our firm.”

Tina curled up on the couch and placed her hands in her lap. It was a seductive, feminine move that might have been useful had any testosterone been in the vicinity. During the Hayes trial, our jury consultant had taught us how to study body language. If Tina had been in our jury pool, I would have pegged her as a woman who enjoyed enticing men.

“I’m probably just being paranoid.” Tina reached for her wine goblet and cupped it with both hands. She glanced at me, then turned to Neddy. “I guess I just got scared when the police said they wanted to talk to me and look through Max’s home office. When I refused, they got pretty pushy.”

“What happened?” Neddy asked.

“They went from empathetic to confrontational. One of the officers threatened to get a search warrant.” Her eyes indeed bore the pain of a woman who had just lost her husband, and I could tell she was struggling to hold it together. Though she had tried to camouflage the puffiness around her eyes by applying extra foundation, the grief still seeped through.

Tina’s refusal to talk to the police left me unsettled. If someone had killed Jefferson, I could not imagine telling the police that I needed to call a lawyer before I would talk to them, and I
was
a lawyer. When someone you love is killed, you don’t think about yourself. If you’re innocent, that is. So if Tina had nothing to hide, what was she so concerned about? Didn’t she want the police to find her husband’s killer?

“Why’d you refuse to talk to the police?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.” I noticed her body shudder. I thought she was about to start crying, but she held it in. “He wasn’t killed here,” she continued. “I didn’t want them barging in and destroying my home. We’ve all heard about the L.A.P.D. engaging in some pretty outrageous conduct. I just didn’t trust them.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you did the right thing,” Neddy said.

I wasn’t so sure. “Has anyone told you you’re a suspect in your husband’s death?” I continued.

I noticed Neddy shift in her seat.

Tina’s eyes nervously darted about. “No, of course not. I’m just being cautious.” I opened my mouth to ask another question, but Neddy cut me off.

“Well, we’re glad you called us. Even though the police are likely to get more suspicious if you insist on having a lawyer present during your questioning, it’s really in your best interest to do so.” Neddy had real empathy in her voice. Her new softer side was making my head hurt.

Tina smiled. She seemed happy whenever Neddy offered words of approval. The room fell uncomfortably silent, which apparently bothered Tina because she proceeded to fill the void.

“There’s no reason for anybody to think that I killed my husband.” A single tear rolled down her cheek and she reached for a Kleenex from a box on the coffee table and dabbed at her cheek. “I just know how the police can turn things around.”

Something still didn’t sit right with me. Her run-for-cover attitude just didn’t make sense. “Have you had any prior run-ins with the police?”

Tina’s face told me that she was offended by the question and I immediately regretted asking it.

She stared down into the goblet. “No. But I read the newspapers. They can make you a suspect and destroy your reputation without ever arresting you. In that JonBenet Ramsey case, the police leaked enough evidence to convict the parents without a trial. Same thing with that security guard who saved those people during the Olympics in Atlanta a while back. I’m just being cautious.” The woman in white appeared from nowhere and refilled Tina’s wine goblet.

“We’d like to ask you some questions about your husband,” Neddy said. “Some of the same questions the police will likely ask.”

Neddy spent the next few minutes covering various innocuous details of Tina and Max Montgomery’s life together. How long they had been married, where they had met, and what Tina knew about his business affairs.

I was a little perturbed that Neddy seemed to be beating around the bush about the very reason we were there. I also wished someone would offer me something to drink other than wine. Maybe the woman in white could bring me a Diet Coke.

I decided to interject and get to some of the important stuff. “Do you have any idea who may’ve wanted to kill your husband?”

I wasn’t looking over at Neddy, but I could feel her staring me down.

I couldn’t tell whether Tina noticed the tension between us. She’d had three glasses of wine since I’d arrived. Probably not.

Tina took a moment to mull over my question. “Frankly, I have no idea who could’ve killed Max.” I heard sadness in her voice. “But I don’t think it had anything to do with his business.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“My husband was extremely ethical when it came to his professional life. He never cheated anybody.” She stopped to take another sip of wine. “He saved that for me.”

“What do you mean?”

She raised her head slightly and her words came out much softer than the ones before. “Let’s just say honoring his marriage vows wasn’t exactly high on my husband’s list of priorities.”

She seemed embarrassed to be discussing such a personal subject with us. Her husband’s riches had allowed her to distance herself from ordinary life and mundane people. Her days were filled with formal dinner parties, trips to tropical islands, and extravagant shopping sprees. But the state of her marriage would definitely be pertinent to the police, so I forged ahead.

“You didn’t have a happy marriage?” I asked.

“I didn’t say that.” She seemed close to breaking down now. “It was as good as any marriage of twenty-seven years. We treated each other civilly, made our obligatory public appearances and kept our disagreements to ourselves. Max may’ve been seeing other women, but I still believed he loved me. And, of course, I loved him very much.”

“Were you and your husband still intimate?”

This time I felt Neddy hurling invisible daggers my way. I had no idea why. I had asked a legitimate question. We needed to know the real deal about the Montgomerys’ relationship.

“Of course we were intimate. He was my husband.” Her suddenly snippy tone conveyed that my question was ridiculous. “But Max had a sexual addiction. There was no way one woman could satisfy him.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. “Were you okay with him…

uh…” I wasn’t quite sure of the appropriate verb to use, “seeing other women?”

“No, of course not.” She paused to take another sip of wine, then looked away, in the direction of the French doors and into her beautiful garden. “Max did his best to keep his affairs from me.”

I decided it might be best to back off, so I turned to Neddy.

“He was a good provider and a good husband,” Tina continued, as if she regretted painting such a bad picture of her dearly departed. “As long as you didn’t include monogamy in the definition of marriage.”

I crossed and uncrossed my legs, feeling as uncomfortable as Tina apparently did. I wanted to get this interview over with. “Tina, I hate to ask you this next question, but the police are certainly going to ask it, so it makes sense for us to get it out of the way now. Did you kill your husband?”

She did not flinch or blink, but turned to face Neddy, not me. “Of course not, I loved my husband more than I loved myself.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her. There was nothing about her body language that told me she was lying, but my gut just wasn’t willing to commit to her innocence yet.

“Where were you the night your husband was killed?”

She briefly closed her eyes. “That’s the problem,” she said, sitting her wine goblet on the coffee table and wringing her hands. “I was attending a Crystal Stairs fundraising dinner at the Ritz-Carlton in Beverly Hills. I was chairperson of the committee that organized the dinner.”

I leaned forward in my chair. “You were at the same hotel where your husband was murdered?”

Tina nodded.

I tried to will the astonishment from my face. “Did you two go to the dinner together?”

“No.”

Neddy also sat at attention. I paused to give her time to ask the next question. When she didn’t, I continued.