Every Reasonable Doubt (9 page)

T
otal silence filled the car during the first fifteen minutes of our ride home. Jefferson hated it when I gave him the silent treatment. I knew there was no way he’d be able to make the entire trip home without saying something.

“Okay,” he said finally, “you want to tell me why you’re trippin’? Are you mad because I showed up that white boy tonight?” He glanced over at me sitting in the passenger seat of his Chrysler 300. He was one of those drivers who needed to make eye contact with his passenger when he talked. I wanted to tell him to pay attention to the road before we crashed.

Instead, I continued staring out of the window, ignoring his question. We were headed north on the San Diego Freeway. Even though it was almost ten o’clock on a Friday night, the traffic was still fairly heavy.

“If you’re pissed off, at least tell me why,” Jefferson prodded.

Even when Jefferson was upset, he was usually willing to talk things out. I, on the other hand, closed up like a clam. If we had a serious argument, it could take a good week before I had cooled off enough to say a civil word to him. The last time we had a big blowout, he told me I needed to take some anger management classes. That had pissed me off even more.

But this time, I wanted him to know why I was so mad, and as hard as it was to do, I forced myself to speak. “I just wish you hadn’t gotten into that stupid debate with David,” I said finally, my gaze still fixed on the traffic.

“I was just expressing my opinion,” he said apologetically. “At least I didn’t cuss.”

I turned to look at him. “Yeah, but your opinion wasn’t exactly appropriate.” My words were unintentionally condescending.

He sucked his teeth. “Appropriate? Appropriate for who? You telling me I can’t say what I think?”

“That’s not what I’m saying. You need to think about the setting you’re in and how you might be perceived before you go sounding off like that.”

“How I might be perceived?” he said, practically shouting. “I don’t give a fuck what they think about me.”

I let out a long sigh. “Never mind. You don’t get it.”

Jefferson started gnawing on his lower lip and I could feel the car pick up speed. “If you’re telling me I can’t be who I am, then I guess I don’t get it. What? You’re scared they’re not going to make you a partner or something just because I said I think it’s okay for Indians to be mascots?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, Jefferson. You need to look at the big picture.”

“The big picture?” Now he
was
shouting. “I have no idea what in the hell you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said sarcastically.

I could feel him seething. “You’re acting just as uppity as them stuck-up people we just left,” he said. “It was just a conversation, Vernetta. A debate. You expect me to back down on my opinion?”

“No, I just wanted you to keep it to yourself.”

“Why?”

I closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure how to explain what I meant. “Because some of the people I work with are jerks,” I finally said. “And they don’t understand how other people view the world.”

“So I’m supposed to act like one of them? This is some bullshit!” He made an unnecessary lane change, cutting off another driver and giving me a momentary scare. “If I can’t say what I think, then don’t be taking me around them weak-ass people. You spend too much time worrying about what other people think of you. You don’t need their validation. They’re going to make you a partner because you’re a good attorney. Not because you’re kissing somebody’s ass.”

“Just forget it, Jefferson.” I didn’t want to talk anymore. But I knew it was too late for that. A lot of women complain about men who won’t communicate. Jefferson loves to talk and when he gets mad, he won’t shut up until he’s said everything he has to say and then some.

“I’ll tell you something else,” he said, looking over at me for far too long before turning back to the highway. “I bet I feel better about myself than everybody at that fuckin’ table. I don’t need six figures or a house that’s too big to even live in or a two-hundred-thousand-dollar Benz to make me feel like a man. When I look at myself in the mirror, I know who the fuck I am. And I don’t have to adjust my opinion to fit anybody else’s bullshit.”

“Do you have to cuss so much?”

“Yep.” This time he smiled. “It helps me reinforce my point. If that dude O’Reilly had taken my side, that punk-ass David wouldn’t have said shit because he ain’t got a damn backbone. That little boy gets up in the morning, licks his finger and holds it out the window to see which way the wind’s blowing and off he goes. You see how red he got? He was embarrassed because somebody with less education was going toe-to-toe with him.”

Jefferson was quiet for just a moment, then started up again. “I like me just the way I am and I ain’t changing what I think to try to impress nobody.”

We rode the rest of the way home in silence.

Jefferson pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. He threw open his door and had one foot on the ground before he realized I hadn’t made a move.

“So you sleeping in the car tonight?” he asked.

I was still too mad to even respond. Neither one of us said anything for a few seconds, then Jefferson got back inside and shut his door.

“Look baby, we shouldn’t be arguing over this. We had a cool evening. Let’s just forget about it.”

I kept my arms folded across my chest and my head turned away from him.

“C’mon, baby, don’t be mad at me. I can’t help it ‘cause I like Indians.”

I felt a smile coming on and tried hard to suppress it. I hated the way Jefferson could piss me off one second and make me laugh the next.

He reached over and tickled my earlobe, which he knew annoyed me. “C’mon, baby, don’t be mad. It ain’t my fault you work with a bunch of tight-ass white people.”

“Stop it, Jefferson!” I slapped his hand away, and failed to stifle a laugh.

“See, I made you laugh.” He tickled my earlobe again. “You know you like Indians, too.”

“Stop it, boy!” My laughter was now unrestrained. “This isn’t funny, Jefferson.” I was more angry at myself for laughing than with him for making me laugh.

“Okay, how about this? “What if I apologize to the Indians?” Jefferson waited for me to respond, and when I didn’t, he rolled down the window, gripped the roof of the car, and hoisted half of his body through the opening. He looked up to the sky and started shouting. “Oh, Great Geronimo, please understand. I meant no disrespect to your people. Y’all get big props from me. I think y’all was some bad dudes. Y’all just fucked up when you trusted the white man and let him take all your shit.”

I was howling with laughter now and so was Jefferson.

“You’re crazy,” I said, as he pulled himself back inside.

“Yep. Crazy about your little prissy ass.”

Jefferson took me into his arms and kissed me. I eagerly kissed him back.

“If you don’t stop being mad at me,” he said, “I’m not giving you any tonight.”

“Who said I wanted some?”

“You did.”

“I don’t recall saying that.”

“You didn’t say it out loud,” he said with a smirk, “but you’re definitely thinking it. I could tell by the way you just kissed me.”

“I hate you, you know that?” I said smiling.

“Yep,” Jefferson said, as he pulled me closer to him and kissed me again. “C’mon inside so you can show me how much.”

T
he following Tuesday morning, I got to work to find a voice mail message from Neddy, asking me to meet her at Tina Montgomery’s house at two o’clock. I picked up on the alarm in her voice after her first few words. One of her contacts at the D.A.’s office had given her an unofficial heads-up that Tina would be charged with Max Montgomery’s murder any day now. According to her source, Julie Killabrew would be trying the case and the politicos she reported to had given her the nod to make it a media spectacle. Neddy had a meeting out of the office, but promised to give me all the details when we met at Tina’s house.

I spent most of the morning finishing up some outstanding matters on my other cases. I dictated a couple of letters, returned some telephone calls, and edited a brief while gulping down a Big Mac, Diet Coke and fries. I left the office for Tina’s place around one and was surprised to find that Neddy hadn’t arrived by the time I got there ten minutes late.

The tiny woman in white met me at the door but didn’t make me wait in the foyer. This time she led me into what looked like a second living room. It was just as large as the other one, but was a tad less formal. No purple here. There was a definite green theme going on. Pea green curtains, apple green chairs, a forest green couch. All of the furniture was an ultra-contemporary mix of lacquer, glass, and chrome. If the furniture hadn’t been so expensive, the room would have made a perfect cover photo for an IKEA catalogue.

Tina was already seated, her silver wine goblet in hand. The woman apparently found a great deal of solace in a wine bottle.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

“A Diet Coke would be nice,” I said. She called for the woman in white, and used her name, Kinga, for the first time.

As we waited for Kinga to return with my drink, there was a deafening silence in the room. After our last meeting, I was afraid to open my mouth for fear of saying the wrong thing.
Where the hell was Neddy?
But I couldn’t just sit there and say nothing.

“This is certainly a fabulous house,” I said looking around. “Did you decorate it yourself?”

“Most of it. It was really a lot of fun. I was almost sorry when I’d finished.”

I didn’t know where to go from there. The thought suddenly came to me that I was alone in a room with a woman who had probably brutally stabbed a man to death, a man she supposedly loved. What if she were emotionally unstable? She might snap and plunge a knife into my chest, too? I tried to force myself to think about something else.

“Well, how’re you holding up?” The question sounded insincere, even to me.

“As well as can be expected, I guess.”

She was wearing a blue jogging suit, and her face was fully made-up, her lipstick, blush and eyeliner expertly applied. But like before, the foundation that covered her face failed to camouflage the puffiness around her eyes. I could picture her in the mirror, applying layer after layer after layer of foundation. The thought that she had probably been crying made me feel guilty about what I had been thinking about her. Maybe she wasn’t a murderer after all.

“So what happens next?” she asked.

I don’t know! I’m not a criminal attorney. Didn’t you know that when you hired me?
“Well, uh, once, I should say, if, they charge you, you’ll have to go down to the police station to get booked, which basically means getting photographed and fingerprinted.” I knew that much from
Law & Order
. “Then there’ll be an arraignment.”
I think.

“What exactly is an arraignment?” she asked.

My brain time-traveled back to Boalt Hall and my first-year criminal law class but came up blank. The procedural fundamentals of employment law and criminal law were as different as peanut butter and jelly. Asking an employment lawyer to explain the criminal arraignment process was like asking a podiatrist to demonstrate the insertion of a heart valve. But I considered myself a good lawyer. And all good lawyers knew how to wing it.

“An arraignment is when you formally enter a plea of guilty or not guilty and when the court determines whether there’s enough evidence to charge you.”
Damn.
Did I just describe a preliminary hearing or an arraignment or a combination of both?

Kinga arrived with my Diet Coke before Tina could ask me another question. I took as long as I could to remove the plastic twist-off cap and pour the brown liquid into a tall crystal glass filled with ice. I wasn’t sure I’d ever drank Diet Coke from a glass this fancy before. I hoped I didn’t drop it. I took a long, slow swig. Anything to keep from having to answer another one of Tina’s question.

“We can go over this stuff in more detail when Neddy gets here,” I said, sitting my glass on a coaster that looked like it was made of fourteen-caret gold and probably was.

“I can’t believe they actually think I killed my husband.” I heard emotion in her voice and prayed that she didn’t start crying. “I’ll get out on bail, right?” Her eyes were pleading with me to tell her exactly what she wanted to hear.

Hell if I know. Neddy, where are you?

Once again, when in doubt—hedge. “That’s our hope, but you can never know what a particular judge will do. We wanted to meet with you tonight to talk about our defense strategy. The prosecution’s case is almost completely circumstantial. That’s a plus. And in some people’s minds, your husband won’t be all that sympathetic a victim because of his extra-marital activities.”

“But that could also hurt me,” Tina correctly pointed out. “They’ll assume I had a reason to kill him. Not to mention the eight million dollars in insurance money.”

Did you kill him?

“You’re right,” I said.
Neddy, please get your ass here!

As if on cue, I heard the doorbell ring.

When Kinga escorted Neddy into the room, she looked a mess. Her hair was wild and uncombed, as if she had just taken off a hat. Her clothes were disheveled and her skin was ashen and gray. She gave Tina a brief hug, then sat down.

“Okay, let’s get started.” She fumbled around in her briefcase and pulled out several folders.

Neddy started to speak when Tina leaned across the coffee table and placed a hand on her knee. “Are you okay?”

Neddy smiled weakly. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“I’m serious,” Tina said. “You don’t look so good.”

“Let’s just call it the stress of divorce. The most ugly, angry, awful divorce you could ever imagine.” Neddy sat back in the chair. “I just had a face-to-face with my husband and his attorney and it didn’t go too well.”

Neither Tina nor I knew what to say.

Neddy closed her briefcase and set it on the floor. “Your husband may’ve had affairs, but at least he kept it out of your face and paid the damn bills. My lazy excuse for a spouse screwed around, refused to work and now expects me to pay him close to four thousand dollars a month in alimony for the next four years.”

Tina eyed me as if it were my place to offer the appropriate words of comfort. But I had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Neddy said, closing her eyes. “I really shouldn’t be boring you two with my troubles. But I need to be up front with you. I’m seriously thinking about asking the firm for a leave of absence.”

At first I couldn’t tell what emotion had attacked my body. Then I realized it was relief, followed closely by a twinge of disappointment. There was no way I could handle this case by myself. If Neddy was out, that meant I was, too.

“There’s another lawyer in our office, David Winslow, who’s a former D.A.,” Neddy continued. “And since you haven’t been charged yet, it would be pretty simple for him to jump in and take my place. If I were ever in trouble, he’d be the person I’d call. David and Vernetta just finished a big trial together, so they’re used to working as a team.”

What the hell was this?
I’d rather have somebody stab me in the eyeballs with a pitchfork than try another case with David. If Neddy was bailing, so was I. Besides, I had to get to work on making some babies. I couldn’t believe Neddy didn’t have the courtesy to discuss her decision with me before raising it with our client. That was more than disrespectful and I was definitely going to tell her that.

I reached for my Diet Coke and took a sip. I guess I was too busy dealing with my own mixed emotions to notice that Tina had gone into cardiac arrest.

“You can’t take a leave! My life depends on you!” There was so much desperation in her voice it scared me. “You got that guy off who was accused of killing his wife. Everybody thought he was guilty. But you proved he wasn’t.”

Does that mean you’re guilty?
I could tell from the way Neddy looked at Tina that her thoughts were similar to mine. Besides, Neddy didn’t prove that the man was innocent, only that the state failed to prove that he was guilty.

Neddy moved over to where Tina was sitting and placed her hand on Tina’s forearm. “Mrs. Montgomery–”

“Call me Tina.”

“I’m sorry. Tina, from what you’ve told me so far, I think you have a very solid defense if you do end up being charged. But just because my client went free in that case, doesn’t mean I’ll have a victory in your case.

Tina reached for her goblet, cupping it with both hands. She did not like Neddy’s answer.

“I’m not expecting miracles. But I need you in my corner,” she begged. “I didn’t kill my husband and I know you can prove it.” Tina’s hands shook as she raised the goblet to her lips. “Maybe you just need a long, relaxing weekend. Why don’t we call off this meeting and do something fun. We can go to Odyssey in the Marina. A massage and a facial is exactly what you need. It’ll be my treat.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Neddy said, clasping her hands in her lap, “but I’m afraid our little outing wouldn’t make a nice headline on the front page of the
L.A. Times
tomorrow morning. I can see it now: Murder Suspect and Her Attorneys Lounge at Day Spa. Besides, the only thing that’ll relax me is getting word that my soon-to-be ex has disappeared from the face of the earth.”

Tina looked over at me, then back at Neddy. “You say that now, but there’s something about loving a man, really loving a man, that prevents you from ever really letting him go.”

Tina had a distant look in her eyes. It was obvious that she was thinking about Max. “Even when I knew Max was spreading himself around, I kept hoping and praying he would simply grow tired of it. But even in his fifties, he still ran the streets like a teenager. And while I cried myself to sleep far too many nights, I still wanted him in my life. I still wanted this life,” she said, sweeping her hand around the room. She patted Neddy’s hand. “Just focus on the things that made you fall in love with your husband. You can’t punish the man for being who he is. It’s probably not even his fault. There’re a lot of factors beyond our control that make us the people we are.”

Neddy’s face had an exasperated expression. She wasn’t buying Tina’s it-ain’t-his-fault line.

“You really believe that?” she said, astonished. “That a man who cheats on his wife isn’t to blame for his actions?”

I was surprised at her tone. Neddy might as well have told the woman that she was stupid for hanging onto such a cheat.

“It’s not that simple, but yes, I do,” Tina said. “My husband had a lot of issues that date back to his childhood. Max’s mother was rarely around. And when she was, she was running men through the house like a grocery store checkstand. As my therapist explained it, Max spent most of his adult life searching for the love he never got from his mother. And he found it in sex. Even though he couldn’t keep it in his pants, he was basically good to me,” she said.

Neddy returned to her chair, as if she needed to distance herself from Tina. She closed her eyes for just a second and an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

“Well, Lawton Joseph Brown was never really good to me,” she said. “Don’t ask me how I fell in love with a man who humiliated me for most of the time I was with him.” Her hands gripped both arms of the chair and her voice fell to a sad monotone. “I’d be too embarrassed to even describe the way he treated me sometimes. Losing my son was the worst of all.”

All look of concern glazed Tina’s face and I assumed she wanted to ask Neddy how her son died. So did I. But we didn’t. We both somehow knew that Neddy just needed to talk. So we listened.

“Lawton is the classic womanizer,” Neddy continued, seemingly more for her own benefit than ours. “For him, lying is as easy as breathing. He feels no guilt saying exactly what he thinks you want to hear. I can still remember the precise moment that I knew I had to leave, no matter how much I thought I loved him. We’d had a really ugly fight. Tears were streaming down my face. I reminded him that we supposedly loved each other. You know what he said to me?” She looked as if she were still shocked by his words. “I’ll never forget his words as long as I’m black. He said, and this is a quote: ‘I know I said I love you, but those are just words and words don’t mean nothing to me.’”

The pain on Neddy’s face was real enough to touch. My heart went out to both her and Tina.

“The difference between your husband and mine,” Neddy went on, “is that Lawton doesn’t mind lying and hurting people. Every woman he was with thought she was the one and only. They had no idea he was married. He can’t blame who he is on his mother. He had two wonderful parents.”

Tina looked away.

All this emotion was dragging me down. I felt lucky as hell. All my husband wanted was a son. I needed to run home to Jefferson and tell him how much I appreciated him.

Kinga popped in to refill Tina’s empty wine goblet. I wondered how she knew exactly when to show up.
Was she listening in?
Her arrival allowed our conversation to finally turn to the case. Neddy reviewed the various pretrial stages and then discussed our preliminary defense strategy. She told Tina that we’d have a better idea of our precise strategy once we saw the prosecution’s witness list and evidence. Neddy was hoping to arrange a voluntary surrender if Tina was charged. She reminded Tina for the second time that it was important not to withhold any information from us, good or bad. Doing that, she said, could cause us to be blindsided in court. Neddy then called Kinga back into the room and instructed both of them to call us immediately if the police or anyone else contacted them about the case.