Sons of Fortune (26 page)

“I
don’t know, sir, what is my next question?”

“What
should I do if the verdict goes against me?” He paused. “An eventuality you
must always prepare for.” Fletcher nodded.
“Answer?
You immediately ask the judge for leave to appeal.” The professor tore off one
of the sheets of yellow paper and handed it across to his pupil. “I hope you
will not consider it presumptuous of me, but I have jotted down a simple form
of words for every eventuality.”

“Including
guilty?” said Fletcher.

“No
need to be that pessimistic yet. First we must consider the possibility of a
hung jury. I observed in the center of the back row a juror who never once
looked at our client while she was on the witness stand. But I noticed that you
also spotted the lady on the far end of the front row who lowered her eyes when
you held up the scorched palm of Mrs. Kirsten’s right hand.”

“What
do I do if it is a hung jury?”

“Nothing.
The judge,
although not the brightest legal mind currently sitting on the appellate bench,
is meticulous and fair when it comes to points of law, so he will ask the jury
if they are able to return a majority verdict.”

“
Which in this state is ten to two.
”

“As
it is in forty-three other states,” the professor reminded him.

“But
if they are unable to agree on a majority verdict?”

“The
judge is left with no choice but to dismiss the jury and ask the attorney general
if he wishes to call for a retrial, and before you ask, I can’t second-guess
how Mr. Stamp will react to that eventuality.”

“You
seem to have made a lot of notes,”

Fletcher
said, looking down at line after line of neatly written script.

“Yes,
I intend to refer to this case next term when I give my lecture on the legal
difference between manslaughter and homicide. It will be for my third-year
students, so you should not be too embarrassed.”

“Should
I have accepted the attorney general’s deal of manslaughter, and settled for
three years?”

“I
suspect we will find out the answer to that question in the not-too-distant
future.”

“Did
I make a lot of mistakes?” asked Fletcher.

“A
few,” said the professor turning the pages of his pad.

“What
was the biggest one?”

“Your
only glaring error, in my opinion, was not calling a doctor to describe in
graphic detail-something doctors always
enjoy
doing-how the bruises on Mrs. Kirsten’s arms and legs might have been
inflicted. Juries admire doctors. They assume that they are honest people, and
in the main they are. But like every other group, if you ask them the right
question-and it is after all the lawyers who select the questions-they are as
prone to exaggeration as the rest of us.” Fletcher felt guilty that he had missed
such an obvious gambit, and only wished he had taken Annie’s advice and sought
the professor’s counsel earlier.

“
Don’t worry
, the state still has one or two hurdles to
cross, because the judge is certain to grant us a stay of execution.”

“Us?”
said Fletcher.

“Yes,”
said the professor quietly, “although I have not appeared in court for many
years, and may well be a little rusty, I was hoping that you might allow me to
assist you on this occasion.”

“You
would serve as my co-counsel?” said Fletcher in disbelief.

“Yes,
Davenport, I would,”
said
the professor, “because you
did convince me of one thing.

Your
client should not be spending the rest of her life in jail.”

“Jury’s
coming back,” shouted a voice that echoed down the corridor.

“Good
luck, Davenport,” added the professor. “And may I say before I hear the result,
that for a second-year student, your defense was a remarkable tour de force.”

Nat
could sense how nervous Su Ling was the closer they got to Cromwell. “Are you
sure your mother will approve of the way I’m dressed?” she asked, pulling her
skirt down even farther.

Nat
looked across to admire the simple yellow suit that Su Ling had selected, that
just hinted how graceful her figure was. “My mother will approve, and my father
won’t be able to take his eyes off you.”

Su
Ling squeezed his leg. “How will your father react when he finds not that I’m
Korean?”

“I
shall remind him of your Irish father,” said Nat. “In any case, he’s spent his
whole life dealing with figures, so it will take him only a few minutes to
realize how bright you are.”

“It’s
not too late to turn back,” said Su Ling. “We could always visit them next
Sunday.”

“It
is too late,” said Nat. “In any case,
haven’t
you
considered how nervous my parents might be? After all, I have already told them
that I’m desperately in love with you.”

“Yes,
but my mother adored you.”

“And
mine will adore you.” Su Ling remained silent until Nat told her that they were
approaching the outskirts of Cromwell.

“But
I don’t know what to say.”

“Su
Ling, it’s not an examination that you have to pass.”

“Yes,
it is, that’s exactly what it is.”

“This
is the town where I was born,” said Nat, trying to relax her as they drove down
the main street. “When I was a child, I thought it was a great metropolis. But
to be fair, I also used to think Hartford was the capital of the world.”

“How
long before we get there?” she asked.

Nat
glanced out of the window. “I’d say about ten minutes. But please don’t expect
anything too grand, we only live in a small house.”

“My
mother and I live above the shop,” said Su Ling.

Nat
laughed, “And so did Harry Truman.”

“And
look where that got him,” she replied.

Nat
turned the car into Cedar Avenue. “We’re the third house on the right.”

“Could
we drive around the block a few times?” said Su Ling, “I need to think about
what I’m going to say.”

“No,”
said Nat firmly, “try to remember how the professor of statistics at Harvard
reacted when he first met you.”

“Yes,
but I didn’t want to marry his son.”

“I
feel sure he would have agreed to that if he’d thought it might have convinced
you to join his team.” Su Ling laughed for the first time in over an hour, just
as Nat brought the car to a halt outside the house.

He
went quickly around to Su Ling’s side and opened the door for her. She stepped
out and lost one of her shoes in the gutter.

“I’m
sorry, I’m sorry,” she said as she slipped it back on. “I’m sorry.”

Nat
laughed and took her in his arms.

“No,
no,” said Su Ling, “your mother might see us.”

“I
hope she does,” said Nat. He smiled and took her by the hand as they walked up
the short driveway.

The
door was opened long before they’d reached it, and Susan ran out to greet them.
She immediately took Su Ling in her arms and said, “Nat didn’t exaggerate. You
are quite beautiful.”

Fletcher
walked slowly back down the corridor toward the court room, surprised to find
that the professor remained by his side. When they reached the swing doors, the
young counselor assumed his mentor would return to his place a couple of rows
behind Annie and Jimmy, but he continued walking toward the front of the court
room and took the vacant seat next to Fletcher’s. Annie and Jimmy could barely
conceal their surprise. The court usher announced, “All rise.
His Honor Judge Abernathy presiding.”

Once
he was seated, the judge looked toward the attorney general and acknowledged
him, then turned his attention to the defense team, and for the second time
during the trial, surprise registered on his face.

“I
see you have acquired an assistant, Mr. Davenport. Is his name to be entered on
the register before I recall the jury?”

Fletcher
turned to the professor, who rose from his place and said, “That would be my
wish, your honor.”

“Name?”
asked the judge, as if he had never seen him before.

“Karl
Abrahams, your honor.”

“Are
you qualified to appear in my court?” asked the judge solemnly.

“I
believe I am, sir,” said Abrahams, “I first became a member of the Connecticut
bar in 1937, though I have never had the privilege of appearing before your
honor.”

“Thank
you, Mr. Abrahams. If the attorney general has no objection, I will enter your
name on my register as Mr. Davenport’s co-counsel.”

The
attorney general rose, gave the professor a slight bow, and said, “It is a
privilege to be in the same court as Mr. Davenport’s assistant.”

“Then
I think we should waste no more time in recalling the jury,” said the judge.

Fletcher
examined the faces of the seven men and five women as they filed back to their
places. The professor had suggested that Fletcher check to see if any jury
members looked directly at their client, which would possibly indicate a
verdict of not guilty. He thought two or three of them did, but he couldn’t be
sure.

The
foreman rose. “Have you reached a verdict in this case?” the judge asked.

“No,
your honor, we have been unable to do so,” the foreman replied.

Fletcher
could feel the sweat on the palms of his hands even more intensely than when he
had first stood to address the jury. The judge tried a second time. “Are you
able to return a majority verdict?”

“No,
we are not, your honor,” replied the foreman.

“Do
you feel, given more time, you might eventually reach a majority verdict?”

“I
don’t think so, your honor. We have been equally divided for the past three
hours.”

“Then
I have no choice but to declare a mistrial, and dismiss the jury.
On behalf of the state.
thank
you
for your service.” He turned his attention to the attorney general, and as he
did so Mr. Abrahams rose to his feet.

“I
wonder, your honor, if I might seek your guidance on a small matter of
protocol.”

The
judge looked puzzled, as did the attorney general. “I can’t wait to hear your
small matter of protocol, Mr. Abrahams.”

“Allow
me first to inquire of your honor, if I am correct in thinking that should
there be a retrial, the defense team must be announced within fourteen days?”

“That
would be the normal practice, Mr. Abrahams.”

“Then
may I assist the court by making it clear that should that situation arise, Mr.
Davenport and I will continue to represent the defendant.”

“I
am obliged for your small point of protocol,” said the judge, no longer
puzzled.

“So
I must now ask you, Mr. Stamp,” said the judge, turning his attention back to
the attorney general, “if it is your intention to apply for a retrial of this
case.”

The
court’s attention swung to the state’s lawyers, all five of whom were in a
huddle, holding an animated conversation. Judge Abernathy made no attempt to
hurry them, and it was some time before Mr. Stamp rose from his place.

“We
do not
believe,
your honor, that it is in the state’s
best interest to reopen this case.”

Cheering
broke out in the well of the court as the professor tore a sheet from his
yellow pad and pushed it across to his pupil. Fletcher glanced down at it, rose
from his place and read it, word for word.

“You
honor, in the circumstances, I would ask for the immediate release of my
client.” He looked down at the professor’s next sentence and continued to read,
“And may I say how grateful I am for the gracious and professional manner in
which Mr. Stamp and his team have conducted the case for the prosecution.”

The
judge nodded, and Mr. Stamp rose again.

“May
I in turn congratulate the defense counsel and his assistant on their first
case before your honor, and wish Mr. Davenport every success in what I feel
certain will be a promising career.”

Fletcher
beamed at Annie, as Professor Abrahams rose from his place.
“Objection,
your honor.”

Everyone
turned to face the professor. “I wouldn’t have thought it was that certain,” he
said. “It is my belief that a lot of work still needs to be done before that
promise will be realized.”

“Sustained,”
said Judge Abernathy.

“My
mother taught me two languages up until the age of nine and by then I was just
about ready to be mainstreamed into the Storrs school system.”

“That’s
where I started my academic life,” said Susan.

“But
I discovered from an early age that I was more at ease with numbers than
words.” Michael Cartwright nodded his understanding. “And I was most fortunate
to have a math teacher whose hobby was statistics, and who was also fascinated
by the role the computer might play in the future.”