Just not against their client.
The tricky part appeared to be that people rarely stated their prejudices out loud. You had to read between their lines and hope you were reading them correctly.
“I want to start by making one thing very clear,” the attorney said. The one Raymond had been calling “their” attorney in his head. “I am not against carrying a licensed handgun for the purpose of self-protection.”
Raymond typed the words “Opening Statement: Prosecution” on his keyboard.
The man paced back and forth as he spoke, briefly turning his back on the jury, then facing them to drive a point home.
“And of course we all want to have the right to protect ourselves. And we should have that right. It’s a funny thing about our rights, though. There’s a fact about them that we don’t want to see, but we have to see it. We simply have to, if we’re expected to live together in any kind of peace. We’re all living right on top of each other in this city, and there will be times when our rights will be in conflict.
“What’s the first thing you ever learned about rights in school? I know the first thing I ever learned about them, and it was in kindergarten. My kindergarten teacher taught us that the right to swing our fist ends where the other guy’s nose begins. Remember that?
“So maybe you’re sitting here thinking, I have a right to fire my gun if I think I’m in danger. But does your neighbor have a right to fire his gun at you if he thinks you’re a danger to him? You might notice how the question looks very different from the two different ends of the firearm.
“Now for the really important question.”
He turned quickly to face the jury. Swept his gaze from one face to another. Met as many eyes as he could.
Raymond was still wishing there was even one Latino or Latina face on that jury. But there had been only three in the jury pool, and all three had been excused by the defense attorney, ostensibly over unrelated concerns.
“What if your neighbor is wrong? What if you’re only trying to help, but he—or she—mistakenly thinks you mean him some kind of harm, and he fires on you? Ends your life? Takes you away from your spouse and your children? Does he have that right? What about your right to walk down the street in safety?
“Look, I have a handgun in the drawer of my bedside table. If someone breaks in and tries to do any kind of harm to my wife or me . . . well, all I can say is, God help that person. But with the license to carry and use a gun comes an enormous responsibility. And it’s pretty simple, ladies and gentlemen: You have to be right. You owe it to the guy who’s trying to give you back your wallet to be sure you know the difference between a robber and a good Samaritan. You have to be willing to hold your fire for just a moment—even a split second—until you know for a fact what kind of situation you’ve got on your hands. Sure, it’s a temptation to think there’s some risk involved in waiting that split second. And maybe there is. But to fail to take that risk is to put too much weight on your own rights and not enough on the other guy’s. It’s thinking only of yourself. We all put ourselves first. That’s just human, and maybe it’s not even a bad thing. But we at least have to make the other guy a very close second. Because, you know what? Luis Velez had a right to go home that night. He had a right to raise his children. He had a right to be there when his wife gave birth to their third child.”
He stopped—stopped talking, stopped pacing. Turned his eyes to Isabel. The jury’s eyes followed his gaze.
Raymond looked over at Isabel and watched her squirm under their gazes. Watched her face flush red.
“Mr. Velez had those rights violently ripped away from him. Did the defendant, Ms. Hatfield, wake up that morning with thoughts of murder?” He paused. Looked in the direction of the defendant. So far Raymond had still only seen the back of her head. “Did she bear ill will toward Mr. Velez and premeditate his demise? Of course not. She was just afraid. But afraid or not, we still have to use reasonable judgment before we use lethal force. And if we don’t, there has to be a price. A fair price, but a price nonetheless for taking an innocent life first and asking questions later. Over the course of this trial, I will be trusting you to make a fair and reasoned judgment regarding what that price will be.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you, Your Honor.”
As the prosecutor moved to take his seat again, Raymond realized he had been so caught up in listening that he’d forgotten to take notes. He typed as fast as he possibly could while the defense attorney rose to begin his opening statement.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to use your imagination. What would you do if you were walking down the street at dusk and a stranger came up behind you and grabbed you by the shoulder?”
“He didn’t grab her by the shoulder!”
Raymond jumped at the sound of Isabel’s voice, coming from right beside him. She had pushed to her feet with surprising speed, considering her condition.
“He tapped her on the shoulder!” Isabel shouted. “Both witnesses said so!”
The judge rapped his gavel hard against the bench.
“Silence!” he bellowed at her. “One more outburst like that and you’ll be looking at a contempt charge. Now be seated.”
Isabel did not move. She stood frozen like a statue, teetering slightly, staring off into space as if listening to voices no one else could hear.
“I said be seated!” the judge roared again.
Isabel turned her gaze to the judge and spoke four words that nearly stopped Raymond’s heart. They actually did stop it, but only for the space of about one and a half beats.
“My water just broke,” she said.
The uniformed woman who had touched Isabel’s belly ushered them out of the courtroom and down to the lobby.