“Look there,” Suzanne said, tapping the screen. “Something’s wrong.”
I’d seen it, too. Jewel appeared in two pictures taken after eleven that night. Her party girl smile had disappeared. In the final image she looked angry, and her feathered mask didn’t hide the indignant scowl on her face.
“Jewel’s not having fun,” I said.
I leaned in to examine the final shot of Jewel. Her angry face was not the only one captured: other masked people were snapped, including a dark-haired man. He appeared to be trying to lean out of the shot. I pointed at his figure on the screen.
“This guy doesn’t like having his picture taken.”
His masked face was turned away from the camera, but a red mark showed up outside the black mask’s coverage.
My heart rattled in my chest. “Mr. Forsythe, can you enlarge the image on the screen?”
He tapped at the computer. Jewel’s scowl was life-size on the screen, and I could see that the red mark on the black-haired man was a birthmark. A port-wine stain birthmark.
Chapter 26
IT WAS A gamble.
Back in court the next morning, I heard the courthouse clock strike nine. Judge Baylor was seated at his bench. I stood beside my counsel table with my back to the jury. I couldn’t face them, not yet. What if I couldn’t keep a poker face?
Looking down at Darrien, I raised my brow. We had spent the past hour in the holding cell, conferring in whispers.
He glanced at the jury box behind me, then met my eye. He nodded twice, a bare movement of his head.
Time to roll the dice. In reality, I was a stranger to games of chance. But Suzanne, a regular patron of the casinos in Tunica, Mississippi, had given me the counsel of a seasoned player: go all in.
My dallying apparently made the judge impatient. “Miss Bozarth, is the defense ready to proceed or not?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” I cut a glance at Lafayette. He held a notebook; on its cover, in bold black ink, he’d written: Character Evidence Cross-Examination. Apparently, the DA had seen our witnesses lined up in the hall outside the courtroom.
I had been nauseated all morning and had even tried to vomit before I left my office. But when I saw the DA’s pad, a tiny thrill of pleasure shot through me. Lafayette was in for a surprise.
When the judge invited me to make my opening statement, I hesitated. I had no intention of revealing our evidence before it unfolded. So I marched to the jury box and launched into an oratory on the legal presumption of innocence.
Lafayette jumped up. “Objection, Your Honor; this is argument.”
“Sustained. Miss Bozarth, confine your statements to the evidence.”
Unruffled, I nodded at the jury and walked back to the counsel table. “Your Honor, the defense calls Stanley Forsythe to the witness stand.”
The photographer walked into the courtroom. He paused before the bench. The judge said, “Mr. Forsythe, you’re still under oath. Be seated.”
On my laptop, I pulled up the Mardi Gras photo depicting Jewel Shaw’s angry expression, taken around 11:00 p.m., and displayed it on the courtroom screen. I asked the witness to identify Defendant’s Exhibit 1.
Stanley Forsythe said, “It’s a candid photograph, taken at the Mardi Gras ball at the Williams County country club.”
“Can you tell the court the time at which this picture was taken?”
“Just after eleven. At 11:03 p.m.”
“Mr. Forsythe, is Defendant’s Exhibit One a fair and accurate representation of the individuals you photographed at the Mardi Gras ball on that night?”
“It is.”
“Mr. Forsythe, has Defendant’s Exhibit One been changed or altered in any way?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I turned to the judge. “Your Honor, the defense offers Defendant’s Exhibit One into evidence.”
The judge glanced at the DA. “Mr. Lafayette?”
“No objection.”
I nodded politely at the photographer. “The defense has no further questions of this witness.”
“Mr. Lafayette, you may cross-examine.”
“No questions.” He looked sulky. He’d pushed his “character witnesses” pad to the side and was doodling on a fresh legal pad. The top sheet had a line of question marks.
The sight made me want to grin. But I wore a stoic expression as I said, “The defense calls Sheriff Patrick Stark to the witness stand.” While the bailiff called his name in the hallway, I was amazed to notice that my nausea had disappeared.
As the sheriff took his seat, the DA caught my eye and gave me a “What the hell?” look. I ignored it.
Stepping over to the prosecution table, I picked up one of the state’s exhibits lined up on its surface: Jewel Shaw’s cell phone. Without asking leave, I walked up to the witness stand and handed it to the sheriff.
“Sheriff Stark, I’ve handed you State’s Exhibit Five. This is the cell phone that belonged to the deceased, Jewel Shaw—isn’t that right?”
His face was closed. “Yeah.”
“Sheriff Stark, please tell the court: what is the security passcode for Miss Shaw’s phone?”
“Don’t know. Can’t remember it off the top off my head.”
Yeah, baby. I was ready for that. I’d dealt with the sheriff’s selective memory before.
“Mr. Stark, would it be helpful to refresh your recollection with the sheriff’s report you prepared in this case?”
I handed him the report. Grudgingly, he recited the passcode. I walked over to my briefcase, pulled out a portable phone charger, slipped the phone from its plastic wrapping and plugged it in.
It took a minute to charge. Leaning against the counsel table, I waited, smiling. For the first time that day, I turned my face to the jury box.
Some jurors looked impatient, others confused. And one of them looked tense. Nervous.
Juror number 3 was starting to sweat. Beads of moisture were visible on his upper lip.
Once Jewel’s phone was powered up, I handed it to the sheriff.
“Sir, I’m showing you the phone history on State’s Exhibit Five, the cell phone of Jewel Shaw. Please read off the number of the last call received by the deceased.”
He did.
“Was the call received on the date of her death?”
“It was.”
“What time was it received?”
He glanced down. “Eleven sixteen p.m.”
I said, “Is there an identifying contact name?”
“Nope.” His eyes met mine with a challenge. “No name.”
Time for the grand gesture. I extended a hand; he placed the phone in my palm. With a fingertip, I hit the number on the screen. And I waited.
We’d done the homework. But any number of things might prevent the outcome I was praying for.
As the silence dragged on, my nausea returned so sharply, I nearly gagged.
Then I heard it: a buzz. The humming sound of an incoming call on a muted cell phone. My head jerked to the right: the sound was coming from the jury box.
The jurors looked around in confusion. When the humming ceased, I held up the phone and hit the number again.
When the second round of humming began, I strode to the jury box and leaned on the railing. Juror number 3 sat in the middle of the front row. I focused on him. His fellow jurors were staring at him as well; it had become clear that he was the source of the noise.
Holding Jewel’s phone so that the screen was visible to the jury, I cocked my brow and gazed down at juror number 3.
“You gonna answer that?”
Chapter 27
JUROR NUMBER 3 met my eye with an unblinking gaze, but a droplet of perspiration trickled in a wet path from his temple to his cheek.
When the humming ended for the second time, I walked to my computer, tapped a key, and enlarged the photo on display on the computer screen. With a quick adjustment, I centered it on the face of the masked man leaning away from the camera.
“Sheriff Stark,” I said, walking to the screen and pointing at the image. “Can you identify the individual depicted in the Defendant’s Exhibit One?”
The sheriff leaned forward in his chair, studying the enlarged image with a perplexed expression. As he squinted at the screen, juror number 3 stood up in the jury box.