I paced to the left, to make sure I was engaging all of the jurors. “But in addition to a distinguished legal career, Lee Greene is also committed to public service. He’s a lifelong member of the Calvary Presbyterian Church, he’s a member and officer of his Rotary group, and he’s also a leading supporter of and fund-raiser for the charitable organization in Mississippi that is building homes and schools in poverty-stricken areas of Nicaragua. A school currently under construction there will bear his family name. And he devotes countless hours of volunteer work to the Humane Society of Barnes County, caring for abandoned animals.”
I paused, turning to look at Lee, hoping the jurors would follow my lead. He was wearing a saintly, benevolent expression. Glancing back at the jury box, I saw yet another woman look at him with approval.
I continued, my voice firm. “Clearly, as you will see, Lee Greene is not a man who would commit the lurid crime with which he is charged.”
“Objection.”
This time, Isaac Keet didn’t shout, didn’t shove his chair. When I turned my head, he was leaning against the railing with his arms crossed.
“Your Honor,” he said, in a voice that was deadly calm, “I’m going to have to ask that Ruby Bozarth be censured.”
I was so shocked that I sputtered, and it took a few seconds before I could respond clearly. “What on earth are you talking about? Your Honor, I object to the DA’s continual interruptions. There is no basis for this, none at all.”
Keet went on, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Ruby Bozarth is an officer of the court—and yet she knows that what she is telling the jury is untrue.”
I clenched my fists and stuffed them into my pockets. “What are you even talking about?”
“Her supposed presentation of the defendant as a clean-cut paragon who’d never do anything wrong? Never hurt a living soul? Ms. Bozarth, please! Your Honor, it’s well known that defense attorney Ruby Bozarth refused to marry defendant Lee Greene because of his sexual proclivities.”
I gasped. I opened my mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. Exactly how should I respond to Keet’s scandalous statement?
Because, after all—it was the truth.
Judge Ashley cupped his hand around his ear. “What’s that you say?”
Chapter 48
“YOUR HONOR, MAY we approach the bench?” I struggled to regain my composure in addressing the judge.
Judge Ashley invited us up with a wave. As I walked the short distance to the bench, my ears hummed like a beehive. If I didn’t settle down, I might end up as deaf as the judge.
Keet was waiting for me. He had the nerve to smile as I approached. “What’s the matter, Ms. Bozarth? You’re red as a beet.”
The bees in my ears hummed with an angry buzz. “Your Honor, the defense requests a mistrial.”
Judge Ashley’s brow furrowed. “Beg pardon? Did someone say mistrial?”
Isaac Keet laughed out loud. “Now who’s got the thin skin?”
The judge inclined his good ear in my direction. “Ms. Bozarth, did you say you want a mistrial?”
“Your Honor, the district attorney’s untoward comments—which are irrelevant and immaterial—are highly prejudicial to my client.”
Keet smiled again. “But are they true?”
I could feel the blood in my face; I suspected that I was, as Keet claimed, red as a beet. And as for his objectionable comment: how could I deny it? I had, in fact, broken off my engagement with Lee Greene due to his sexual proclivities.
In a furious whisper, I said to Keet: “How dare you inject my personal life into this case, in the presence of the jury?”
Keet bent his head and spoke softly into my ear. “When you’ve been around a while, you’ll learn a thing or two about trial practice. For example: all’s fair in love and war, as the saying goes.”
Judge Ashley leaned toward us. “Can y’all speak up?”
Keet raised his voice. “Your Honor, the defense has informed me in the past that the state’s case is baseless and flawed because we cannot, in Ms. Bozarth’s opinion, show a motive for the crime. The State of Mississippi has a duty to let the jury know the defendant’s mind-set. His elitist, misogynistic temperament is at issue in this case. Maybe Ms. Bozarth can’t recognize it because she shares his elitist background.”
He looked over for my reaction. But he’d revealed he didn’t know his opponent as well as he thought. Because I’d learned how to fight off bullies at an early age.
I lifted my chin and addressed the judge. “I request the court instruct the DA and the jury that this prosecution is about facts, hard evidence, and not gossip and innuendo.” I shot Keet a glare. “You, sir, should be disciplined.”
He grinned. “I’m frightened.”
While we wrangled at the bench, the elderly bailiff and young Deputy Brockes sat at the bailiff’s desk at the far end of the bench. The old bailiff nudged Brockes, and they spoke in whispers. Deputy Brockes hid a smile with his hand.
I wanted to snap. Apparently, we were providing entertainment for the courthouse staff.
Looking back at the judge, I spoke firmly. “Judge, I need a ruling on my request for mistrial.”
The judge made a face. “Are you sure you want to do that, Ms. Bozarth? We’ve got the doggone jury already seated. Me and Isaac, we’ve come in from Vicksburg for this special setting. Do you really want it reset? To start the process all over again? It might be another year, maybe longer, before I can fit it into my calendar.”
At the mention of the jury, I glanced over to gauge their reaction to the drama that was taking place. Three of the jurors looked bored. A couple were exchanging looks of impatience.
And one woman on the jury was casting sympathetic, longing eyes at Lee Greene.
Maybe a mistrial wasn’t such a good idea.
The main door to the courtroom creaked open and closed with a bang. Many heads turned to see the county sheriff, Patrick Stark, walk into court, accompanied by Potts, the nosy deputy whom I’d encountered in the hallway. Deputy Potts lingered by the door, but Sheriff Stark marched to the bench, his boots treading heavily on the tiled floor.
“I need to talk to you, Your Honor.”
The judge looked astounded by the interruption. “What?”
The sheriff walked up to the empty witness stand and sat on the wooden seat. “Judge, I’ve got to take my deputy out of here.”
“What’s that? Who?”
Sheriff Stark edged closer and set his elbow on the bench. “My deputy.”
“Who’s your deputy?”
“Young fellow assisting your bailiff over there: Deputy Brockes. I got to take him away.”
Judge Ashley rubbed his head. “This is a murder trial, Sheriff. I need security. Why do you need your man right now?”
At the bailiff’s desk, Brockes must have overheard the exchange. He rose to his feet, a look of confusion clouding his face.
The sheriff dropped his voice to a gruff whisper. “I need him for the investigation into the shooting of that Vicksburg detective.”
That grabbed my attention. I moved down the bench, to be closer to the sheriff. I wanted to hear exactly what he said. The Vicksburg detective’s fate was intimately tied to the fate of Lee Greene, and the outcome of my case.
I needn’t have bothered to elbow my way closer. The judge waved his black-robed arm at the sheriff. “Speak up, sir. What is it?”
In a booming baritone, Sheriff Stark said: “We have the weapon that killed the Vicksburg detective. It’s registered to that boy there.” He cocked his head and nodded in Deputy Brockes’s direction.
“And it’s got his prints.”
Chapter 49
I SWUNG AROUND and checked out Deputy Brockes. It appeared that Brockes had also overheard the sheriff’s pronouncement. His face had blanched, and his jaw opened and shut, and then opened again.
“I-I—n-n-never,” he said, sputtering.
Sheriff Stark left the witness stand, and with a jerk of his head, he signaled to Deputy Potts in the back of the courtroom. Both lawmen advanced on young Brockes. Brockes backed away, shaking his head.
Sheriff Stark said, “You need to come along, son.”
“Why? Wha-What for?”
The sheriff lowered his voice, but he was only a few feet away from me. I could hear him clearly.
“Looks like you’re a suspect in the investigation of the Vicksburg man’s death. I expect we can clear it all up. I’m sure we can. But we need to have a talk, Deputy.”
He grasped Brockes by the elbow, but the young man jerked his arm away.
“Wasn’t me. I don’t know nothing about that Vicksburg man, nothing except we seen him in his car that night. Ain’t that right, Potts?”