She dropped the fork.
“Whoa, darling. That’s not your job. What you have to do is raise a reasonable doubt. That’s all. If you can create a reasonable doubt in the mind of the jury, they have to find him not guilty. Hell—raise that doubt in the mind of just one juror with a backbone, and you’ll hang it up. There’s a unanimous jury requirement in criminal cases. All twelve have to vote Guilty to convict.”
“Or acquit. I can’t get him off unless all twelve agree on Not Guilty.”
“So start your treasure hunt. Go looking for that nugget of reasonable doubt, and beat it like a drum. ‘If the gloves don’t fit, you must acquit.’”
Chapter 10
I HAD MY dukes up—figuratively speaking, anyway—as I waited for Tom Lafayette to appear in Judge Baylor’s courtroom.
The copies of my motions lay before me on the counsel table, with handwritten notes jotted in the margins. I’d filed the original with the court that morning, and dropped a copy off at the DA’s office.
The door to the courtroom flew open. Tom Lafayette stormed in, gripping sheets of paper in his fist.
Trying to look cool, I tipped my chair back against the railing and rocked back and forth. Lafayette advanced on me, rattling the papers he held. “What’s up with this motion for discovery?”
I sat the chair back on all four legs, afraid that it might tip over, which would endanger my appearance of self-possession. “I want to see the evidence.”
“You have it. I provided it to you. You have the contents of the state’s file.”
“I want to inspect it, in the evidence room. I want to see the evidence with my own eyes. I owe it to my client to know exactly what you’re presenting at trial.”
He huffed. “You can forget about digging around in the evidence room.”
I stole a glance at the handwritten notes on my motion. “I’m entitled to inspect the evidence. It’s a right guaranteed by Mississippi Uniform Circuit Court Rule 9.04.”
He reached into the breast pocket of his gray pinstriped suit jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses. I was glad I’d worn my black graduation dress, the newest article of clothing in my wardrobe.
Lafayette looked up from the motion I’d prepared. “You’ve cited subsection A of rule 9.04.”
“Yep.”
He smiled. “I guess you didn’t get around to reading subsection B.”
I didn’t answer, but I was scrambling to remember: What did subsection B say?
He chuckled. “Get ready for a smackdown, Ruby. You’re going to lose this round.”
“Oh, so you’re a fortune teller and a district attorney.”
As Lafayette walked to his counsel table, he made a parting shot over his shoulder. “Judge Baylor won’t be happy with you. Making trouble, stirring the pot.”
Judge Baylor is a sneaky asshole.
I shifted in my chair and leaned toward the DA. “I’ve been a troublemaker all my life. You better get used to it.”
The door to Judge Baylor’s chambers opened and he entered, robed in black. I jumped to my feet. As the judge settled into his chair behind the bench, he said, “Miss Bozarth, I see you’ve filed two motions in State v. Summers.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
He opened the file. “There’s a motion for continuance. Mr. Lafayette, what does the prosecution say to that?”
Lafayette leaned against the bar behind his counsel table. “Judge, the state is ready to proceed. Our witnesses are under subpoena, and we’ve made arrangements for the forensic expert from the state crime lab to appear. It would work a hardship on us to cancel out at this point.”
“Miss Bozarth?”
“Your Honor, I need more time to prepare. The trial setting is only eleven days from now.”
The DA pushed away from the bar. “Judge, this isn’t a complex case.”
I turned on him. “What do you mean? It’s a capital murder case.”
The judge raised a restraining hand. “Y’all settle down. Miss Bozarth, what do you need to accomplish that you can’t get done in eleven days?”
I repeated, “Prepare. I need to prepare for trial.”
The judge frowned at me like I was a misbehaving child. “Well then, get to work, ma’am. Miss Bozarth, I have access to the docket for Williams County, and you’ll forgive me for observing that you don’t have a wealth of cases eating up your time.”
My blood started to boil. He turned a page. “There’s a motion to compel discovery here. Mr. Lafayette, have you provided Miss Bozarth with the prosecution’s file?”
The DA was assuring the judge that he had handed it over when I interrupted.
“I want to see it.”
The judge said, “What’s that?”
“I want to see the evidence in the property room. To inspect it personally.”
Lafayette broke in. “Judge, the prosecution objects to this request. The evidence in this case involves sensitive and personal information—matters which may be protected from tampering by subsection B.”
I leaned my damp palms on the surface of the counsel table as I faced the judge. “Judge Baylor, you’ve entrusted me with the defense of a man charged with capital murder. I want to see that evidence, and I want it today.”
The judge adjusted his glasses and lifted a pen. “Miss Bozarth, Mr. Lafayette has a wealth of experience in these matters; whereas you are, as they say, new to the game. I’m inclined to trust his judgment.”
“I’ll appeal.”
Shocked silence followed my statement. It was a gamble, a desperate play.
But I sure had their attention.
The judge’s voice cut the air in the courtroom. “What do you mean, you’ll appeal?”
I scrambled. What was it called, when an attorney in the midst of the trial process appealed the ruling? I sunk my teeth into the legal term I remembered for certain.
“I intend to do an interlocutory appeal.” I paused for a moment; when no one jumped in, I knew I’d used the right term. I went on: “We’ll just see what the high court says about your refusal to permit me effective representation. And while we wait for their decision, well”—I shrugged philosophically—“I guess that will provide me the extra time I need.”
In the silence that followed, I saw Baylor and Lafayette exchange a look. At length, the affronted look on the judge’s face disappeared, and was replaced with a genial smile. The judge said, “I think she’s outfoxed you, Tom.”
The DA jumped in, “Your Honor, on behalf of the State of Mississippi, I repeat my objection—”
But the judge hushed him with a wave of his hand. “Motion for continuance denied. Motion to compel discovery granted.” He signed his name with a flourish of the pen, and pointed at Lafayette. “Tom, let the little lady see your evidence.”
The judge handed me a copy of the signed motion and departed abruptly. My knees suddenly weak, I dropped into my chair.
Chapter 11
WITH THE SIGNED motion gripped tightly in my hand, I pushed open the door of Shorty’s diner. I spied Shorty sitting alone in the back booth, near the kitchen. He was reading a magazine.
“Shorty,” I said, waving the document. “I did it.”
He looked up with a smile, and I headed down the aisle to join him. Jeb sat again on a stool at the counter. As I passed, he swiveled around.
“Hey, Jailtime! How’s the case coming?”
I turned to face him.
“Why are you always parked on that stool? Isn’t there someplace you need to be?”
“Better talk sweet to me, Jailtime. I got jury duty in a couple of weeks.”
Shorty came to the rescue, slipping behind the counter. “Ruby’s right, Jeb; I ought to start charging you rent. Hey, Ruby—what can I get you?”
“Are you really on the jury panel?” In my imagination, I could see Jeb calling me Jailtime Ruby in the jury room.
Shorty said, “Ruby, he’s pulling your leg; you can’t take anything he says seriously. Let me get you a cup of coffee. Or would you like a cold Coke?”