wished Hitler good luck?”
Emily shook her head and laughed. “I know you won’t like the comparison, but sometimes you sound just like Hal. He had a mordant sense of humor, just like yours.”
I made a face but didn’t say anything. Although she knew perfectly well what I thought of her life with Hal and her lingering feelings of love and loyalty, we both pretended she could always express her true feelings.
“I miss him, Rachel. I’m sorry but I still miss him. I wake up every night at three fifteen, the only time the jail is ever quiet, and for a few blissful seconds I can’t remember where I am. And then when I remember, I feel so sad. I can’t believe I killed him. I know I did, but I can’t believe it.”
I finished arranging my files into short neat stacks on the table. “Do you think you ever would have left him?”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. I’ve never been very good at standing up for myself. When I was seven, I wanted to go to school like all the other girls, but my mother had her mind set on keeping me at home and teaching me herself. I deferred to her until I was sixteen.”
“You were brought up to be obedient,” I said.
She nodded. “So how come I’m on trial for murder?”
“You defended yourself, Emily. Even good obedient people have the right to defend themselves.”
Behind us, the courtroom was packed with at least fifty potential jurors, numerous reporters, a few of Hal’s relatives and the usual assortment of spectators who show up at well-publicized jury trials for the free entertainment. There was one row of tough-looking, husky men who I assumed were from the Weld County Sheriff’s Department where Hal had once worked. Nobody, I realized, besides my debonair investigator and me, was there for Emily. Alice Timmerman, Emily’s best and only friend, wouldn’t be flying in until the weekend.
“Maybe I wasn’t defending myself,” Emily whispered.
I sighed. “Okay, maybe you killed him for the money.”
At least that made her laugh. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I think I’m very nervous. Thank God you’re my lawyer. No matter what happens, I want you to know how much I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. You have no idea how much it’s meant to me.”
“Cut it out, Emily. We’re going to win.”
Finally, Judge Thomas entered the courtroom and everyone rose to their feet. Emily stared straight ahead as if she were facing a line of soldiers, their guns pointed at her head.
After we sat down, it took everything I had to ask, “Do you want to take the deal, Emily? If you do, you have to tell me now.”
My client placed her pale slender hand next to mine on the table. “No thank you. I’m ready.”
***
It took a full day to pick the jury, partly because no one under sixty wanted to spend a couple of weeks being a juror, and partly because a number of women, given the choice, wished to speak privately in the judge’s chambers about their experiences with domestic violence. This, of course, was a good sign for the defense. In chambers, Jeff tried as hard as he could to convince the judge that all of these women were biased and therefore inappropriate for this kind of case, whereas I did everything possible to rehabilitate them, arguing that they could still be fair to both sides. Unfortunately, Judge Thomas was the kind of man who erred on the side of caution; he’d let in more evidence than many judges, but he’d also dismiss more jurors for cause if they didn’t sound completely neutral.
After bumping a particularly sympathetic juror for cause, Jeff said to me, “Gosh, I had no idea how many women—”
“Don’t,” I said, cutting him off.
Both the judge and the court reporter had left the room and we were alone.
“Don’t what?” he asked.
“Don’t say another word or I’ll have to stab you with my pen.” I was only half kidding.
Jeff looked concerned. “I think you’re taking this one a little too seriously, Rachel. It’s your client
Emily shook her head and laughed. “I know you won’t like the comparison, but sometimes you sound just like Hal. He had a mordant sense of humor, just like yours.”
I made a face but didn’t say anything. Although she knew perfectly well what I thought of her life with Hal and her lingering feelings of love and loyalty, we both pretended she could always express her true feelings.
“I miss him, Rachel. I’m sorry but I still miss him. I wake up every night at three fifteen, the only time the jail is ever quiet, and for a few blissful seconds I can’t remember where I am. And then when I remember, I feel so sad. I can’t believe I killed him. I know I did, but I can’t believe it.”
I finished arranging my files into short neat stacks on the table. “Do you think you ever would have left him?”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. I’ve never been very good at standing up for myself. When I was seven, I wanted to go to school like all the other girls, but my mother had her mind set on keeping me at home and teaching me herself. I deferred to her until I was sixteen.”
“You were brought up to be obedient,” I said.
She nodded. “So how come I’m on trial for murder?”
“You defended yourself, Emily. Even good obedient people have the right to defend themselves.”
Behind us, the courtroom was packed with at least fifty potential jurors, numerous reporters, a few of Hal’s relatives and the usual assortment of spectators who show up at well-publicized jury trials for the free entertainment. There was one row of tough-looking, husky men who I assumed were from the Weld County Sheriff’s Department where Hal had once worked. Nobody, I realized, besides my debonair investigator and me, was there for Emily. Alice Timmerman, Emily’s best and only friend, wouldn’t be flying in until the weekend.
“Maybe I wasn’t defending myself,” Emily whispered.
I sighed. “Okay, maybe you killed him for the money.”
At least that made her laugh. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I think I’m very nervous. Thank God you’re my lawyer. No matter what happens, I want you to know how much I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. You have no idea how much it’s meant to me.”
“Cut it out, Emily. We’re going to win.”
Finally, Judge Thomas entered the courtroom and everyone rose to their feet. Emily stared straight ahead as if she were facing a line of soldiers, their guns pointed at her head.
After we sat down, it took everything I had to ask, “Do you want to take the deal, Emily? If you do, you have to tell me now.”
My client placed her pale slender hand next to mine on the table. “No thank you. I’m ready.”
***
It took a full day to pick the jury, partly because no one under sixty wanted to spend a couple of weeks being a juror, and partly because a number of women, given the choice, wished to speak privately in the judge’s chambers about their experiences with domestic violence. This, of course, was a good sign for the defense. In chambers, Jeff tried as hard as he could to convince the judge that all of these women were biased and therefore inappropriate for this kind of case, whereas I did everything possible to rehabilitate them, arguing that they could still be fair to both sides. Unfortunately, Judge Thomas was the kind of man who erred on the side of caution; he’d let in more evidence than many judges, but he’d also dismiss more jurors for cause if they didn’t sound completely neutral.
After bumping a particularly sympathetic juror for cause, Jeff said to me, “Gosh, I had no idea how many women—”
“Don’t,” I said, cutting him off.
Both the judge and the court reporter had left the room and we were alone.
“Don’t what?” he asked.
“Don’t say another word or I’ll have to stab you with my pen.” I was only half kidding.
Jeff looked concerned. “I think you’re taking this one a little too seriously, Rachel. It’s your client
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