Double-Double in 24 years. “I’ve been thinking about this forever!”
The other photos carried similarly lighthearted captions below shots of Jessup at the movies with his bucket of popcorn, hoisting a beer at the barbecue and hugging his high-school pal, walking through a glass door that said ROYCE AND ASSOCIATES, ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW . There was no indication in the tone of the article or photos that Jason Jessup was a man who happened to still be accused of murdering a twelve-year-old girl.
The story was about Jessup relishing his freedom while being unable to plan his future until his “legal issues” were resolved. It was a nice turn of phrase, I thought, calling abduction and murder charges and a pending trial merely legal issues.
I had the paper spread wide on the desk Lorna had rented for me in my new office on Broadway. We were on the second floor of the Bradbury Building and only three blocks from the CCB.
“I think you need to put something up on the walls.”
I looked up. It was Clive Royce. He had walked through the reception room unannounced because I had sent Lorna over to Philippe’s to get us lunch. Royce gestured to the empty walls of the temporary office. I flipped the newspaper closed and held up the front page.
“I just ordered a twenty-by-twenty shot of Jesus on the surfboard here. I’m going to hang him on the wall.”
Royce stepped up to the desk and took the paper, studying the photo on the front as if for the first time, which we both knew was not the case. Royce had been deeply involved in the generation of the story, the payoff being the photo of the office door with his firm’s name on the glass.
“Yes, they did a good job with it, didn’t they?”
He handed it back.
“I guess so, if you like your killers happy-go-lucky.”
Royce didn’t respond, so I continued.
“I know what you’re doing, Clive, because I would do it, too. But as soon as we get a judge, I’m going to ask him to stop you. I’m not going to let you taint the jury pool.”
Royce frowned as if I had suggested something completely untoward.
“It’s a free press, Mick. You can’t control the media. The man just got out of prison, and like it or not, it’s a news story.”
“Right, and you can give exclusives in exchange for display. Display that might plant a seed in a potential juror’s mind. What do you have planned for today? Jessup co-hosting the morning show on Channel Five? Or is he judging the chili cook-off at the state fair?”
“As a matter of fact, NPR wanted to hang with him today but I showed restraint. I said no. Make sure you tell the judge that as well.”
“Wow, you actually said no to NPR? Was that because most people who listen to NPR are the kind of people who can get out of jury duty, or because you got something better lined up?”
Royce frowned again, looking as though I had impaled him with an integrity spear. He looked around, grabbed the chair from Maggie’s desk and pulled it over so he could sit in front of mine. Once he was seated with his legs crossed and had arranged his suit properly he spoke.
“Now, tell me, Mick, does your boss think that housing you in a separate building is really going to make people think you are acting independently of his direction? You’re having us on, right?”
I smiled at him. His effort to get under my skin was not going to work.
“Let me state once again for the record, Clive, that I have no boss in this matter. I am working independently of Gabriel Williams.”
I gestured to the room.
“I’m here, not in the courthouse, and all decisions on this case will be made from this desk. But at the moment my decisions aren’t that important. It’s you who has the decision, Clive.”
“And what would that be? A disposition, Mick?”
“That’s right. Today’s special, good until five o’clock only. Your boy pleads guilty, I’ll come down off the death penalty and we both roll the dice with the judge on sentencing. You
The other photos carried similarly lighthearted captions below shots of Jessup at the movies with his bucket of popcorn, hoisting a beer at the barbecue and hugging his high-school pal, walking through a glass door that said ROYCE AND ASSOCIATES, ATTORNEYS-AT-LAW . There was no indication in the tone of the article or photos that Jason Jessup was a man who happened to still be accused of murdering a twelve-year-old girl.
The story was about Jessup relishing his freedom while being unable to plan his future until his “legal issues” were resolved. It was a nice turn of phrase, I thought, calling abduction and murder charges and a pending trial merely legal issues.
I had the paper spread wide on the desk Lorna had rented for me in my new office on Broadway. We were on the second floor of the Bradbury Building and only three blocks from the CCB.
“I think you need to put something up on the walls.”
I looked up. It was Clive Royce. He had walked through the reception room unannounced because I had sent Lorna over to Philippe’s to get us lunch. Royce gestured to the empty walls of the temporary office. I flipped the newspaper closed and held up the front page.
“I just ordered a twenty-by-twenty shot of Jesus on the surfboard here. I’m going to hang him on the wall.”
Royce stepped up to the desk and took the paper, studying the photo on the front as if for the first time, which we both knew was not the case. Royce had been deeply involved in the generation of the story, the payoff being the photo of the office door with his firm’s name on the glass.
“Yes, they did a good job with it, didn’t they?”
He handed it back.
“I guess so, if you like your killers happy-go-lucky.”
Royce didn’t respond, so I continued.
“I know what you’re doing, Clive, because I would do it, too. But as soon as we get a judge, I’m going to ask him to stop you. I’m not going to let you taint the jury pool.”
Royce frowned as if I had suggested something completely untoward.
“It’s a free press, Mick. You can’t control the media. The man just got out of prison, and like it or not, it’s a news story.”
“Right, and you can give exclusives in exchange for display. Display that might plant a seed in a potential juror’s mind. What do you have planned for today? Jessup co-hosting the morning show on Channel Five? Or is he judging the chili cook-off at the state fair?”
“As a matter of fact, NPR wanted to hang with him today but I showed restraint. I said no. Make sure you tell the judge that as well.”
“Wow, you actually said no to NPR? Was that because most people who listen to NPR are the kind of people who can get out of jury duty, or because you got something better lined up?”
Royce frowned again, looking as though I had impaled him with an integrity spear. He looked around, grabbed the chair from Maggie’s desk and pulled it over so he could sit in front of mine. Once he was seated with his legs crossed and had arranged his suit properly he spoke.
“Now, tell me, Mick, does your boss think that housing you in a separate building is really going to make people think you are acting independently of his direction? You’re having us on, right?”
I smiled at him. His effort to get under my skin was not going to work.
“Let me state once again for the record, Clive, that I have no boss in this matter. I am working independently of Gabriel Williams.”
I gestured to the room.
“I’m here, not in the courthouse, and all decisions on this case will be made from this desk. But at the moment my decisions aren’t that important. It’s you who has the decision, Clive.”
“And what would that be? A disposition, Mick?”
“That’s right. Today’s special, good until five o’clock only. Your boy pleads guilty, I’ll come down off the death penalty and we both roll the dice with the judge on sentencing. You
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