Accused

THIRTY-SEVEN

"I'm not losing this case because you can't keep your dick in your pants!"

It was a week later-one week before the trial-and Judge Shelby Morgan was pointing a long manicured finger at Scott. The prosecution and defense teams had crowded into the judge's chamber for the pretrial conference.

"It's not your case to win or lose, Judge. It's ours. Issue a gag order."

"I can't do that. There's a little thing called the First Amendment."

"Then move the trial to Austin or San Antonio, out of the range of the Houston TV stations-everyone down here has seen Renee's reports. My client can't get a fair trial in Galveston County."

"He's right, Shelby," the D.A. said. "Between Renee and whoever the hell is leaking the evidence to her, we'll have a heck of a time seating a jury of twelve folks who haven't made up their minds about the case. Hell, a week in Austin won't be that bad. You can look up old friends from your UT days."

The judge shook her head. "Moving the case now, seven days before trial, that'd screw up the cable deal for sure. Motion for change of venue is denied."

"What cable deal?" Scott said.

"Renee made a deal with cable TV, they're going to air the entire trial, start to finish."

"You're going to let her televise the trial? Judge, didn't you watch O.J.'s trial? It was a farce, everyone playing to the cameras."

The D.A. nodded. "Shelby, that was a train wreck of a trial. TV cameras bring out the worst in everyone-jurors, witnesses, cops"-he glanced at the Assistant D.A. — "lawyers. You don't want to go there."

The judge leaned back in her chair, obviously weighing the pros and cons of TV cameras in her courtroom. Right now, she stood first in line for the federal bench; a bad TV experience and she could fall from first to last. On the other hand, a masterful performance could send her straight to the federal appeals court, a short step away from the Supreme Court. She sat forward in her chair.

"Yes-I do want to go there."

"But, Judge-"

"I've made my decision, Mr. Fenney."

She shuffled papers on her desk.

"Motion to suppress the fingerprint evidence is denied. Motion to suppress the toxicology report, denied. Motion to suppress all evidence found at the house due to lack of a search warrant, denied. Motion to limit the crime scene photos shown to the jury, denied."

"Scott," the D.A. said, "I won't go overboard with those. But the jury has a right to see the victim I'm representing and the crime they're sitting in judgment of."

"Any other motions?" the judge said.

"Yes, Your Honor," Karen said. "Motion to exclude the expert testimony of Dr. Holbrooke, the prosecution's psychiatrist. Our client is charged with murder, not manslaughter, which requires that she 'intentionally or knowingly' caused Trey Rawlins' death. If the doctor is going to testify that she didn't know what she was doing because of the cocaine and alcohol, then he's testifying that she had no intent."

"Then you should want him to testify."

"Your Honor," the Assistant D.A. said, "the doctor is not going to testify that she didn't know what she was doing, but that the cocaine may be why she can't remember doing it."

"Your Honor," Scott said, "this is junk science. You can't allow that testimony in."

"I can and I am. The Rules of Evidence say admission of expert testimony is at the sole discretion of the trial judge. You want to appeal my ruling, you've got to prove I abused my discretion. Which means unless I'm screwing the expert, you've got no chance on appeal."

"I don't care if you're screwing the expert, Judge, just that you're screwing my client."

She didn't appreciate that comment.

"Jury selection on Friday, nine A.M. We're done."

"A TV trial," Scott said to the D.A. on their way out of the courtroom, "that's going to be a circus."

"And we're gonna be the clowns." The D.A. chuckled then turned to Karen, "You know, Professor, Rex Herrin has a nice ring to it."

"Rex Herrin? That does sound nice. I like that. Tell you what-I'll name my son Rex if you'll drop Holbrooke from your witness list."

The D.A. smiled. "You sure I can't convince you to move to the Island?"

He then motioned Scott away from the others and over to the wall of windows. He lowered his voice.

"Prints you gave me last week-I got the results back."

"And?"

"Not in the system, but they match the prints on the headboard."

"You're kidding?"

"Nope. Whose are they?"

"I can't tell you, Rex, not yet. But they don't belong to the killer. At least I don't think so."

The D.A. shrugged. "It's your wife on trial."

"Rex, I need a favor from Hank."

"Sure. Tell him what you want."

Scott's cell phone rang. He answered. It was Helen from Judge Buford's office.

"Hi, Helen, what's up?"

"Scott… the judge died."