Jury of One

27

Shelly laid out copies of the prosecution’s evidence on her bed. Her apartment was arranged like it had been since the intrusion-couch in front of the front door, the glass of marbles balanced on the handle of the sliding glass door, the alarm fully armed-but it was her hope now that there would be no more visits. She had made a point, in court, of announcing that Officer Raymond Miroballi had tried to kill Alex, of requesting protective custody for her client on the theory that his life might be in danger in detention. She had repeated these claims to the press outside and read about them in today’s paper. She had stayed within the confines of her agreement with the federal government but had made her point, nonetheless, to rogue police officers who might want to do harm to either Alex or her. The spotlight was shining now, and she felt safe.

The intruders were cops, weren’t they?

Shelly jumped at the sound of the phone ringing, the portable phone lying next to her on the bed bellowing out its shrill cue.

“You’re a hard one to get hold of,” said Governor Trotter.

She held her breath. If ever there were a time, even on her meager budget, to spring for caller identification, this was it.

“I meant to call,” she said. “Congratulations on the nomination.”

“Since when did you leave the law school, Shelly?”

Without telling you, you mean? Well, he was certainly cutting to the chase. “Long story,” she said. “Recently.”

“You’re working for Paul Riley now?”

“No, not really. I’ve taken a leave from the school. I’m representing someone outside the parameters of the law school.”

“So I’ve heard.” A somewhat icier tone.

“Is that why you’re calling?”

“Shelly, I’m calling you because I haven’t spoken with you since Christmas. I want to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing fine. How are things at the capital?”

“Shelly.” Her father seemed to be struggling. “Edgar’s concerned about you. I’m concerned. You’re defending a capital murder case and representing a cop killer.”

Oh, and he’s also your grandson.

“What exactly is it that worries you?” she asked. “That I’m out of my league? That I’m turning the spotlight on the city police?”

“Why are you handling this case, Shelly?”

“He needs my help.”

“Lots of boys need criminal defense. You don’t help them.”

Shelly recoiled. “I have to justify why I’m representing this boy?”

“No, of course not. Hold on a second, if you would.” A woman was speaking in the background to the governor. He responded as he typically did, with a decisive, crisp answer. “Sorry about that. Listen, Shelly-you leave your job to take on some drug peddler’s case? Why do that? What’s so special about this kid?”

“So you do want me to justify it.”

“I admit I’m curious.” She could picture him in his high-backed leather chair, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up a tuck. He cut the perfect model of the state’s chief executive.

“He deserves a chance,” she said, and winced as she played that over in her mind.

“Just tell me you’re being careful.”

“I’m being careful,” she promised. “I always am.”