Naked Justice

Chapter 56

DEANNA COLLAPSED INTO HER hotel room, kicked off her heels, threw herself down on the bed, and cried.

My God, my God—what was she doing here? She had never meant to mislead anyone, never meant to be a fraud. And now, here she was on the jury of the Wallace Barrett case, probably the most publicized murder trial in the history of the state. The cameras were rolling, the prosecution was piling on evidence, and all she could think about was her daughter. Her own daughter.

My God, Martha. What have you done?

Voir dire turned out to be a breeze. She hadn’t even had to lie, not really. No one ever came close to the truth. True, she had blanched a bit at the end of the jury examination when that young attorney, the one representing the mayor, asked if anyone knew of any other reason not already discussed that might prevent anyone from serving as an impartial juror. It was a vague, broad question. Easily ignored. And yet she knew why he had asked it. He had asked it in an attempt to root out people like her, people who might be biased one way or another by factors he couldn’t even imagine, much less ask about.

But she had not raised her hand. She had remained painfully silent.

After that, she had become a full-fledged member of the Wallace Barrett jury. She’d had to get her friend Suzanne to stay with Martha while the jury was sequestered at the Downtown Doubletree Hotel. Sequestered—that was a laugh. It felt more like they’d been indicted. The whole juror compound, as they called it, was run like a prison camp. The jurors had had to meet in secret, at the fairgrounds, before the trial started. They were searched, first by hand, then by metal detectors. Their luggage was searched as well. Then they were herded onto a bus and, escorted by six men from the sheriff’s office, taken to their hotel.

Security was no less tight at the hotel. Everyone had their own room, but none of the rooms had locks on the doors. Officers from the sheriff’s office were posted in the hallway outside, not to keep them safe, but to keep them from meeting and talking about the case. No one said that the rooms would be searched while the jurors were out, but it was obvious to Deanna that they were. When she returned to her room each evening, personal belongings had been moved slightly from where they had been left that morning.

No juror was allowed to go to any other juror’s room—ever. There was one communal meeting room, which was the only place two or more jurors were allowed to gather. Again, deputies were posted in the room at all times, to make sure no one talked about the case. Meals were served in the same room, and under the same scrutiny.

The jurors were getting along well enough for the most part, but there was no denying the fact that tempers were fraying. The isolation was causing irritation, and irritation was always dangerous when people were in such close quarters. If for nothing else, Deanna was grateful that the lawyers and the judge seemed to be moving the trial along in an expeditious fashion. She couldn’t imagine living in these subhuman conditions for months on end. She was sure it would drive her mad. It would drive anyone mad.

The jurors had all sworn not to expose themselves to media accounts of the trial or to discuss the case amongst themselves before the time for deliberation. They had given their word. You would think that would be enough. But instead, the jurors were restricted and monitored constantly. They were treated like children, children who had to be surrounded at all times by hall monitors to prevent them from talking. It was insulting and degrading. Clearly the judicial system did not trust them. A woman giving up her time, separated from her loved ones, ought to be entitled to better treatment.

And in the midst of all these miserable living conditions, all Deanna could think about was her Martha. She felt certain that Martha would not intentionally participate in any murders. But Martha had a huge blind spot where Buck was concerned; she had proven that many times over. She might have done something unwittingly, might’ve helped in the tiniest way. Tiny, but still enough to get her a felony conviction. And jail time. Enough to ruin her life.

If Wallace Barrett went free.

That was the rub. She was convinced that Barrett was innocent. Maybe no one else on the jury believed it, but she did. She had believed it from the instant she’d heard his neighbor describe the strangers he’d seen casing Barrett’s home. The tall man with the goatee wearing fatigues. The shorter, younger, dark-haired girl with the blue headband.

How could she doubt that Buck was involved? She had seen his camera; she had developed the pictures herself. Pictures of Barrett’s house taken from every possible angle. The work of a hit man planning his crime. Indeed, she could believe a monster like Buck could commit this crime a good deal more easily than she could believe Wallace Barrett did it.

But what if Barrett was acquitted? What if, in the jury room, she argued her heart out and convinced the rest of the jury to acquit? Barrett would go free, and the DA, feeling pressure from all sides, would start looking for a new suspect. He would follow the only other real lead they had—the tall stranger casing the neighborhood. If they worked hard enough at it, in time they would eventually find Buck.

And Buck would lead them to Martha.

Deanna couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let her little girl’s life be ruined before it had really begun.

But the alternative was watching an innocent man go to prison. Or worse.

Even if he avoided the death penalty, Barrett would have to live the rest of his life with the shame and despair of knowing that the world believed he had killed his own wife. His own two small children.

When he hadn’t.

The defense case was not expected to take more than a day or two. If she hadn’t spoken up by then, it would be too late.

Deanna buried her face in the pillow. There had to be some way out, some solution, some compromise. Some way to prevent this great injustice without destroying her little girl’s life.

But she was damned if she could think of it.

She rolled over onto her back, wiping the tears from her eyes. She was damned, all right. Either way she went, any way she turned, she was damned.