The Tenth Case

23

With the conclusion of The People's case, Judge Sobel sent the jurors home for the day, with his usual admoni tions. Then he denied Jaywalker's motion to dismiss the case. Next he offered Samara the option of leaving, ex plaining that he needed to confer with the lawyers. She took him up on it, explaining to Jaywalker that she needed to do some shopping. Ice, he decided, pure ice in her veins.

Only when the courtroom was completely empty of media and spectators did the judge return his attention to Jaywalker.

"I hereby find you in summary contempt for that speech of yours. It was improper, prejudicial and uncalled for."

"She asked-"

The judge silenced Jaywalker with his gavel. In an oth erwise quiet courtroom, it only took one bang this time.

"However, because I'm aware of your situation with the disciplinary committee, I'm not going to add to your troubles with jail time or a fine. This time. But please con sider this your one and only warning. Things could get a lot worse for you, believe me."

"I can't imagine how."

"Off the record," said the judge, signaling the court reporter to give her fingers a rest. "Come on," he told Jay walker, his voice softening now. "Three years may seem like a long time, but it isn't exactly the end of the world."

" Three years? Is that what you think I'm worried about? Listen, three years away from this business is going to feel like paradise. Chances are, I'll like it so much I'll re-up for another three. Believe me, it's not the three years that's turning me into a lunatic. It's the twenty-five to life you're going to end up giving my client for something I'm not at all sure she did."

"Why don't we leave that for the jury to decide?" the judge suggested.

"Who?" asked Jaywalker, gesturing to the empty jury box. " The MENSA Twelve? How can I blame them? Shit, I'd convict her on this record."

"So talk to Mr. Burke, work something out."

Jaywalker swung around to Burke, who'd been pack ing his notes and exhibits into his briefcase. "Want to give her an A.C.D.?" Jaywalker asked. "With two days com munity service?"

Burke laughed in spite of himself. The letters A.C.D. stood for an Adjournment in Contemplation of a Dismis sal. It was what they gave turnstile-hoppers or loiterers, people with no prior arrests who'd committed minor infrac tions and said they were sorry for what they'd done.

Murderers need not apply.

Despite her stated intent of going shopping, Samara was waiting for Jaywalker out on Centre Street, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying to ward off the cold.

"We have to talk," he told her.

"I'm not going to plead guilty."

For a bubble-brain, she made a pretty good mind reader.

"It's too cold to go shopping," she said. "Come to my place. I promise I won't rape you."

Jaywalker managed a thin smile. Rape was about the last thing on his mind. He was tired, tired and cold. Not eating breakfast or lunch while he was on trial kept him mentally sharp, but it also produced a throbbing headache by midafternoon and left him unable to fight off the early evening chill.

"Sure," he said. "Why not?"

Samara had promised not to rape Jaywalker, but she'd said nothing about not force-feeding him. She made him eat a tuna fish sandwich that she actually made herself, without a recipe, and drink two cups of sweet, hot tea with lemon. Gradually, he could feel the chill inside him begin to subside and the headache taper off to a more or less man ageable level.

They spent two solid hours going over her testimony one last time, but the truth was, they needn't have bothered. Either Jaywalker had already fully prepared her for all of his questions and the worst Burke could throw at her, or she was truly innocent. Somewhere along the way, it occurred to Jaywalker that he might never know. She might get con victed-hell, she was going to get convicted-and he might still never know. She would be one of those forgotten inmates who live out the rest of their lives with their noses stuck in law books, composing long letters and rambling writs of habeas corpus, protesting their innocence to any one still willing to listen, until death finally catches up to them at seventy, lying on a cot in some wretched prison in firmary, hooked up to a bunch of plastic tubes.

And even then, he wouldn't know.

When she reappeared in her bathrobe, he realized he hadn't been aware that she'd left.

"You promised," he reminded her.

"And I won't," she assured him, settling onto the sofa across from his chair. "But why haven't we? I mean, I heard about that stairwell thing. Is it me? Do I turn you off?"

" God, no."

"What, then?"

"First of all, that stairwell thing was overblown."

They laughed as one, Samara because she thought it was a clever joke, Jaywalker because it hadn't been. "Let me try that again," he said. "No, you don't turn me off. You turn me on more than you can possibly imagine. Even if I am old enough to be your father."

"Barry was old enough to be my grandfather."

The devil on Jaywalker's left shoulder wanted to say, Yeah, and look what you did to him. But the angel on his right shoulder quickly slapped a hand over his mouth and changed it into a more relevant, "Yeah, but Barry didn't happen to be defending you on a murder charge."

"So?"

"So it would be like the worst kind of conflict of interest. Don't you see? Here I am, knocking my brains out, trying to keep you from spending the rest of your life in prison. I don't sleep. I don't eat. I can't afford to be taking time out to worry about whether I've got bad breath or my dick's not big enough, or if I'm not being attentive enough to your, um, needs."

"Your breath's fine. I don't care how big your dick is. And I'm an adult. I can worry about my needs enough for both of us."

"Sorry," said Jaywalker. "I just can't do it."

Samara pouted. He'd forgotten that pout, forgotten the effect it always had on him, since the very first day he'd set eyes on her.

"How about after?" she was asking him.

"After what?"

"After the trial."

"Sure," he said. "After will be just fine."

"Promise?"

And, so help him, he promised her. How could he not have? How could he have told her, fifteen hours before she was about to take the witness stand, that the moment the jury convicted her, the judge would exonerate her bail and remand her on the spot? Maybe the two of them would get a chance to hug before the court officers slipped the cuffs on her and dragged her off. If they were lucky.

So he promised her. And they even shook pinkies on it, like a couple of ten-year-olds. And then he said good-night to her and took a cab home.