Page 49 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Kate

Kate lay in bed, wide awake, at five thirty in the morning as the wake-up alarm on her phone began to chime.

She had decided to get an early night. Always best to get as much sleep as possible on the eve of the first day of a murder trial.

But from ten fifteen last night she had lain in bed, completely and comprehensively awake.

This wasn’t Kate’s first rodeo, but when the clients were her law partner’s ex-wife and her husband, the stakes were that much higher.

At first, the couple had been arrested on the assumption that they had acted together.

Both of them had a reason to want Arthur Cross dead.

The NYPD forensics lab had found two sets of fingerprints on the murder weapon.

Kevin’s and Christine’s. Christine told Kate she had only handled the gun twice.

Once at a shooting range, after Kevin got the gun, and once maybe a week before the murder when she had gotten scared by a delivery driver and had taken it in hand.

The prosecution claimed this was a conspiracy to murder Arthur Cross and, with both sets of prints on the murder weapon, they had both been indicted.

To make matters worse, Harry had been right – DA Castro had fast-tracked the trial to coincide with the Elly Parker case.

That meant the defense of Kevin and Christine fell on Kate’s shoulders.

They’d had months of preparation. Bloch had done the legwork, gathered the evidence.

Kate had prepared her notes on cross-examination.

They were typed up, edited, deleted and rewritten many times.

Christine, a good lawyer in her own right, had listened to Kate’s theory on defense, and agreed to it.

Kevin, also a lawyer, had been impressed.

It had been hundreds of hours of preparation and talks with Eddie and Harry, and now Kate was ready. Organized.

And yet . . .

The defense in this case was weak. The only real point was that the prosecution couldn’t prove how Christine and Kevin had got to Cross’s house on the night of the murder.

It was a hole in their otherwise perfect story.

But, in reality, not more than a slim thread for Kate to tug upon.

With some luck, it might be just enough.

She knew at a murder trial you had to put on a performance.

Tell your client’s story and rip the prosecution’s story to pieces.

And do it all with style and panache – for the jury.

The jury had been selected last week. Seven women. Five men. Kate had taken that as a small win. Women, in her experience, had a stronger and deeper sense of justice than men.

The DA, Castro, had worn his famous white suit to court during jury selection, playing the role of incorruptible warrior for victims, for justice and for truth.

That was what had been on his last election poster.

In reality, it was widely rumored that Castro had bribed several unions to have their members turn out in force for his re-election.

Several high-ranking union bosses had had some trouble with the IRS over the administration of some of their pension schemes, and Kate guessed those investigations, with the right kind of pressure from their white knight, would all quietly go away.

Money. Favors. Such things are cities built upon.

And she could count on Castro to fight dirty in this trial.

Apart from the pressure of the case, there was something else that had kept Kate awake last night.

What if she had to break the rules to get Christine and Kevin off?

Anything can happen in a murder trial, and with the stakes so high for each side the temptation to bend or break the law in order to win was far too tempting for most lawyers.

Eddie didn’t think twice about this shit. And she envied him for that. He thought the system was unfair, unjust, and it took a conman to balance those scales of justice. Kate didn’t have Eddie’s upbringing. Her old man had been a cop for twenty years. She came from the other side of the fence.

She sat up in bed, turned off her alarm and wondered again what she was going to do if she got the chance to hop over that fence, for the right reasons.

Christine and Kevin were innocent. Of that she was convinced.

The only question was whether she could persuade the twelve ordinary citizens of this messed-up city that there was reasonable doubt about their guilt. That was all she needed: a few jurors maybe, even one, to think again.

Doesn’t sound like much, but sometimes it’s like climbing Mount Everest with a Volkswagen on your back.

Kate showered, dried her hair and dressed. Packed her case for court.

She looked in the hallway mirror of her apartment as she picked up her keys from the table.

A young lawyer stared back at her. Not as green as she’d been a few years ago. Wiser. Smarter. More jaded? Certainly.

She wondered if she was still her father’s daughter.

Kate opened the front door to her apartment, stepped out and slammed it shut behind her.

‘All rise,’ said the court clerk.

Kate rose from the defense table in unison with Harry.

Another table had been added to accommodate the defendants.

Kevin wore a navy suit, white shirt and dark tie.

Christine, navy pant suit, white blouse.

They were a unit, these two. It was clear in Kate’s interactions with them that they loved each other, and that they provided a great home for Amy.

Kevin was the opposite of Eddie, which Kate found curious.

They were both smart lawyers, both loved Christine and Amy, but Kevin polished his shoes, loved and respected the law and had never had so much as a parking ticket.

Eddie? Well, he was different. Perhaps he had to be.

Neither Christine nor Kevin were trial lawyers.

They didn’t have to stand up and fight in a psychological battle for the life of others.

Surprisingly, Kate had to school them on the courtroom.

Judge Ross came into court, a man in his fifties with a great dye job, soft pink skin, a four handicap and a pleasantly low voice that never rose in anger.

He was a box-ticker, like so many judges.

He liked to clear his cases as fast as possible – a regular docket rocket.

Kate had never appeared in front of him before, but Harry knew him. And knew his weakness too.

Vanity.

Judge Ross had begun dyeing his hair in his mid-forties, in a high-end salon off Fifth Avenue at fifteen hundred dollars a visit.

It was a deep brown all over, apart from his sideburns and the tufts of hair over his ears, which were a lighter shade and where he allowed highlights of gray to shine through.

It gave the impression that he was graying slowly, and unless you knew he was dyeing his hair you never would have noticed.

Dyeing your hair is one thing, but choosing a style to mask the dye job, and paying fifteen hundred dollars for the privilege every month was something else entirely.

‘Be seated. Let’s bring in the jury,’ said Judge Ross.

The jury keeper disappeared through a side door and Kate took the moment to check out the opposition.

Castro, white suit and all, was at the prosecution table typing into his phone.

Probably checking up on Bernice Mazur, his ADA, who was one floor up, in another courtroom, about to open the prosecution case against Elly Parker.

Perhaps sensing Kate’s glare, he turned and looked at her.

Smiled and winked.

Kate turned away, checked her desk.

Laptop open. Notes laid out in bullet points in a legal pad. Blue and red pens arranged in a neat row.

Everything in order.

The twelve jurors came in and took their seats. Over the next week, they would have the chaos of the Arthur Cross murder placed in front of them. It was then their job to re-establish order, if they could – i f the right defendants were in front of them, and the evidence commanded a guilty verdict.

Kate’s job was to keep the chaos in play.

The defendants eyeballed the jury as they settled down for the opening statements, just as Kate had instructed.

The guilty don’t look at those who would judge them.

It’s a weird psychological trick, and everyone had an innate understanding of it.

Kate told Christine and Kevin to look at the jury whenever they could.

Meet their eyes. Hold their gaze. As if their lives depended on building that trust.

In reality, that was exactly the case. These twelve people held Christine’s and Kevin’s life in their hands.

Running a manicured hand through his rich hair, Judge Ross nodded at Castro.

It was on.

Castro stood, buttoned his jacket and moved to the lectern that separated the defense and prosecution tables.

No man’s land in a battle to the death.