It no longer really mattered whose semen was on Jennifer Marquette’s pajama top, whose distorted footprints had walked the halls the night she and her children died, whose fingers might have slid open the windows of the lavish house on Sorolla Avenue, did it? David Marquette was a confessed murderer now.
A mob of well-wishers from the State’s side spilled into the gallery. The very same prosecutors who had gossiped just hours before about her uncertain career move all wanted to shake her hand now, including the Chief of Legal herself. It was, perhaps, a moment every trial lawyer dreamed of, but one only a rare few would ever experience – winning the case or the argument in a crowded courtroom jammed with colleagues and cameras from around the world. A moment others would surely bask in and cherish, as they watched their careers soar to a new stratosphere on NBC Nightly News. But not Julia. For her, the moment felt frightening, pressing, claustrophobic, sickening, exploitative. The old courtroom looked the same as when she’d walked in just hours before, but everything and everyone in it was completely different now, like the final scenes in It’s a Wonderful Life when George stumbles upon his brother Harry’s tombstone in the town cemetery and finally grasps the terrifying truth that Clarence the Angel has been trying to tell him: George Bailey was never born. The town, the homes, the buildings – even the faces – might physically look the same as George remembered them, but they weren’t. One fact had forever changed everything and everyone. One fact had changed history.
‘Clarence! Clarence! Help me, Clarence,’ she heard her mother whisper along with Jimmy Stewart. ‘Get me back. Get me back. I don’t care what happens to me. Get me back to my wife and kids. Help me, Clarence, please. Please! I want to live again! I want to live again. I want to live again. Please, God, let me live again.’
Of course, in the movies, George Bailey gets his wish. He gets to go back to the life he knew, with all its ‘warts and pickles’ as Momma might have said. But Julia knew that no movie magic would happen here today. No matter how much she prayed, she could not undo the truth that, despite repeated warnings, she herself had gone searching for. There would be no Hollywood ending for her.
It’s too close, Julia. Too close. Please, I’m beg ging you to stay away. It can only bring … despair.
She quickly moved to gather her files, watching as Corrections fit David Marquette – this shell of a man in his oversized jumpsuit – back into his frightening get-up of iron shackles and steel handcuffs.
He’s a monster. A psychopath. Like a chameleon, he will take on the persona he knows you want to see. He will say the words he knows you want to hear. That’s what makes him so difficult to catch.
She looked away, not trusting her eyes anymore, and finished packing up her briefcase. The noisy, restless crowd of reporters and onlookers seemed to have surreptitiously moved closer to the gallery while she had her back turned. She heard her name being called, mentioned, discussed in a dozen different conversations, but all she wanted was to get the hell out of the courtroom. Right now. Before she fell apart in front of everyone.
A warm hand gently tapped her back. ‘Iknew you were better than him,’ said a familiar voice in her ear, as she threw Ehrhardt’s Evidence into her briefcase. She turned to see Lat standing beside her. ‘Although, you do know there’s no guarantee Bellido’s gonna let you take any of the credit,’ he added with a soft grin.
She tried to smile back. She tried to make everything look normal, but she wondered if that was even possible anymore. The mask she wore surely had cracks. Behind Lat, Corrections worked to clear the courtroom and move the reporters out into the crowded hallway, where she knew they would wait for her to come out. Hold on. Hang in there. Just a minute more and then you can run. Run to … where? Anywhere but here. ‘Any word on how he is?’ she managed.
‘Except for the blown ego, I’m sure he’ll be just fine. Don’t worry about him.’
She blew out a measured breath. ‘What a day. Thanks for before. I, I really …’
‘You were great. Quite the shark. I was surprised. You always look so nice. And him …’ he said, his voice trailing off as he looked over at Marquette. He shook his head, but didn’t finish his thought. ‘You know, Julia, nothing surprises me anymore. And that’s not a good thing. Try not to take it home with you.’ He placed a thin manila folder on top of her statute book. ‘For you. Your NCIC. I also ran an Autotrack, which is in there, too.’
‘Thanks,’ she said quietly, looking down at the folder. She tried to swallow the hard lump that had formed in her throat. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she finally managed.
‘Alright, then. Well, let me know if you need anything else,’ he said as he turned to walk away.
She saw Steve Brill standing in the back of the courtroom, talking with Charley Rifkin and Penny Levine and her DC. All four of them were looking over at her. Brill was laughing, but the others weren’t. Why was it, that in a crowd full of people cheering your name, you could always hear the one or two small voices that weren’t? Why were they always the loudest? She looked away, back down at the State’s table, before they could see what she was thinking, and grabbed her briefcase, swinging it across her shoulder as she headed for the judge’s back hallway and a quick escape down the back staircase.
‘Oh yeah, Julia,’ Lat called out behind her. ‘Ialmost forgot.’ She stopped at the door Jefferson was, for some reason, still standing guard at and turned to look back at him. ‘Merry Christmas!’ he said with an easy smile when she did. ‘Have a good one.’