Laura entered Courtroom Four like a gladiator entering the Coliseum. The egotistic thoughts of career and fame were gone. Righting this miscarriage of justice was not. It was all that mattered.
The room was just beginning to fill with lawyers, court personnel, journalists, and spectators. Laura was halfway down the center aisle that split the two banks of church-pew-style benches, when she spotted Martha Barrack, staked out at the defense table, dressed to the nines.
“Hi, Laura.” Martha waved. “Set to go?”
Martha leaned against the defense table with arms folded, tapping the heel of her handcrafted, Italian leather ankle boot on the hardwood, looking like a million bucks in her signature pique-knit black dress. The courtroom veteran cast a striking figure, from the revealing V-neck right down to the lace-embroidered hem.
Martha sized up Laura’s modest gray cardigan, white, ruffled blouse, and black skirt. Laura had picked out the clothes while buying Eddie’s new suit at the mall. “You look fantastic,” Martha said, obviously lying. “Like a hard-working attorney. Brilliant. The jury will relate.” She tilted her head to one side and let a broad smile cross her made-up face. “The future starts now.”
Laura smiled back. “I’m feeling good.”
She had come a long way toward accepting Martha as second chair. In the weeks leading up to the trial, Martha had helped craft a well-balanced legal strategy. Knowing the prosecutor’s witness list from discovery, Laura and Martha would counterpunch each one. Knowing the full scope of the police frame-up, the defense would let the prosecution step into the holes they’d dug for themselves. Then, they would bounce off the ropes and land the big blows. Eddie Nash would not testify—unless the outcome was in severe doubt.
In the dull prelims, Martha had also excelled at voir dire—the painstaking process of selecting jurors. Martha had conducted exhaustive research on the final batch of prospective jurors, rating each on their openness to the defense’s case. For example, prospective juror Angela Hernandez was a married, thirty-six-year-old, Latino woman from nearby Genesee, New York. Two years back, Mrs. Hernandez’s eighteen-year-old son, Miguel, had been arrested for stealing a car. He had been remanded to the county jail, pending trial. The charges were dropped after the family spent $5,000 on a private defense lawyer, who proved that Miguel was innocent. There was a good chance, Martha told Laura, that Mrs. Hernandez would be sympathetic to a defendant. Agreeing with the logic, Laura pushed to make sure that Mrs. Hernandez was empaneled. Martha also discovered that prospective juror Harvey Keen—a white gentleman in his mid-forties—once headed a citizens’ group favoring the restoration of the death penalty. Using a preemptive challenge, Laura excluded Keen from the panel.
As the courtroom filled, Martha smiled at her junior colleague. “Don’t forget; I’m here to back you up. You have first chair, and I have second. Use me as you see fit. Just remember, I know my stuff. I can critique your arguments, clarify points of law, cross-examine witnesses, and dig up precedent-setting cases. Besides, this judge has a thing for me; it can’t hurt.”
Whew, Laura thought. What will I do? Cheer you on from the sidelines?
Out of the corner of her eye, Laura saw the prosecutor enter the courtroom. She watched him stride down the center aisle with focused eyes, confident steps, and a briefcase that was undoubtedly full of ammunition. Laura felt a chill crawl down her spine at the prospect of taking on the state of New York. She was in for the fight of her life. Maybe it was good that Martha had her back.