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DAYS PASSED QUICKLY, and before Francesca knew, the case of the Crown versus John Adam was underway.
The courtroom was packed with angry women hoping to see the man depicted as a wife abuser by James Templeton and the media get his just desserts. From everything they’d read and seen on television, Dr. John Adam, a privileged man with an imposing stature who beat his petite, frail wife, regularly, was guilty until proven innocent. The woman defending him was a disgrace.
On her way up the steps into the courthouse, Francesca was booed, shamed, and called names that did little for her already fragile confidence.
The Honorable Mark Spencer, a septuagenarian with a shock of gray hair, beady, blue eyes, and the road map of his life carved deeply into his face, banged the gavel with a forceful hand to silence the room to no avail. He detested the type of cases that attracted so many women to his courtroom. They were boisterous, loud, opinionated, and they were going to be the death of him. He came to work in search of the quiet his wife—a boisterous woman herself—didn’t afford him at home.
As the Honorable Mark Spencer was about to bang his gavel for the tenth time, a hushed silence fell in the courtroom when James Templeton rose to his six-foot height. In a gray, three-piece Armani suit, his dark hair stylishly combed back, and his fashionable stubble perfectly trimmed, he looked as if he fell out of the glossy pages of a lawyerly magazine. His rich, brandy-brown eyes gleamed with a confidence that made every woman sigh.
“Your Lordship, ladies, and gentlemen of the jury, my name is James Templeton.” Applause erupted in the courtroom.
His Lordship let out a long breath of frustration. This was how it was going to be, he thought banging his gavel. “Silence or everyone one of you will be asked to leave.”
Silence descending in the courtroom, James sent the gallery a quick smile. “I’m the crown prosecutor, and I will prove Dr. Adam is guilty of murdering his wife Elizabeth Adam, a soft-spoken, frail woman who deserved better than to be whacked on the head to her death.”
Francesca bolted to her feet. Her hair was tied back in a low flat twisted bun. Her cheeks were lightly dusted rosy, and her lips were glossed in soft pink. The professional, conservative, blue suit she wore didn’t convey the confidence she intended. “Your Lordship, I resent the use of the word whacked to describe Elizabeth Adam’s, ummm ... injury.”
“Miss Thompson, you can’t interrupt Mr. Templeton during his opening statement.” The Honorable Mark Spencer pointed out with sarcasm in his voice that rang clear.
A slow flush worked its way up Francesca’s throat to her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” She sank to her seat.
“Thank you, Your Lordship. As I was saying before I was interrupted. I will prove Dr. John Adam is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt of this heinous crime, which he claims to be an accident.” James flashed the jury and spectators an all-perfect-teeth smile that arrowed into every woman’s fantasy and heightened Francesca’s nerves.
When James sat down, Francesca hesitantly rose. The hissing and boos from the gallery filled the silence James left.
“I will not have this type of disorder in my court. If this keeps up, I will have the gallery cleared.” His Lordship grinned when the courtroom went quiet. “Please proceed, Miss Thompson.”
Francesca took a moment to compose frazzled nerves. “Thank you. My ... ah, name is ... Francesca Thompson.” She remembered then to acknowledge the most influential people in the room and proceeded to correct her oversight. “Ummm ... Your Lordship, ladies, and gentlemen of the jury, I’m the defense counsel for Dr. John Adam, a respected physician who has served his community for the past thirty years,” she said, taking her seat. When Francesca saw the lines around James’ eyes deepening in a smile that said: I got this in the bag, sweetie, she stood. “I’m sorry. I have more to say.”
“We’re listening with bated breath,” His Lordship’s comment netted snickers from the gallery.
“We will show to Your Lordship and the ladies and gentlemen of the jury that Dr. John Adam is an innocent man and that what Mr. James Templeton is claiming to be murder was nothing but self-defense.” Francesca flicked a smug grin at James and thought she got a wink in return.
The weeks that followed didn’t get easier for Francesca. James’ confidence and skillful lawyering skills deflated her, and she stumbled over her words. One of her key witnesses failed to appear, and her investigator couldn’t locate him. The day before John Adam was expected to take the stand, he called Peter Thompson to demand he step in for his daughter.
“I will be Francesca’s second chair tomorrow. At any time during her questioning, you want me to stand in for her, just give me the signal. But I can’t stress enough, John, how much better the optics are with a woman defending you. And John, her suggestion that you focus on your close bond with your wife during your cross-examination is an excellent one. There are six women in that jury,” Peter said, hoping to sway Dr. Adam’s mind.
Peter saw the look in James’ eyes as he followed Francesca across the courtroom. It was the look of a man fascinated by the woman challenging his ego. Peter considered Francesca’s stumbling over herself every time she cross-examined a blessing. In his opinion, men loved women who challenged them but didn’t quite reach that level of bruising their ego.
Peter’s plan was working better than anticipated.
Soon enough, he’d have a son-in-law and successor for his multi-million dollar empire. Peter would have liked Francesca to take over the firm, but that wasn’t in the cards. It was difficult enough for a woman to be taken seriously in the legal world, let alone at the helm of a multi-million dollar company. James Templeton III had the name, the connections, and the old family money that garnered respect.
“I call Dr. John Adam to the stand,” Francesca said.
Boos and hisses from the women in the gallery followed Dr. Adam to the witness stand, but his movements remained sharp, resolute. They weren’t those of a guilty man. Unbuttoning the gray jacket Francesca picked out to add an air of dignified respectability, Dr. Adam sat and crossed one leg over the other. Blue eyes set in a clean-shaven, handsome face, haloed by a sweep of silver hair, turned to gaze at the jury long enough to establish contact before turning to Francesca.
“Dr. Adam, are you testifying today against my advice you do not take the stand?” Francesca asked.
“Yes.”
“Why are you testifying?”
“I want the truth to be told.” Dr. Adam’s eyes connected with the six women in the jury box.
“Then let’s do that, Dr. Adam. Did you kill your wife?”
There was no hesitation from Dr. Adam. “Yes, I did.”
The comments from the gallery followed.
“I knew it.”
“Murderer.”
“Lock him up. Now.”
“You cowardly bastard.”
Oaths Francesca hadn’t heard a woman utter before were crisply shouted. His Lordship banged the gavel, but it was drowned by the raucous outraged voices from the gallery.
“I’m warning all of you. One more outburst and the bailiff will clear the gallery. Am I clear?” His Lordship’s warning silenced the room. “Proceed, Miss Thompson.”
“Thank you, Your Lordship.” Francesca turned to Dr. Adam. “Did you mean to kill your wife?”
“I did not. I love ... loved my wife. Lizzy and I were married for thirty-five years. Lizzy was the mother of my five children. We have ... had a good life together.” Genuine sadness ran across his face.
“In the thirty-five years, you were married, were you ever unfaithful to your wife?”
“Never. I did not need to turn to anyone other than Lizzy. She fulfilled my every need, intellectually, emotionally, physically. She was a perfect wife and a great mother. Ask any of my five children.”
Francesca scanned the faces of the jury gauging for their reaction. It looked encouraging, and her confidence surged. “Then, how did you end up in a situation where she ended up dead?”
“Lizzy,” he hesitated for a moment to gather himself, “suffered from Alzheimer’s, and she wasn’t dealing well with it.”
Francesca let a stretch of silence hang for the jury to digest the crucial piece of information coming to light. “Did anyone other than you know your wife was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, Dr. Adam?”
“No.” Dr. Adam’s gaze reflected on some memory. “Not even our children knew. Lizzy didn’t want anyone to know. She was having problems dealing with it.”
“Can you elaborate on what you mean by ‘she was having problems dealing with it,’ Dr. Adam?”
“She wouldn’t accept the diagnosis, the fact she was afflicted with the disease, and therefore she refused to take her medication or keep her doctor’s appointments.”
“You’re a doctor, a medical professional, couldn’t you help her deal with or manage her decease?” Francesca’s voice flowed with more confidence with each question.
“I could only do so much. Alzheimer’s is a complicated disease, and my expertise was limited. I’m not a neurologist, which is ... was, I’m sorry I can’t get used to the past tense.” Dr. Adam’s voice broke, and the gallery heaved a sigh that sounded like sympathy.
“Would you like a break, Dr. Adam?” His Lordship’s face radiated empathy.
Dr. Adam breathed in air. “I’m fine. As I was saying, my wife needed the medical care of a neurologist of specialists. I could only do so much.” Dr. Adam turned to the jury. “I’m not God. There was only so much I could do. Only so much I could do,” he repeated, bringing trembling hands to cover his face.
“What happened that day, Dr. Adam? The day of your wife’s death.”
“When I walked in through the front door of our home, she didn’t recognize me. I believe her refusal to take her medication, to seek the medical treatment she needed made her unravel on the spot. She became paranoid, and she came at me with a knife. I tried to hold her off, but she was persistent and surprisingly strong. We wrestled for some time, and when she came at me again with a chef’s knife, I pushed her off me. I, oh, Jesus. God, forgive me. I was too forceful. I know that now, but it all happened so fast.” He stopped to take a deep breath, and you could see him replaying the horrible moment in his mind.
“She fell back and hit her head against the kitchen table. She fell to the ground, and her head bounced off the tiles. I can still see it in my mind. It plays out over and over in excruciatingly slow motion. I killed her. I killed my wife. I’m so sorry, Lizzy.”
“Do you need some time, Dr. Adam,” Francesca said softly.
“I’m sorry, no.”
When Dr. Adam seemed calmer, Francesca said, “Was that why you initially confessed to killing her?”
“Yes. Can’t you see? I killed my wife. Me. Me.” Dr. Adam struck his chest with a flat hand over and over. “I pushed her and caused her to hit her head. My first instinct was to stop the bleeding, and I did. I tried my best to stop it. There was blood everywhere, pools of it spreading on the tiled floor. When I’d done what I could, I called for the ambulance.” The tears glimmered in his eyes, and he covered his face with the hands that had healed so many.
“I know how difficult this is for you, but I have one last question. Dr. Adam. Did you mean to kill your wife?”
“No,” he said without hesitation. “I desperately miss her. I miss talking to her. I miss not having her next to me in bed at night. I hate coming home to an empty house. There are nights when I sit in our closet for hours, breathing in her scent. Just breathing her scent.” Someone sighed, and the sound spiked in the hushed room. “When you share your love, your life with someone for more than half of your life, losing them is the hardest thing.” Dr. Adam choked on his words as the tears now streamed down his face. Many of the women in the jury and gallery broke down with him.
Francesca felt the sting of tears choke her own throat. Dr. Adam’s loving words resurrected thoughts of Tommy, and she bit back her tears. Her life with Tommy would have been as remarkable as Dr. Adam and Lizzy’s. Francesca made a mental note to place her monthly call to the Veterans Affairs office.
“Thank you, Dr. Adam. The defense rests.” It couldn’t have gone better, Francesca thought. “Your witness.”
When James Templeton got to his feet, all eyes in the room followed him to the witness stand. “Do you need a moment, Dr. Adam?” he said with a feigned sympathy that didn’t play out as well as he’d hoped.
“No, I’m fine.” Dr. Adam took the tissue the judge handed him.
James asked, “How tall are you, Dr. Adam?”
“Five-eleven.”
“Hmm. How tall was your wife?”
“Five feet.”
“Five feet,” James repeated, rubbing a hand over his chin for effect. “So are you telling us that a petite, five-foot woman overtook a fit, five-eleven man?”
“Mr. Templeton, have you ever had to confront a person with an ill mind?”
“I’m the one asking the questions, Dr. Adam.”
His heart thumping like a herd of marching elephants, Dr. Adam persevered. “They could be rather tenacious, and you’d be surprised at the strength they possess. That, combined with their confused mind, makes dealing with a person with an ill mind a challenging one. It sounds like something beyond rational belief, but a human being with an irrational mind manifests into superhuman strength.”
James bypassed the comment. “Your wife was a hefty five feet.” His voice was laced with a sarcasm that garnered him unexpected boos and hisses from the gallery.
Francesca shot to her feet. Her eyes sharp and hard on James, she said, “Objection. Your Lordship, I don’t hear a question.”
Before his Lordship could tell the jury to disregard the comment, Dr. Adam jumped in with his response. “Mr. Templeton, I love my wife. I would have never killed her, let alone beat her as you claim I did. I’m a doctor sworn to the Hippocratic Oath. If you don’t know what that is, I’ll enlighten you.”
“You tell him, Dr. Adam,” shouted one woman.
“Stop, bullying him, you cold-hearted suit,” barked another, and the women in the gallery cheered in support.
“Order, order,” his Lordship shouted until silence fell in the courtroom. “Proceed, Mr. Templeton.”
For the next thirty minutes, James posed questions. With each question, he sensed the room turning on him, and he elected to cut his cross-examination short. “No further questions,” James said to Francesca’s delight.
He gave up, Francesca thought with a smile creasing one corner of her mouth.
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PETER WALKED INTO FRANCESCA’S OFFICE. “HOW are you holding up, Frankie?” Seeing the nervous look on her face, Peter put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed conveying a sense of solidarity. “It’s going to be fine. It’s now in the jury’s hands.”
“It’s my representation that will steer them to their decision.” Francesca reached for the glass of water to lubricate a persistently dry throat. “Jesus, what if they find him guilty. John could end up in jail for decades. Not to mention the fact I’ll have to see that smug look on James Templeton’s face.”
Peter laughed at that. “You’re on your way to becoming a great lawyer, Frankie. Winning is fifty percent the satisfaction you get from exonerating your client. The remaining fifty comes from slapping that smug look off the opposing counsel’s face.”
“You’re not wrong about that. How I’d love to slap that smugness of James’ face.” Francesca reached for her shrilling telephone. After a short one-sided conversation, she hung up. “They have a verdict.”
Peter didn’t conceal his shock. “They’ve been deliberating for less than a day.”
Francesca’s lips curved, slow, easy. “I guess they don’t need any more time to determine John’s innocence.” She reached for her briefcase. “Well, are you coming?”
“I wouldn’t miss your first judgment for the world.”
