Page 44 of The 1 Lawyer

“We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of. All of us. My client has too. But that doesn’t mean that he should pay for crimes he did not commit.”

At that, my target juror turned her head to steal a nervous glance at the woman seated next to her—my biggest challenge in the box. I knew I hadn’t swayed her. That woman was one of the four Black people in the box of thirteen. She had fixed me with a glare throughout my entire pitch.

I thought of that juror as I wrapped up my argument. Thought of her as I watched Gordon-James flounder through his brief rebuttal and heard the judge read pages of jury instructions aloud.

Right before Judge Walker sent them off to the jury room, he said, “Ms. Tyler, you are juror number thirteen.”

The woman who’d glowered throughout my argument looked befuddled. “I don’t understand, Your Honor.”

Walker said, “You’re excused at this time. I’d like to thank you for your service on the jury. We won’t need you to stay.”

She was the alternate. I had one thought: For God’s sake, don’t let anyone on this jury keel over from a heart attack.

The woman didn’t move. I could see the challenge in her expression as the judge’s words sank in. She didn’t want to be excused. She was ready to go into the jury room with the others and cast her vote.

But she had no choice. Pressing her lips together tightly, she stood and stepped out of the jury box. As I watched her walk away from the twelve other jurors, I breathed a lot easier.

CHAPTER 32

THE JURY had been deliberating all day.

Around four thirty in the afternoon, the jury had sent a message to the judge saying they were deadlocked and couldn’t reach a unanimous decision. Judge Walker pulled them into court, sat them down in the jury box, and gave them the dynamite charge.

To give them a push, he read the jury an instruction that said they needed to agree, that it was their duty to return a verdict in the case. There’s more to the instruction, but that’s the gist. Then he sent them back to the jury room to continue their deliberations.

I sat alone at the counsel table, keeping vigil. Daniel and Iris Caro were in the courthouse lobby with family and friends, trying to steer clear of the supporters of Aurora Gates. Gordon-James retired to the DA’s private office down the hall.

I checked the time on my cell phone—it was past six thirty. They’d be giving the jury something to eat pretty soon. I wondered if I could dash down the street to buy a cup of coffee.

While I debated, Mason walked into the courtroom and slid into the chair beside mine. “What do you think? They gonna hang up?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Seven hours is a long time.”

He tipped the chair back on two legs. “After seven hours, those jurors are bound to be screaming at each other. The jury room isn’t soundproof. Why don’t you ask Charlene if she’s heard any of the deliberations? She’s got a soft spot for you, Stafford Lee.”

I looked over my shoulder to be sure we were still alone. Mason had known I’d try to wheedle information from the bailiff. “I asked. She had nothing to pass along.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, Stafford Lee. I know she told you something.”

Reluctantly, I nodded. He leaned in for the scoop. In a low voice, I said, “They don’t like lawyers.”

“Ouch.” Mason glanced over at the empty prosecution table. “Well, the DA’s a lawyer too. Did Gordon-James really lose his shit in closing arguments?”

Before I could answer, the door to chambers opened. Judge Walker emerged, shoving his arm into the sleeve of his black robe. “We’ve got a verdict!”

“I’ll get my client, Your Honor.”

I didn’t have to look far. As he’d been throughout the deliberation, Caro was sitting with a sparse group of supporters on the far side of the lobby. I ran down the stairs so that I could walk by his side as he made his way back to court to hear the verdict.

Word of the imminent decision was circulating. Though the courthouse offices had closed at five o’clock, a fair number of spectators remained to hear the outcome. As Caro and I proceeded to the counsel table, the room filled up.

After my client was seated, I turned to offer my support to his wife. Still in the front row, Iris was dressed for the verdict in a black linen suit. Maybe black was an intentional choice, and she was prepared for the worst. When I extended my hand, she clung to it, looking petrified.

Seated next to her was her father-in-law. He looked like he wanted to punch someone—possibly me. “Penney, what’s it gonna be?”

I managed, with effort, to answer him in a civil tone. “We’ll know in a moment. We’re putting Iris in your care, Mr. Caro. In the event of an adverse outcome, you’ll need to escort her out of the courthouse.”

That shut the old man up. There was a risk of trouble whichever way the verdict went. It wasn’t hard to determine the spectators’ sympathies. Beside Hiram Caro sat Joey Roman, looking ready for a fight. Two rows back were a handful of my client’s friends and a couple of his employees from the clinic. The press stood at the rear of the courtroom, poised for a speedy exit to report the verdict.

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