Page 97 of Defend Me

“Mr. Jenkins,” I say, extending my hand. “Good luck.”

I always wish the opposing side good luck. Just to see how they handle it. Some get rattled, some get smug. Wilbur is definitely falling into the latter category.

He takes it and shakes. “I’m not the one who needs it. I’d think you’d be happy that your mother’s murderer is about to be put away, rather than trying to keep him out of jail.”

“We both know Noah didn’t commit this crime,” I retort. I hesitate then add, “And I think we both know who did.”

I wanted to see what sort of reaction I would get, and I’m not disappointed. Wilbur’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, and I think I see a flicker of shock mixed with fear in his pale eyes before he smooths back his silvery hair.

“I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about,” he says. “I don’t bring innocent men to trial.”

“Don’t you?” I say, letting the question linger in the air before turning away from him and returning to the defense table.

“What was that about?” Noah asks.

“Fishing,” I say.

“Catch anything?” Grayson asks as the gallery starts filling up with spectators and press. I glance back at Wilbur who is looking toward the back of the courtroom.

“Not sure,” I say, as the sheriff enters with several deputies intow. They all sit on the prosecution side. My family files in and sits in the row behind us, along with Pop and Isla. Charlotte, Jake, Reggie and Dev, the Kims, Mrs. Greerson, and all the people I’ve come to know over the past couple months fill up the defense side of the courtroom. My heart swells to see it. So many people believing in Noah.

“All rise,” the bailiff says, and we stand as Judge Warner enters the courtroom in sweeping black robes. “Court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Norman. T. Warner presiding.”

“Be seated,” the judge says. “Mr. Jenkins, you may proceed with your opening statement.”

Wilbur leaps to his feet, looking like a folksy attorney from a Jimmy Stewart film.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he begins. “You are tasked with a heavy burden, but a necessary one. That man,” he points to our table, “Noah Patterson is charged with the most heinous of all crimes. With murder. And not just any murder, but the murder of a most respected member of Magnolia Bay society. Marion Everton took him under her wing when his own parents died. She treated him like family. And how did he repay this kindness? With a bullet to the heart.” He takes a dramatic pause. “Our evidence will show that Mr. Patterson was stalking Marion Everton. That he was obsessed with her. And when she rejected his advances, he used his knowledge of the house, avoiding detection by security cameras, to sneak onto the property in the early hours of June twenty-second, to confront Marion in her pottery shed, and shoot her dead. It will be up to you, twelve ordinary citizens, to hold Mr. Patterson responsible for this crime. Now, his lawyer, Ms. Everton, is the late Marion Everton’s daughter. She’s going to try and use that fact to convince you her client cannot possibly be guilty—otherwise, how could she defend him? Do not be fooled, ladies and gentlemen. We have his fingerprints at the scene of the crime. He had motive, means, and opportunity. We are certainthat, by the end of this trial, you will confidently be able to return a verdict of guilty—beyond a reasonable doubt.”

With a flourish, Wilbur takes his seat. Judge Warner turns to me.

“Miss Everton, you may proceed with the defense’s opening statement.”

I swallow back my correction (it’s Ms. you asshole) and stand. “Thank you, your honor.” I step out from behind the table and give the jury a warm smile. “That was quite a speech Mr. Jenkins just gave, wasn’t it? And he’s correct that Marion Everton was my mother, and that I am defending the man accused of murdering her. But he is wrong that I plan to use that as some means of defense—my presence here is not evidence of anything except my own fervent belief that Mr. Patterson is innocent. When you look carefully at all this so-called evidence the prosecution claims to have, you will see it is nothing but a house of cards. Mr. Jenkins will show you letters my mother received, letters that indicate she was being stalked. But there is nothing—I repeat, nothing—that proves Mr. Patterson is the one who wrote those letters. There is no evidence that he was stalking her—because he wasn’t. Mr. Jenkins points to the fact that Mr. Patterson used some supposed secret knowledge of my family estate to sneak onto the grounds that morning. When, in fact, many people knew about my mother’s garden, and the hidden entrance to the backyard. Indeed, ladies and gentlemen, I intend to prove that there was no possible way that Mr. Pattersoncouldhave been in my mother’s pottery shed on the morning of June twenty-second.”

I pause and glance at Noah, who is watching me curiously. I’m going forward as if Patrick is still testifying. But I knew I had to come out of the gate strong.

“Noah Patterson is a decorated officer with the Magnolia Bay Sheriff’s Department, a loyal friend, grandson, and neighbor. He is a law-abiding citizen, just like yourselves, who loves his friendsand family. He’s never had so much as a speeding ticket. To accuse him of this crime is not just preposterous—it’s a miscarriage of justice. The prosecution has overreached. Their one piece of physical evidence is not the smoking gun they portray it to be—no pun intended.”

I walk over to the jury box and rest my palms against the polished rail. “You know,” I say, looking at each juror in turn, “Noah and I never liked each other much when we were growing up as kids. And then when we got older…well, a defense lawyer and a cop?” I chuckle. “We were never the best of friends. And the last thing I wanted wasanotherbig brother.” I see a few smiles on the faces of the jurors. I’m trying to humanize Noah, and myself as well. I want these people to see we’re like them. “But from the moment of his arrest, I knew he was innocent of this crime. Mr. Jenkins is correct that my mother took him under her wing. Hedidbecome part of our family. But that is not a motive for murder. Noah Patterson became a police officer to protect and serve the community that he loves. He embodies those highest of ideals. And by the end of this trial, you will come to see that the only way for justice to truly be served in this case is to find him not guilty. Thank you.”

I turn and head back to my seat as Grayson mutters, “Nailed it,” under his breath. I allow a small twitch of my lips in response. There’s nothing like the feel of connecting with a jury, and I know I set the stage in exactly the way I needed to. Jurors four, five, and seven were eating out of the palm of my hand. Noah looks so handsome, so relatable, with his chiseled jaw and mournful eyes. They won’t want to believe he’s capable of murder.

The only problem is, I can’t follow through on my promise to prove Noah couldn’t have been at the house that morning. I’ve got Dale’s testimony but it’s not enough.

Judge Warner is studying me, his brows pinched together. Then he turns to Wilbur.

“You may call your first witness,” he says.

Wilbur rises. “Your honor, the prosecution calls Russell Everton.”

Slowly, and with all the gravitas of a man who has been in charge his entire life, my father strides to the witness stand and takes a seat.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

NOAH

Von told me to be a blank slate, and I’m succeeding.

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