Page 2 of Coming Home

“I know you have high hopes, Gerard, but you need to prepare yourself in case the verdict comes back against you.”

His client’s dead eyes bore into Jackson’s. “And I’ve told you I’ll be walking out of this building later today. You put on a brilliant defense, my friend.”

He didn’t protest at being called friend simply because he did not want to be on McGreer’s bad side. The man had made enough statements to let Jackson know he was quite vindictive—and he had a long memory.

“We should talk about your appeal, Gerard. Just in case.”

Though Jackson did not want anything to do with that process, knowing it would only delay him from leaving California and heading back to Oregon, he still owed it to his client.

“That won’t be necessary,” McGreer insisted. “But... in case I ever do need an attorney again, I assume you would take my case.”

Jackson shuddered inwardly. “That would depend on my current case load, Gerard. If I were knee-deep into another trial, whether in pre-trial motions or currently trying a case, you’d have to go somewhere else. You’ve met my partner, Bill Watterscheim. He’s an excellent lawyer and would do a fine job of defending you. If Bill were also tied up, I have two or three other attorneys I could recommend to you.”

He paused. “But on the chance you are found not guilty today, Gerard, you should aim never to darken the doors of this courthouse in the future.”

McGreer smiled, slipping into his jacket. “Oh, you mean I shouldn’t get caught again.”

A chill ran through Jackson at his client’s words. In that moment, he knew McGreer was guilty not only of the rape and murder he was now on trial for—but for others.

The door opened again, preventing him from replying.

“The jury’s coming back, Mr. Martin. They’re ready for you.”

“Thank you.”

He waited for the two deputies who would come to escort Gerard McGreer to the courtroom.

“I think I’m going to change my name,” his client said dreamily. “My picture and name have been splashed across the media for a year now. “I’ve always admired Anthony Hopkins’ work. I think Anthony would suit me. And I do like alliteration. Hmm. Anthony Adams. Anthony Arnold. Anthony Abbott. Yes, Abbott. Anthony Abbott. I like that. Do you like it, Jackson?”

The deputies entered, cuffing McGreer as Jackson returned his legal pad to his briefcase and closed it.

He fell in step behind them as the deputies led Gerard McGreer to the courtroom.

“Will you help me change my name legally, Jackson? Can we start after the verdict is read?”

“You won’t need me for that, Gerard,” he informed McGreer, deciding to detail the process and hoping McGreer would never have a chance to go through it.

“Most of it can be done online. You’ll file a Petition for Change of Name. It will include a document where you must show cause for changing your name. It will probably take three months or so to get a court date. The judge will approve your request, handing down a court order called a decree, which allows for a legal name change. Then you’ll be required to publish the cause for change in a newspaper for four weeks in a row.”

McGreer glanced over his shoulder. “Why is it anyone’s business what I change my name to? It negates the very thing I’m trying to do—avoid publicity.”

Jackson shrugged. “That’s the just process, Gerard. The court will give you a list of approved newspapers for publishing legal notices. Then you’ll be done.”

They entered the courtroom, his heart now racing. He felt awful that he hoped his client would be found guilty and sentenced to the maximum prison sentence.

Taking a seat at the table, he rested his briefcase on the ground beside him. McGreer raised his hands, and one of the deputies uncuffed him.

Jackson looked over his shoulder, seeing the room quickly filled with spectators. Most were reporters, but a handful were what he thought of as mayhem murder fans, retired people or those who worked night jobs and enjoyed attending murder trials, gravitating toward the gruesome details.

Lisa Fennel, the prosecutor, came in and headed straight for her table, nodding curtly at him. They had worked together on a few cases during his time at the DA’s office. Jackson rose and crossed the aisle to speak to her.

“You put on a helluva case, Lisa,” he complimented.

She gave him a tight smile. “You put on a better one,” she admitted. “I’m worried, Jackson. Afraid of that man being out on the street again.”

“Same,” he said softly, not wanting anyone to overhear him.

He offered her his hand and she took it, saying, “I hope I don’t have to go up against you again.”

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