Page 3 of Coming Home

He smiled, keeping his news to himself. He had yet to tell anyone other than Willow that he was planning to return to the Cove. Not even Bill, his law partner, knew of Jackson’s plans to leave the state after this trial. Originally, he had planned to stay until Clancy’s planned retirement date of July fourth. The McGreer case, though, had left such a sour taste in his mouth that he had decided to pack up early. If Clancy weren’t ready to hand over his practice, it would give Jackson time to himself to heal from the ugliness of this murder trial.

Returning to the table, he sat.

“Fraternizing with the enemy?” McGreer asked.

“We worked together several years ago,” he said to his client. “She was a formidable opponent.”

The bailiff called out, “All rise!”

Jackson came to his feet as the judge entered the courtroom, robes swishing as he climbed the steps and sat.

“You may be seated,” the judge commanded. “Bring in the jury.”

He watched as they filed in. None looked his or McGreer’s way, which usually indicated a guilty verdict. What he found odd, though, was that several of them looked angry. The bad feelings churned within him again.

The judge asked if the jury had reached a verdict, and the foreman said they had. The rest was like a dream unfolding, as if Jackson swam underwater. He listened to the words being spoken. Heard the eruption behind him. Turned to scan the jury. Glanced to his opponent’s table.

Then he turned to face a beaming Gerard McGreer, a smug smile on his face. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. Jackson noticed the sweat beaded along his receding hairline.

“Told you,” his client said. “Piece of cake.”

The judge was hammering away, calling for order, but it was a done deal. Gerard McGreer was going to walk out of this building a free man. The judge dismissed the jury. People began racing from the courtroom.

Jackson stole a quick look at the victim’s family. Her parents sat, stunned expressions on their faces. Her sister had angry tears streaming down her face. She glared at McGreer.

And Jackson.

He wanted to go offer them a word of comfort but knew to stay far away. Next to Gerard McGreer, he was the last person they might wish to speak with.

Turning to his client, he briefly told him what to expect. How McGreer would be processed out. Once again, he advised McGreer not to speak to the press, telling him how easy it was to turn words against him and how statements could be taken out of context.

He ended by saying, “You’ll receive our final bill soon. Be glad you’ve been set free, Gerard.”

His client smiled. “Oh, I am, Jackson. You were worth every penny. And I hope I never need to engage your services again. But if I do? You better be there for me.”

The threat hung in the air.

By now, the deputies had come to escort McGreer from the courtroom. Usually, he would go with his client, being alongside him every step of the way, even offering a ride to wherever he wished to go. Jackson couldn’t do that. He sat, mute, watching Gerard McGreer being led away.

His eyes drifted across the aisle. The prosecutor’s table had already been vacated. Jackson waited until everyone had left the courtroom, savoring the quiet, knowing it would be a circus outside.

He removed his cell phone from his briefcase and texted Bill, who had been his second chair through the trial but had chosen to remain at the office instead of appearing for the verdict since he’d just agreed to represent a new client in an aggravated robbery case.

Client got off on all charges.

Bill’s congratulatory text came back through, praising Jackson’s efforts, promising champagne would be waiting for him back at the office.

Finally, he stood, picking up his briefcase and leaving the courtroom. He stopped in the men’s room, killing time, and then the vending machines. He hadn’t eaten all day and it was almost four o’clock. Sweets weren’t his thing, so he went for the peanut butter crackers, pocketing them, thinking he would eat them in the car on the way back to his office. He intended to tell Bill about his decision today. Suggest a couple of names of attorneys who might want to join the two-man practice, knowing how unhappy Bill would be. They had been acquaintances in law school, Bill being a year ahead of Jackson. It was Bill who had contacted Jackson when he put out feelers about leaving the DA’s office and giving private practice a whirl. His partner would be incredibly disappointed in Jackson’s decision.

He headed to the bank of elevators, the halls almost deserted on this late Friday afternoon. The elevator arrived and he got in. Two others followed. Both got out at lower floors, while he took the elevator to the ground floor. Heading to a little-used back entrance, he waved at the lone security guard and left the building, avoiding the reporters who would be gathered outside the front of the courthouse and the few who would gather in the rear of the building, looking for him. Again, Bill would be disappointed that Jackson didn’t grab some of the limelight and help raise the profile of Watterscheim & Martin.

He reached the garage and headed to his car, weariness overcoming him. It didn’t matter how tired he was. He owed it to Bill to go in and smile for the staff, drink a glass of bubbly, and then have a private word with his partner regarding his future plans. They would need to hash out a separation agreement. He wouldn’t ask for Bill to buy out his half of the partnership, feeling that would be the decent thing to do. The new, incoming partner could buy in, helping Bill—and the firm—financially.

Suddenly, someone stepped in front of him. It was Juror Number Four, Sarah Peterson. Thirty-six. Married. A high school biology teacher. Catholic. When jury selection had started at the beginning of December, he hadn’t known she was pregnant. As the weeks went by, however, her belly began to grow. Now, at the beginning of February, he could visibly see her bulging belly, figuring she might be about six months along.

“Mrs. Peterson, are you lost? Do you need help finding your car?”

She visibly trembled, the color drained from her face. “I have to tell someone,” she said, her voice breaking.

---