Silent Witness (66 page)

For three days, Tony waited for the jury to come back.

He called Sam at the end of every day, to report the lack of news. Increasingly agitated and anxious, Sam attempted to extract from Tony speculation about what the silence meant; all Tony could say was that some jurors must be finding the case quite difficult. Privately, he suspected a split in the jury, and worried about what this might mean.

As for Sue, when she answered Tony's calls, she was pleasant, somewhat distant, and – once Tony told her there was nothing to say – incurious. Tony stifled the impulse to keep her on the telephone.

So Tony killed time. He talked to Stacey, reviewed by fax, at Christopher's request, his son's essay for the admissions committee at Harvard. San Francisco seemed very far away; Lake City was terribly real now, and his past felt like his present.

At the end of the second day, he called Stella Marz. ‘Can I buy you a drink?' he asked. ‘I've been having separation anxiety.'

Stella responded with a modest laugh and agreed to meet him at the hotel bar.

The bar was a plush, quasi-Victorian replica, half filled with the usual depressed-looking assortment of commercial travelers and giving off that sense of unreality unique to instant fabrications of a bygone decor. Their server introduced himself by name, and when he brought Tony's martini in what looked like a brandy snifter, Tony rolled his eyes at Stella.

‘You really
are
a snob,' she said. ‘At least the drinks don't cost ten dollars.'

Tony smiled. ‘Then they're on me,' he said, and touched his snifter to Stella's wineglass. ‘Nice job. That was what I wanted to tell you.'

Stella gave him an amused, somewhat skeptical look. ‘You too. And now that we're such good friends again, you're hoping I won't retry your other good friend, Sam Robb, if the jury just happens to hang. Which is a little easier decision to swallow when his lawyer's a gracious, humble man like you.'

Caught, Tony laughed aloud but did not, thereafter, smile. ‘You have your heart and soul in this one, don't you?'

‘Oh, yeah.' Stella gazed at the table, her face hard, her eyes reflective. ‘He's a real bad guy, your friend. Watching him on the stand convinced me all the more.' She looked up at Tony. ‘It's a tough prosecution case – I knew that going in. But when you put him on, I think, you let me back into the game.'

Tony sipped his drink. ‘Not my idea,' he said at last.

Slowly, Stella nodded, still watching him. ‘No. I didn't think it was.'

Tony put down his martini, looking her in the face. ‘If it's any help, Stella, I don't know anything that makes him guilty. What he said in court two days ago could very well be the truth.'

‘Yes,' she answered calmly. ‘But do you believe it?'

She did not expect an answer. ‘A lot of people,' he said at last, ‘have been telling me I don't believe in anything.'

Stella shook her head. ‘No, you believe in something. You and I even believe in some of the same things. When I worked my way through law school, I told myself it wasn't just to make my life better, but to make this place better. But that was
my
choice. When I judged you for leaving, I forgot that, or how many reasons you might have had, starting with what your parents wanted for you. My parents never wanted a thing for me, except that I be them. So Saint Stella the self-righteous is my very own creation.' She picked up her wineglass, regarding him over the rim. ‘You're fair, Tony, and I did learn something. I watched you, and the trial played out the way you thought it would.'

Appreciative, Tony smiled a little. ‘Except for the ending. I haven't a clue what that will be.'

Stella finished her drink. ‘I may lose this one,' she said. ‘Maybe I should. But God knows I don't want to.'

Shortly afterward, she left. Tony watched her stop in the doorway of the bar, to brush back her hair with graceful fingers, then resume her determined stride through the swinging doors. Thinking of his client, Tony hoped that he would not be forced to admire her for winning.

The next day, at around four-thirty, the jury told Judge Karoly that it was hung.

The beautician was the foreperson. The nutritionist, with whom she had seemed friendly, would not look at her.

Standing beside Tony, Saul whispered, ‘Our foreperson is voting defense.'

‘I think so too,' Tony whispered, and cursed himself for letting the nutritionist get past him. Next to Saul and Tony, Sam's shoulders sagged.

Stella, like Tony, scanned the jurors' faces.

‘Madam Foreperson,' Karoly said, ‘without telling me who the votes favor, could you tell me how the voting stands?'

The beautician glanced toward the nutritionist. ‘Nine on one side. Three on the other.'

‘How many ballots have you taken?'

‘Four, Your Honor. The votes haven't changed.'

Karoly's brow furrowed. ‘And do you think, with more deliberations, you can reach a verdict?'

The beautician shook her head, frowning. ‘The three won't budge.'

Tony looked at Stella. There was a split-second decision to be made: depending on their guess as to whether they were winning, or losing, Tony and Stella would want – or would
not
want – more deliberations, which might end in a verdict. When Stella hesitated, Tony made his decision. ‘May I approach the bench, Your Honor?'

When Karoly nodded, Stella followed Tony, to huddle with the judge out of earshot of the jury. ‘Your Honor,' Tony murmured, ‘three days of deliberations is not long in a complex case. I wonder if, in fairness to everyone, there might be some way the court can be helpful to the jury.'

Stella shook her head. ‘I think we should take the jury at its word.
They
know what their situation is, and as disappointing as the lack of a verdict is, to force the jury through any more is to run the risk of coercion
and
an unjust verdict.' Pausing, she glanced at Tony. ‘If necessary, the state is prepared to try this case again.'

Karoly hesitated and then turned to the jury. ‘The court would like to thank you for your service,' he began.

The vote was nine to three for acquittal.

Watching the jurors leave the courtroom, silent and unhappy, Tony patted Sam on the shoulder. Then he walked across the courtroom and shook Stella's hand.

‘Good guess,' he told her.

Her smile, fleeting and faint, did not hide the bitterness of her disappointment. ‘It's the same guess you made.' She paused, studying Sam Robb, and then looked back at Tony. ‘Come by my office around two on Monday. After I've had some time to live with this.'

Without waiting for an answer, she began clearing the table of her papers.

When Tony returned, Sam and Sue were talking quietly with Saul. ‘I'll try to catch some of the jurors,' Saul said quietly to Tony. ‘Before Stella does. Find out what went on in there.'

Tony nodded. ‘Thanks.'

Stella, he noticed, was gone.

Sam and Sue were silent now. Sam had grasped her hand; Sue looked stiff, pale, weary. Suddenly Tony felt how tired he was.

‘I'm sorry,' he murmured. ‘I wanted to win.'

Slowly, Sam nodded. ‘We nearly did, pal. At least I'm not in jail. You did everything you could –'

‘You did,' Sue broke in softly. ‘Everything.'

Reporters were gathering behind them, waiting for a statement from Tony, a chance at Sam or Sue. ‘I'll talk to Stella,' Tony said. ‘Monday.'

Turning, he looked at the Calders.

They were frozen in their seats, shoulders barely touching. Frank Calder's eyes were empty, exhausted; tears ran down Nancy Calder's face. A reporter from the
Steelton Press
hovered behind them, blocked by an assistant from Stella's office.

Sue followed Tony's gaze. There was nothing for anyone to say.

That night, Saul called him. He had talked to most of the jurors.

‘You know what I think happened?' Saul told Tony. ‘Our client hung the jury.'

‘How so?'

‘My sense is, before Sam got on the stand, you had them – twelve people, unanimous in their unhappiness that reasonable doubt kept them from putting our man away. Sam polarized them: for nine, including the beautician, he either made no difference or helped them feel a little better about their vote . . .'

‘And the three?'

‘Hated his guts and thought he was a liar. Their response to his testimony was absolutely visceral – especially our nutritionist, the mom. After these three women saw him, they just didn't want him walking around. Period.'

Tony lay back on the bed, his headache a dull pounding in his temples and the back of his neck. ‘So,' he said tiredly, ‘what you're saying is that Sam bought Stella another shot at him.'

‘If she takes it.' Saul paused and, out of compassion, tried for fatalism. ‘You never really know, Tony – jury dynamics are funny. Maybe it would have hung anyhow.'

For a moment, Tony was quiet, wondering. But this was pointless. ‘Monday,' he finally answered, ‘we'll see what
she
thinks.'

On Monday, at two o'clock, Tony went to Stella's office.

To his surprise, Stella was in a tennis dress, her wavy brown hair pulled back by an elastic band. ‘As soon as we're through,' she explained, ‘I'm out of here. I'm taking a little time.'

Tony nodded: decompression, the fatigue and lack of focus that follows a hard case, was something he understood. He was feeling it too.

‘For me,' he told her, ‘it's back to San Francisco. Tomorrow.'

Stella studied him across the desk, a mess of files she had not bothered to straighten.

‘Well,' she said at last, ‘you probably won't have to come back.'

‘How so?'

Her face was calm, without expression. ‘You carried them nine to three. Next time. I figure, you'll shoot Sam Robb before you let him testify.' She paused, as though reluctant to finish, and then did. ‘I've told the chief I recommend against retrying it. Unless, somehow, the case gets better. More evidence – bloody clothes or something. Though I imagine Sam Robb got rid of
those
long since.'

There was little to say. ‘I guess your boss agrees,' Tony ventured.

‘Yes. So you can tell your client.'

She had done this quickly, Tony thought, and with as much grace as she could muster. ‘Thank you,' he said.

Stella gave him the smallest of smiles. ‘Please. Don't.'

She excused herself to play tennis. Tony went to call Sam, and Sue.

That night, at Sam's insistence, Sam and Sue took Tony for dinner at the country club.

‘I'm free,' Sam had said emphatically. ‘So I've got to start living like I am, or I can't live here at all. It'll be easier, the first time, if we have you for company.'

To Tony, the ‘we' was optimistic; at their table in the corner, the same one where Tony had dined with Sue, she watched Sam and Tony as if she were a spectator. As though to compensate for her silence, Sam seemed heartier: maybe this wasn't a celebration, he remarked, somewhat defensive, but it was sort of a coming out. Halfway through the dinner, he had finished his fourth bourbon on the rocks, served by a young, slightly scared-looking waitress who was straining to pretend that she did not know who Sam was. Tony nursed his chardonnay and mostly listened; conscious of Sue's quiet scrutiny, he sensed that but for him, she would not be here at all. The minutes passed slowly.

Sam ordered another drink and then, swallowing half of it, settled back in his chair and looked about the room with a replete, satisfied look that, to Tony, was jarringly at odds with the realities of Sam's life. ‘Remember our prom night?' Sam asked. ‘The dance was right here.'

Sure
, Tony thought sardonically.
You drank too much then too. So I punched you out, helped Sue carry you home, and then made love with her, creating a memory so sweet that I can feel her, right now, thinking the same things I am
. Answering, Tony was careful not to look at her. ‘Sure, I remember. But do you?'

The remark, pointed beneath its lightness, drew a crooked smile from Sam.
He knows what he's doing
, Tony thought, and wondered if Sam would ever put the suspicion of Tony and Sue behind him. ‘I don't remember as much as you do,' Sam answered. ‘You guys never really told me about the last part.'

Tony heard Sue draw a breath. ‘Oh,' she put in softly. ‘The part where Tony and I went to the grove of maple trees and made love until I climaxed for the first time. There really wasn't much more to it. Except that I fell in love with him, of course.'

Her voice was so matter-of-fact that the remark could have been a deadpan joke or, more likely, an expression of deep weariness. But Tony felt the tingle of astonishment and danger; a flush spread across Sam's face, and his smile was the resentful one of a man who did not get the joke but knew he was the butt of it. He turned to Tony, his tone between jocular and accusatory. ‘Is that how you remember it, Tony?'

Tense, Tony looked at him, wondering what to do. Then he smiled at Sue and, quite casually, said to Sam, ‘Pretty much. I guess I'd have to say that Sue's the reason I came back here.' Reaching out, he patted Sam on the arm. ‘You know, I'm really glad we've gotten to talk about this. I'm sure that Sue is too.'

Tony watched Sam struggle with his choice – to believe them or to pretend it was all in fun. ‘You're drinking again,' Tony said softly. ‘You shouldn't. It does things to you.'