Act of God (23 page)

Kirby looked at Judith and smiled. “Maybe longer than I originally thought.”

“Okay, everyone,” Judith said, both blushing and beaming. “I invited you for dinner, so dine.”

It was a delicious meal, and Judith served it proudly. No one needed to know that it had eaten up her entire food budget for
the week.

They fell silent for a few moments, as they obediently focused their attention on the succulent meat and the crisp vegetables
and the perfectly seasoned potatoes that went down so nicely when accompanied by the smooth white wine. Then, somewhere between
the pork and the pie, Kirby turned to Dana.

“Judith tells me you’re an attorney,” he said, casually. “What kind of law do you practice?”

“I’m primarily a litigator,” Dana replied.

“Yes, but tell him what you’re currently litigating,” Judith prompted, getting a sharp glance of rebuke from her friend for
her efforts.

“I’m working on the Hill House case.”

Kirby’s eyes widened. “Of course, how stupid of me,” he declared. “It’s been in all the papers. I must have read the name
a dozen times. I’m sorry, I just didn’t make the connection.”

I
n the middle of final preparations for the Latham trial, when jury selection was less than a week off, Dana did an unheard
of thing. She took a day off and drove to Port Townsend. The sky was crystal blue, the sun sparkled off the water, and Mount
Baker shimmered like an apparition in the distance, but Dana never noticed.

“There’s something about this case that I’m missing,” she told her father.

“What makes you think so?” Jefferson Reid inquired, ushering her into his private office, which was filled with the well-used
leather furniture and the well-thumbed law books she remembered from early childhood.

“That’s just it,” she replied. “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have.”

“Well, if it was a strong enough feeling to get you out here, let’s take a look at it.”

“Okay, am I crazy? Or is the prosecution’s case made up of smoke and mirrors?”

“Well, I can’t say as I’ve been following it that closely, but
there may be some of that involved,” he told her. “I doubt that’s all, though. I think they probably have a kernel of truth
they’re trying to embellish.”

“Then I’m in so far over my head, I don’t know up from down,” she admitted. “Because I’m preparing to defend a case I can’t
get hold of. I’ve got our best investigator on the job, and he can’t seem to get hold of it, either. Neither can my assistant.”

“Is the state disclosing?”

“Oh, yes, and very promptly. And if you take it all at face value, Corey Latham is a cold-blooded murderer. But nothing here
stands up to serious scrutiny, and Brian Ayres has to know that. So what am I missing?”

“I don’t know, maybe nothing,” Reid replied. “Is it possible this Ayres fellow is holding out?”

Dana shook her head. “No,” she said. “Brian is a tough attorney who wants to win, but he won’t cheat.” She smiled a little.
“Mostly, it’s because he thinks he’s too good to have to resort to cheating.”

“Then look into the motivation here,” her father suggested.

“What do you mean?”

“The police needed a suspect, and they needed one fast,” Reid suggested. “They were being pilloried in the press, made to
look like the Keystone Kops. So maybe they went out and manufactured themselves a suspect. They locked on to someone who conveniently
had means, motive, and opportunity—which is all they’re technically required to do—and closed up shop. Now, right or wrong,
the state is stuck with that. For the prosecutor’s office even to hesitate, especially on a case of this magnitude, would
be ultimately disastrous.”

“You think they would rather risk an acquittal on a shaky case than make sure they had the right guy?”

“Given the circumstances, they may not have had a choice,” Jefferson Reid replied. “They may be relying on emotion
to sway the jury. They may have thought the kid would be going with a public defender. They may really think they’ve got the
right guy.” Then he shrugged. “In any event, putting the state on trial instead of your client is certainly a defense that’s
worked well for many over the years.”

A
nything I need to know about?” Brian Ayres asked his assistant.

It was the first Monday in August, jury selection for the Latham trial began tomorrow, and the prosecutor did not want any
curves thrown at him at the last minute.

“I don’t think so,” Mark Hoffman replied. It was the most important case of the young attorney’s legal life, and he was not
about to blow it. For months, he had hung over the investigators like a shroud, triple-checking everything. Now, the jury
consultant was on board, the evidence was all in order, and the witnesses were all prepared. Dozens of motions had been filed
and ruled upon. There were no surprises. Well, maybe one. Dana McAuliffe had not asked for a change of venue.

“It wouldn’t have done her any good,” Brian assured him. “This case has had too much exposure to assume an impartial jury
anywhere in the state. I think she knew that.”

Mark grinned. “It couldn’t be that happened on purpose, now could it?” he asked.

Brian shrugged. “When you can, you make the best of what you’ve got,” he replied. “Our case isn’t all that strong.”

“I don’t think we’ve got a thing to worry about,” Mark declared.

“That’s the first mistake you’ve made so far, “ Brian told him. “We have everything to worry about. Not the least of which
is Dana McAuliffe.”

“Why?” Mark asked. “Sure, I know her firm has a good reputation and all, but when they palmed this case off on her, instead
of putting one of their big guns on it, I figured they were handing us a gift.”

“You think that’s what they did?”

“Well, sure. Everyone around here does.”

Brian leaned back in his chair, his head almost touching the wall behind his desk. “Well, you wouldn’t have any way of knowing
it,” he informed his young assistant. “And for that matter, the powers that be over at Cotter Boland may not know it, either—but
they
did
put their big gun on this case.”

As usual, Dana was at her desk late into the night. Phase one of the Latham trial, and some would say the most crucial, was
about to begin. The evidence was in, the witnesses had been interviewed, the strategy was in place, and the only thing left
for her to do was think. Think it all over, from beginning to end, one last time, making sure that she had everything covered,
and that there were no loose ends. She had spent the last three hours doing just that. Now she was waiting for a telephone
call.

Three weeks ago, the list of prospective jurors had been turned over to Craig Jessup. A week ago, Jessup had passed the list,
along with a concise dossier on each person, to jury consultant Lucy Kashahara, a perky thirty-two-year-old that everyone
at Cotter Boland swore up and down had to be psychic. So far, in the half-dozen cases for which a specialist had been deemed
necessary by the firm, she had not once steered them wrong.

Lucy had taken the information acquired by Jessup and prepared a general, but exquisitely detailed, inquiry: a ten-page, in-depth
analysis designed to probe each prospective juror’s psyche. All one hundred and twenty who were summoned to the courthouse
the previous Friday had been required to fill it out.

“You can ask a question during voir dire,” she explained to Joan Wills. “But you never really know what kind of an answer
you’re getting. Depending on his agenda, a person can tell you the absolute truth, or he can tell you what he thinks you want
to hear, or he can tell you just what he wants you to know and nothing more. With the questionnaire, we ask the same questions
in so many different ways that, in the end, most people can’t help but reveal themselves.”

“You don’t do that for every case, do you?” Joan asked.

“Only when we think we need an edge,” Dana told her with a wry smile. “In this case, we’re going to need all the edge we can
get.”

“And don’t forget for a minute that the other side is doing exactly the same thing we’re doing,” Lucy added. “The only hope
here is that your consultant is going to be just a little bit better at her job than their consultant is.”

It took all of Friday for the jury pool to complete the questionnaires. They were not turned over until six o’clock that evening.
Then Lucy had gone to work, giving up her entire weekend and continuing right through Monday to sift, review, evaluate, compare,
and then prepare her recommendations.

The telephone in Dana’s office rang just after ten.

“I’m done,” Lucy reported, sounding tired but pleased.

“Good,” Dana replied. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

In eleven hours, Dana thought as she hung up. In eleven hours, she would be walking into court, joined by Jessup, Lucy, Joan,
and Charles Ramsey. Among them, they would try to select the twelve jurors and four alternates who would be most likely to
decide the fate of Corey Latham in their favor. If they
guessed wrong, their client would surely be convicted and sentenced to death. But if they guessed right…

Dana pursed her lips. If they guessed right—what? A hung jury? An out-and-out acquittal? Was that too much to expect? Had
the fire in the community, ignited by the gruesomeness of the crime itself, been fanned too high and too hot to allow room
for rational argument? Had the ongoing presence of spokespersons from the prosecutor’s office, airing their case in every
tabloid and all over the television newsmagazines, pushed public perspective beyond reasonable doubt? Would people be looking
for a neck to hang, no matter whose neck it was?

Not for the first time, Dana found herself wondering whether she had made the right decision not to participate in the media
blitz created by the state’s efforts to demonize the young naval officer. She had certainly been invited to jump into the
fray. From
Newsweek
to the
Seattle P-I
and from
60 Minutes
to
Larry King Live
and everyone in between. She was courted by all of them.

“Don’t stoop to the prosecutor’s level,” Paul Cotter had advised her. “Let him try his case in the media. You try yours in
the courtroom.”

It seemed sound advice, and dovetailed with her own intuition that told her to stay out of the spotlight where reporters never
stopped digging, and so much was so often misinterpreted.

The only deviation from that plan came from Cedar Falls, when Barbara Walters of the ABC newsmagazine
20/20
invited the Lathams to sit down with her for a conversation.

“They’re saying such awful things about our son,” Dean explained. “We just want a chance to set the record straight.”

“Only on the clear understanding, and absolute guarantee, that I’ll be given final content approval prior to airing,” the
attorney told him.

Amazingly,
20/20
agreed to the demand, but Dana needn’t
have worried. Walters was a pro, and the living room interview, which filled an entire show at the end of July, was handled
with taste and sincerity, and was absent any hint of sensationalism. The Corey Latham who came to life through the words and
world of his parents was the Corey Latham that Dana herself had come to know. She hoped fervently that everyone who would
wind up on the jury had seen the interview, or if they had not, that she would be able to re-create the essence of it for
them in the courtroom.

The telephone call she was waiting for having come, Dana pulled herself out of her chair and left the office, taking the after-hours
elevator down to the lobby. Her car was parked just across the street from Smith Tower, ready to take her home, but she ignored
it, and instead took the eight-minute walk up to the jail.

“Are you ready?” she asked her client when he was escorted to the interview room.

“I want to get this over with,” he replied. “I want to go home. I want my life back. Yes, I’m ready.”

“But are you ready if it doesn’t go the way you want it to?”