Compelling Evidence (47 page)

He doesn't have to talk for me to know this. It is written in his eyes.

Acosta handles this gingerly, leaving the jury in the box, while, Nelson and Meeks, Harry and I join him in chambers. This is required procedure in this state, a conference out of ‐the presence of the jury before the judge may read or explain any jury instrucdon once deliberations have started. The Coconut is worried; he sees mistrial written in this request. He is beginning to wonder whether my assertions of Nelson's body language may not have been closer to the fact than he'd realized.

He is on the prosecutor like a cheap blanket. Nelson is adamant that he has done nothing wrong. This is a short meeting. We all agree. Acosta will read the instruction word for word; he will explain nothing. He will respond to specific questions if the jurors have any, and then perhaps only after a further sidebar with counsel. Back out with the jury, Acost& reads the instruction. But this not resolve their problem.

It seems there is a real dilemma. One of the jurors has made a serious mistake. He has commented ‐vii the defendant's failure to take the stand, Acosta looks at me, trouble in his eyes. I have heard and seen enough. I am out of my chair. "Your the defense moves for a mistria)." f Nelson is up objecting, saying that this error can be cured. "The in,v that the jury has collectively brought this to the attention of f'xtvmtmo 1110, ja., that they understand the spirit, the requirement, ftds instruction," he says. "Certainly any problem is capable of cured by further instruction of this court. We have spent too @,Rs time and effort to have a mistrial at this late date." But I am insistent. "Me law in this area is clear. it is prejudicial ‐Jkl prima facie," I say,

"for the jury to comment upon or consider the defendant's assertion of her Fifth Amendment ITTRR s in a quandary. The law is four‐square on our side. li.'k@ is not a principle in jurisprudence more firmly established. reports are filled with cases of convictions reversed lesser cause than this. calls us to a sidebar. He leans over the lip of the bench JT1 our faces, whispering so the jury cannot hear. 7K

difficult problem." He is all consolation now, trying to 1@,@@,w. me.

It's a good argument, he says, my request for a V mistrial. "But I think it is one best raised on appeal, becomes necessary." He raises bushy eyebrows. "in science, I cannot stop the trial at this stage. I i Put yourself in my place."

In this he is, as ever, practical. Every gesture, calculated for effect.

4 "Your Honor, is it fair that my client should be put ax, of an appeal?" I ask. "Have the threat of a conviction over her head, perhaps for years?"

"She has not yet been convicted," he tells me. "Your Honor, look at them. Listen to what they're He makes a face, cocked off to the side at a angle, a crooked smile, like he is not responsible for people. The message is clear. If I am not happy with have no one to blame but myself. "Your motion is denied," he whispers. We back away, and he puts it on the record. 4" Through all of this, I have been carrying a single the little receipt from the hardware store,'the piece Sharon's probate.

I'd had it in my hand when Dee bomb that the jury was back. I have folded this 16T M. "T'It". little squares as I wait, the product of my nerves. Acosta reads the jury the critical instruction one is re) delivers a blistering lecture on what it means: that 10 no inference whatever from the fact of Talia's silence that they may not discuss the matter or allow it to ww7, deliberations in any way. In this, it is as if he these words, by these admonitions, he can 4AMMORML one would unring a fire Maxon clanging in the night The jury, sheepish now, returns to the task, IM4 doors. We are a somber, ragtag assembly when we reach my Tod and Talia have been hanging to the rear all the ., I courthouse, little conferences between the two of li, these are plans for appeal, ways and means to carry lives in the event of a conviction.

As the flexing metal gate of the elevator slams ce pushes the door that leads to the hallway, Dee is @i her arms held up as if this is some emergency. "They are back," she says. "The jury."

This dm;: magic words. "They have a verdict."

I look at Talia, terror‐struck behind me in the elevator. They have barely had time for a single ballot since we left the courthouse, an ornmous sign. The gauntlet of klieg lights and cameras with their laserlike strobes is particularly bad now. They block our access to the courtroom, looking for new file shots and footage for this evening's news. The word is out as we arrive‐a verdict is at hand. Tod muscles one of the reporters out of his chair on the aisle behind the railing as Harry, Talia, and I take our seats at the table. Tod is in no mood to tarry with, the reporter. Arriving with us in our official party, he gives the reporter one mean stare and the journalist decides to hunch down on one knee in the aisle rather than make a scene. Acosta has instructed the jury to remain in the jury room until they are called.

The judge is in chambers. We are the last to an4w.. Nelson and Meeks are already seated. The bailiff sends The word back to the clerk, and ten seconds later Acosta comes out and ascends the bench, followed by the clerk. He nods and 1@. bailiff knocks on the jury room door. They come out in two even lines of six, file into their rows of diairs, and take their seats. The jury foreman has a single slip of in her hand as she sits down. The clerk is ready; the judge bangs his gavel. "This court will Wi)sor@ to order," he says. A hundred conversations come to a stop in mid‐sentence. Madam foreman, has the jury arrived at a verdict?"

'io

"It has, Your Honor."

"Please give it to the clerk." There's a quick exchange here. Acosta takes the slip and peers for what seems like an eternity. He then looks at Talia, as if is somehow expected. "The defendant will rise," he says.

Talia and I are on our feet. "The clerk will read the verdict." Acosta hands it back to her. "In @e a e le a ia e d charge of a d to de'@ree mur@er, 'm g Orrr P e, th pe c m r of P op v. T 2 e n f s on " of fi T e nd e defen a tte NO G J th m dant' al Po T railing Th co m. ov ere a oar

@ the rl Han lee th :r , f TWI I f d F p I ea_ hl eel a h @d e en a Ins us,r gor S alis I‐ gov r li T 0 my c .T ' n e the 0 ng nto od s n ba k a S ,.LL,L tears strearning down her face. Then to me. She whispers in my ear, barely audible. "Thank you," she says. "1 4 N, how I will ever thank you." There's a lot of warm my cheek.

I I don't know what to say, so I say nothing, and she hug Harry. It is true. There is nothing that exhausts so I F160 sion. I slip down into a seat, my chair at the counse@ '17 a single deep breath. Acosta is trying to beat the 6itiliviv., into order with his gavel. Two reporters have iosini; into the room with their microphones. They are railing behind me for an impromptu interview. 11. I look over. Nelson and Meeks are like two 4)19 table. It is as if everyone on their side of the room to ours, like the building may topple to this side. VC."

Nelson may want to poll the jury. With the may not get the chance.

Acosta looks at him, and z m rjor" shrugs, as if to say

"Why try?"

The judge thanks the jury, but no one hears him. "to is discharged."

He's now standing in front of bench, yelling. "This court is adjourned,"

he s is gone, down the steps, behind the bench, into s the jury still in the box left to fend for itself. The press is now roaming over them, inside the with notebooks trying to find out what happened doors. The jury foreman is holding court at the bailiffs have given up on trying to keep the room. Belted with battery packs, the crews are ZN na@ , anything that looks legal as a backdrop‐‐the with its scene of unseemly chaos. Nelson c S of the cameras, as if to give them a special photo ìN21 up he's standing in front of my counsel table, his as if in congratulations. "Well‐fought case," he says. "Good trial."

"I P‐7‐T"

genuine, unfeigned in this. Some of the print press 441 capture these few words, writing them down as I U writ. I take his hand and shake it.

This is @‐‐ el. news by one of the camera crews. Then he ‐Nelson and Meeks are out of the room, leaving victors. For a moment I am left alone. T he reporters Talia and Harry, asking for reactions. Tali‐‐aa is

@7,77171 shed all anxiety, she's radiant in this moment of / OF * 41 0 4

CHAPTER 23.

THERE is a bridge, 900 feet high, over the

American River. Some people use it to get to Sutter's Mill, the place where James Marshall discovered gold. Some people take it to eternity.

2&jwy‐@ Cooper did that on a Tuesday morning in late October. 'i@, house is in utter disarray. I've not been here in more than year. Had I come and seen the bedlam of this place, perhaps would have known how far over the edge of reality Coop had gone. I've brought Nikki to help me, Parts of this task require a 4,7,rio@rf s touch. There are personal belongings and mement e S t to is curiosity. 4 It is what I have sworn I would never do again, another probate a friend, this time Coop's own. I am making no mistakes. ,@I!iu Conrad is doing her magic with Coop's probate file. Coop had written to me an epistle of some length, in a scarce 3"i

‐1‐c‐ scrawl, and mailed it the day he dove from the bridge. n it profusely for the trial he had put me through, for the and agony of Eli Walker's column, which he had never f7i@ But as Coop had told me that morning at my house, he thought I would take Talia's case. 428 "Jeez,"

says Harry. "The smell."

Harry's wandering 07.7 the rooms of the single‐story farmhouse that Coop and his'@ had bought in the early fifties, a place that had seen many times when the three of them were together as a family. There's a stench about it now, something I have IOOT41PP. I a few times before, like the odor of death. In the time of W' marriage this house was spotless.

Jessica Cooper was , a i i r;A r1ri5l, housekeeper. Now the rooms are cluttered with trash, discarded tainers, aluminum trays of half‐eaten TV

dinners. This think, is a mirror of the chaos that was George A ce 1

those final months of grief, and ultimate revenge. There are newspaper clippings everywhere, yellowing newsprint from the local and national press, all wi a thread, Ben's death, the murder investigation, Talia's

‐‐. indictment. The clippings are strewn on tables, on is ‐ "W rest under dishes of rotting cat food, the pet no There are little piles of feline feceg littering the *iql these have begun to breed curious white molds. In one comer of the room, propped against the wall, frame on wheels, a furniture dolly, and a large carpet. Here in this setting, Coop's story to N on how to move a body no longer appear so ‐11110 "When did you know," says Nikki, "about ‐ *5 been trying to put the pieces together for a week its given her all the parts. 7 "Not until the day of the verdict," I tell her. "IMM. have seen it long before." I cannot believe how been. "The receipt?" says Harry. I nod. "If it hadn't been for Peggie Conrad, the work probate, Cooper@s actions would have gone ism‐lqll

"He was a sick man," says Harry. "He was lost," I say. Harry's dropping little pieces of garbage, wolil some large trash bags he's found in the kitchen. "Looks like Skarpellos told a lot of truth," 1 * I nod. It is troubling that much of what Tony ‐14, to in open court‐his story of Ben's plans for i tion that Ben had designs on another woman, the culed to die jury as false‐I can see now were I iv : "Who was the mystery lady?" says Harry. "Potter's love interest?"

"Sharon Cooper," I say. This settles on him slowly; a soulful expression tells me he is beginning to fit all the pieces together, "Did you suspect during the trial?" he asks. "Never. The Greek was right about a lot of things," I say. 'my estimation of Ben blinded me." It is not that I view their affair, Sharon and Ben's, as great sin, it is that I credited Ben with more discretion, and as things unfolded, a far greater measure of character. In his suicide missive, the one he sent me in the mail, Coop has told me little bits and pieces. I have been left to fill in the rest, but this is not difficult. It seems Ben did intend to divorce Talia, but not until after senate confirmation hearings on his high court nomination were concluded. This is why Talia didn't know. She wasn't meant to, not yet. ',How do you figure a guy in his sixties, and a girl twenty‐sixt, R U% Harry, "Sharon was infatuated, dazzled by the money, the power," I "Ben." I make a face, like this is the wildest of guesses. Vjjjosr@ Ben was in,love. Who knows?"

But what would draw her to an old man?" he says. '@,The mix of her dreams," I tell him, "her desire to be a lawyer, the doting attention of the managing partner in the city's most vm law firm. That's heady stuff when you're twenty‐six and 3@v., school." MORR s nodding like she agrees with this chemistry. "A lot of women go for power," she says. The way Nikki says this, t‐ii tell it is not an option she has ever considered for hemlf. don't think about geriatrics when you're being courted

"W1111malso qduck and Dom Pirignon in crystal, on broad linen," .11Harry. , , t argued with his daughter when she came to him and him of

their plans for marriage‐. This was no May‐December This was folly, and Coop knew it." wiio is much of this moralizing in his letter to me. He and LASK had fought, like only parents and children can, with a .@t;ss that leaves a long‐lasting trail of pain. It was the last time ,@!'would see her alive. (;is it was over," I tell them, "she'd gone to Ben, against her #'s bitter admonitions. They drove along the river road. the rest is surmise. But I think perhaps they argued. Maybe wanted to go public with their plans. Ben resisted, ilmsmrl it not disturb his long‐awaited nomination. He had been r the better part of a year, trekking to Washington to groundwork. A retirement from the court was imminent. road, way Sharon distracted him, and Ben went off the, into the trees."

Nikki has found some family photos in a drawer in Is, room. She's getting teary. I look over her shoul er., 's one, Coop and Jessica, the photo probably en before gray had become the dominant shad on Is, There is a little girl, Sharon, no more than six or 44,z, three of them are standing on some unnamed pier, all happiness. A fingerling of some fish dangles on the M!r_ Sharon, a gap‐toothed grin on her face. No parent acoof11 this and not feel some pain.