Every Reasonable Doubt (21 page)

N
owadays, when O’Reilly entered my office, I could tell almost instantly from his body language whether the news was good or bad. From the slump of his shoulders and the way his eyes avoided mine, this news was bad, really bad.

It had been three days since my square-off with Neddy and I hoped O’Reilly hadn’t gotten wind of our spat.

“We need to talk,” he said, closing the door and taking a seat across from me.

“Okay,” I said, eyeing him cautiously.

“I’m putting Neddy back on the Montgomery case.”

Before my confrontation with her, I would have considered this good news. Right now, I wasn’t so sure. “You’re not concerned anymore about her being a suspect in her husband’s death.”

“My sources at the D.A.’s office tell me that’s no longer the case,” he said. “And I think you deserve the credit for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Neddy was wrong about the time she told the police she left the office the night her husband was killed. Those reports you had Building Security dig up provided the alibi she needed. She drove out of the garage at 10:37 P.M. The security cameras even have her on tape. It would have taken her a good twenty-five minutes to make it to Leimert Park. Lawton was already dead before she’d even pulled out of the garage. And it appears he had a pretty big gambling problem. He owed money, a lot of it, to some very mean dudes. That’s where the police are focusing their investigation now.”

I was relieved at the news, though I wished it had come before my big blowup with Neddy. “Okay, judging by the look on your face, there must be some bad news along with the good,” I said.

He looked away. “I’m taking you off the case.” O’Reilly blurted this out as if he were bracing for a verbal barrage from me. “I think you need to regroup from the Hayes case. I’ve put a lot on your shoulders lately. You need a break.”

“O’Reilly I thought we already had this conversation.”

“Well, we’re having it again.”

“So who’ll be handling the case with Neddy?” I asked.

“David.”

I briefly closed my eyes and looked away. “No,” I said.

O’Reilly stared at me. “What did you say?”

“I said no.”

“You don’t exactly have a choice in the matter,” he said sternly.

“I don’t care. You’re not taking me off the case. There’s no reason to.”

O’Reilly must’ve been as shocked as I was at my defiance. He wasn’t sure what to say next. We’d always had a pretty cool relationship, but I had never seen him tolerate anyone talking to him the way I just did and I knew he didn’t like it.

“You need a break,” his tone was paternal. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure. You never got a chance to take a breather after that Hayes trial.”

I was probably kissing partnership goodbye, but I didn’t care. His decision had nothing to do with me needing a break. This was all about my handling of the prelim. “If you’re putting Neddy back on the case, then why take me off? I don’t even think Tina Montgomery likes David.”

“Frankly after that lecture Judge McKee gave you, I don’t think Tina’s feeling too warm and fuzzy about you either.”

“So did Tina initiate this?”

“No, I did,” he said, asserting his authority. “Look, I had no business putting you on this case in the first place. I’d love to give you an opportunity to learn criminal law. But you were right. I was wrong to expect you to cut your teeth on a high-profile case like this.”

I didn’t respond.

“And David’s a little concerned that you can’t be objective. He thinks you believe Tina Montgomery is guilty and that may be clouding your judgment.”

“David’s a prick,” I said.

“Good lawyers usually are.” O’Reilly laughed.

I did not laugh along with him.

“What about all that great publicity you’ll be missing out on,” I said. “‘Two smart, attractive African-American women defending a rich, African-American socialite.’ Weren’t those your words?”

O’Reilly leaned back in the small chair and allowed it to teeter on its two back legs. “I think this firm’s had quite enough publicity for a while. He rocked the chair forward and hopped up.

“Wait,” I said, feeling totally hopeless. “I have a compromise.” I stood up and walked up to him.

He raised a hand to stop me. “Vernetta, the decision’s been made.”

“Just hear me out.” I softened my voice. Challenging him the way I had was probably a mistake. “Why don’t you let all three of us try the case?”

He paused. This was not something O’Reilly had considered.

“We don’t usually staff three attorneys on a criminal case. We—”

“C’mon, O’Reilly,” I said, pleading with him. “You started this whole thing. I didn’t even want to be on the case to begin with. Now I’m all psyched up about it and you’re tossing me aside. We can consider it a training experience for me. I won’t bill any of my work on it and I’ll still handle all my other cases, too.”

“Exactly how do you propose to do that?”

“I have no idea, but I will. I doubt the trial will last more than a few weeks. Judge Graciano runs a tight ship.”

He paused just long enough for me to know that he was going to grant my wish. “Okay, Vernetta,” he warned. “You can stay on the case. But you better not make me regret this decision.”

I
was wrong when I thought the verbal spanking from Judge McKee was the most embarrassing moment of my legal career. It wasn’t.

Early the next morning, I was eating cinnamon French toast prepared by my husband, who was finally beginning to act like his old self again, when a headline on page two of the
L.A. Times’
California section made me gag. Lead Attorney on Montgomery Defense Team Ill-Equipped To Handle Case.

The article went on to basically describe my hearsay screw up during the preliminary hearing and to question why Tina Montgomery would hire an attorney with no criminal law experience. The only good thing about the article was that it ran
after
my conversation with O’Reilly. If he’d read it first, there was no way I’d still be on the case. Before I could decide whether to scream or cry, the telephone rang.

“I’m calling to say thanks,” Neddy said, her voice tentative.

It’s about friggin’ time.
“Thanks for what?”

“For saving my life,” she said gently.

“I wouldn’t exactly go that far.”

“I would,” she said, with clear regret. “I’m sorry I went off on you. I’ve really been on edge lately. I know David’s a jerk. I should’ve known you were only trying to help. And thank God you did. I really am sorry.”

I reached for a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s and doused my French toast with more syrup. “No problem,” I lied. It was going to take a minute for me to warm up to her again.

“You don’t sound so good,” she said.

“That’s an understatement. I guess you haven’t read the paper yet. Go get the
Times
and take a look at the front page of the California section
.
”

She put the phone down. I heard footsteps, followed by the sound of turning newspaper pages. “Oh no!” she said, picking up the telephone. “What happened?”

“Well, let’s just say I didn’t exactly know that hearsay was A-OK during a preliminary hearing.” Every time I thought of that stunt David pulled my forehead ached.

“I can’t believe David didn’t tell you that.”

“Actually, he basically led me to believe that it wasn’t admissible.”

“What?” Neddy said. “What happened?” She still didn’t see David as the asshole I knew him to be.

“I really don’t feel like going into it now.” I stuffed a piece of French toast into my mouth. “I’ll tell you about it later. I don’t know if you know it yet, but you’re back on the Montgomery case. O’Reilly was going to take me off, but I fought the good fight and won. But the consolation prize is David stays on, too.”

“So there’ll be three of us?”

“Not really. Two and a half. I’m the half.”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re still on the team,” she said. “What time are you going into the office today?”

“I’m not. I’m taking a mental health day and treating myself to a day at the spa.”

“You deserve it,” Neddy said.

I cut a piece of French toast and stabbed it with my fork. “As the youngsters say, no doubt.”

I
could always count on Special to be up for a day of playing hooky from work. We were standing in the lobby of the Burke Williams Day Spa in Santa Monica waiting to check in.

“You called in sick?” I chided Special. “Why didn’t you just take a vacation day? If somebody catches you here, you could lose your job.”

“Girl, they’re charging us eighty-five dollars an hour for a massage. Ain’t nobody I work with make enough money to be up in here.”

“Okay,” I warned her, “I’m an employment lawyer. Calling in sick when you’re not constitutes good cause for termination.”

“Not for me,” she said. “I got so much stuff on my boss, the day I go, she’s going to have to pack up her shit, too.”

We both laughed.

A receptionist handed us locker keys and we walked down a long, softly lit hallway to the locker room. The scent of eucalyptus and sandalwood wrapped us in tranquility. I was long overdue for this treat. We undressed and slipped into plush blue robes and made our way to the Quiet Room.

We took neighboring seats in a row of comfy recliners separated by purple velvet curtains. Colorful scented candles provided just enough light. Since we were the only ones in the room, we ignored the “No Talking” sign.

“So how are you and Jefferson doing?” Special asked.

I yawned and stretched at the same time. “Better. Much better. We’re even back to semi-regular sex. I’m just trying to figure out how to broach the subject of adoption with him.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

Special was slow to respond. “Because he’s not ready yet.”

“And how would you know that?”

She began to sputter her words. “Uh–I–uh…because he told me.”

I sat up in my chair and snatched back the curtain separating us. “And when did he tell you that?”

“A few days ago. I ran into him when I was out and we chatted a bit.”

“Ran into him where?”

“Out.” She pulled the curtain forward, separating us again.

I snatched it back. “Out where?”

She stalled for a few seconds. “Friday’s,” she said finally.

“You’re lying. Jefferson hates Friday’s. Why’re you protecting him? Where was he?” I demanded.

“I can’t tell you,” she moaned. “I promised him I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t care what you promised him. You’re
my
best friend, not his. Where the hell was he?”

“I’ll tell you, but only if you promise me you won’t say anything to him about it. Swear?”

I held up her hand. “I swear,” I said.

“I’m not playing,” Special warned. “Jefferson’s my homie. I want him to know that I won’t go blabbing his business.”

That was a joke. Special couldn’t hold water if you handed it to her in a glass. “Okay, okay. Now tell me.”

She winced. “I ran into him at a strip club.”

“Is that all?” I leaned back in the recliner. “Girl, I thought you were going to tell me you found him with some woman.”

Special looked at me with a flabbergasted expression. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? No. Which one was it? The Barbary Coast in Gardena?”

“Yeah,” Special said slowly, still in shock.

“Girl, Jefferson’s been going there for years. Sometimes he comes home from that club so damn horny we have the most incredible sex. I don’t have a problem with him hanging out there.”

“I can’t believe this,” Special said.

“I’m not as uptight as you think, huh?” I said, looking over at her. Special’s eyes were as wide as the clock on the wall. “Jefferson has no idea that I know that’s his little hang out. One of my friends told me her husband saw him there about a year ago. Hey, wait a minute,” I said, sitting up again. “What were
you
doing there?”

“Just cooling out.”

“Since when did you start cooling out at strip clubs?”

She looked as if she were trying to think up a quick lie, then suddenly threw up her hands. “Since I’ve been busy watching your back.”

“Special, just how were you watching
my
back?”

“You told me Jefferson was drinking too much and staying out late. That’s a deadly combination. So I decided to look after your interests and follow him. I told you I was thinking about starting my own private investigations firm. This was basically a practice run. Anyway, all he was doing was nursing a drink and kicking it. He wasn’t even trying to get a lap dance.”

“Special, you actually went to the Barbary Coast by yourself?”

“Yep. And you know I had to fight off quite a few brothers who had the nerve to be all upon me like I was some stripper.”

“Special, you’re crazy,” I said. “Certifiably crazy.”

She laughed. “Girl, I had a good time. The sisters in there ain’t got nothing on you and me. Most of them weren’t even that cute and I know I could wiggle my ass better than half of ‘em. I couldn’t believe how much money the brothers in there were kicking down. I bet some of them girls are making five, six hundred dollars a night in tips.”

“Oh, so now you’re thinking about being a stripper?”

“Maybe. That’s some good money. It’s a helluva lot more than I make now slaving eight hours a day.”

“Wait,” I said, still amazed at Special’s antics. “Let’s get back to Jefferson. What did you two talk about?”

“A whole lot of stuff. Me and brother-in-law had a nice, long heart-to-heart. He’s lonely.”

“Lonely?”

“Yeah. And he told me all about his little problem. He figured you’d already told me anyway.” Special jumped up, grabbed an apple from a sofa table across the room, and sat back down. “Like I told you when you were working like a maniac at that other law firm, that brother’s not going to be willing to play second fiddle to your career forever. He’s just taken the kind of blow few men could handle, but he’s handling it. You need to be there for him. Let him know you need him as much as he needs you. He told me that, too.”

“Special, I can’t just quit my job.”

She bit into the apple and sat back down. “Ain’t there some law firm out there where you can work nine to five?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” I said.

“Then you’re going to end up like all these other professional black women, well-educated, loaded, and manless. Jefferson needs a woman who needs him.”

I could feel one of Special’s lectures coming on. “I do need him,” I said.

“When’s the last time you told him that?”

I didn’t respond because I couldn’t remember if I had ever said those exact words to my husband. But certainly Jefferson had to know that I needed him.

Special hopped out of her chair and stood in front of me, noisily chewing her apple. “You and Jefferson are as different as night and day, that’s why they say opposites attract. He’s totally laid back. You’re Ms. Independent. I’m not saying change who you are. He was apparently attracted to that. But plan some time in your day, or at least in your week, to make your man feel like a man.”

“Aw, here we go. The world according to Special.”

“Mock me if you want to,” Special said, pointing her half-eaten apple at me. “But you know I know what I’m talking about. Men are really simple to please, especially black men. But women don’t understand that. All you have to do to keep the average brother happy is make him a pot of spaghetti once a week, blow him three times a month and tell him he’s The Man every now and then and he’s basically good to go.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said, turning my head. “Is that it? This is the Quiet Room, you know. Why don’t you have a seat?”

“Nope, I ain’t done yet.” She tossed the apple core into the trash can, a good ten feet away and actually made it. “Now, you know I’ve dated my share of married men. And it always baffled me that no matter how bad their marriages were, they weren’t trying to file for divorce. Some of them hadn’t had sex with their wives in years and their kids were grown and gone. A couple of them stayed put because they were scared their wives would take them to the cleaners, but for most of ‘em, money wasn’t the issue. Contrary to what we believe, I think most men want to honor their marriage vows and support their families, but it’s hard when good-looking women are putting it in their faces every day and they have to come home to some evil bitch who’s complaining because he left the toilet seat up. On top of that, she’s gained fifty pounds and don’t want to have sex no more.”

Special was getting on my nerves. “You’d gain fifty pounds and lose interest in sex, too, if you had two or three kids to look after, a full-time job, all the household responsibilities and the weight of your entire family’s problems on your back.”

“That may very well be the case, but what’s a forty-year-old man supposed to do? Give up sex just because his wife don’t want to give him none? That’s like handing a brother a Go-Get-Your-Pussy-Elsewhere pass.”

“Special, for one thing, you’ve never been married, so I don’t consider you to be an authority on the subject. And second, I don’t understand why you’re telling me this. Jefferson and I don’t have that problem.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but you’re going to end up taking him for granted just like every other married woman I know.” She stopped to stretch, bending over to touch her toes. “And I don’t understand what’s so hard about giving your man some nooky on a regular basis. It don’t cost you nothing and it don’t take that long. We’re talking about, what? Twenty, thirty minutes tops out of your day. And despite all that Mandingo bullshit, it’s probably more like five or ten minutes for brothers in our age range. Why is that so hard to do?”

I hoped the attendant called us for our massages soon because once Special got on her soapbox there was no stopping her. “I get your point,” I said. “From now on, I’m going to skip lunch and run home and freak my husband.”

“You can be facetious if you want to,” she said, finally sitting back down.

I took her silence as a good thing.

“How’s that Montgomery case going?” she asked after a few short seconds.

I didn’t want to talk about Tina Montgomery either, but in light of the topic we had just finished discussing, this one was definitely the more appealing of the two.

I leaned forward in my chair and scanned the room to make sure we were still alone. “Fine, for now I guess. But I almost got myself thrown off the case.”

“What for?”

“I guess you didn’t see the paper this morning. I made this stupid objection at the preliminary hearing and there’s an article about it in today’s
Times.
I basically had to beg O’Reilly not to take me off the case.”

Special flew out of her chair and was hovering over me. “What the hell is wrong with you? I know you like this law stuff, but you actually begged to stay on that case when you know how much Jefferson needs you right now?”

I hadn’t really thought about it like that. From her vantage point, I guess my actions did seem pretty selfish. “Special, if I’d let them throw me off the case, I never would’ve been able to live down that stupid mistake. All anybody would’ve remembered about me is that article in the
Times
basically calling me incompetent. I have to stay on this case to prove to everybody that I’m not a bungling idiot just because I didn’t know about some hearsay rule. There’s no way I’m going to let that misstep screw up my partnership chances.”

“You haven’t heard a word I said,” Special said, more serious now. “It’s all about your job. What about your man?”

“My man is just fine.”

“No he isn’t! He needs you right now. You’re taking it for granted that he’s always going to accept playing second fiddle to your career. But that’s a dangerous gamble, girlfriend.”

I couldn’t take her preaching at me anymore. “Why don’t you just let
me
handle my marriage and my career?”

“Okay,” she snorted, sitting down again. “And I’ll try to be a good friend and not say I told you so when Jefferson gets fed up with being neglected.”

She sulked to herself for a short while, but in no time started up again. “I feel so sorry for black men. They get the worst rap for the way they treat women, but we’re really a big part of the problem.”

“Whatever, Special. It’s not like you haven’t screwed over half the men in L.A.”

“You’re wrong,” she said. “Not quite half. Maybe about a third. Anyway, I understand men and what it takes to make them happy. Most women don’t.”

“Please spare me another lecture,” I pleaded.

“No,” she insisted. “You need to hear this.” She got up for the fourth time and started pacing around the room. “People are always dogging brothers out, claiming they don’t take care of their families, that they can’t keep a job, and that they run around. Assuming there’s some truth to that, you have to look at the root cause. First, their mamas baby ‘em to death so when we get ‘em, it’s basically too late because they’re already ruined. But instead of building them up, all we do is tear them down. Black men take more crap from their women than any other group of men on the planet.”

Special was walking back and forth in a straight line now, acting like she was delivering a sermon to a packed church. “It drives me nuts hearing how bad some of those heffas at my job talk about their men. One of them was complaining the other day because her husband bought her some freeway flowers. You know, them flowers you see them selling on the freeway off ramps that cost about ten bucks. She gave them back and told him she didn’t want that ‘cheap- ass shit.’ Can you believe that? Can you imagine how he felt? He was just trying to do something nice. Now, when do you think that brother’s going to buy her ass some flowers again? That’s the very reason all our men are flocking to white women. A white girl would’ve been smiling like those ten-dollar flowers were a diamond necklace. And when they died, she would’ve pasted ‘em in her damn scrapbook.”

“Special, I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” I said. “I don’t treat Jefferson like that.”

“Yes, you do,” Special insisted. “Every time you run out the door to play savior to one of your clients, it’s just like taking some freeway flowers and flinging them in his face.”

I tried to take in the smell of the eucalyptus and ignore what Special was saying.

“I guess you don’t have nothing to say to that, huh, counselor,” Special taunted. “And you can get mad at me if you want to, but sometimes people need to hear the truth, even if it hurts.”