Kaleidoscope (29 page)

“Cronus seemed pretty down. I was trying to be encouraging.”

Zack sighed. “I was afraid of that. But just for the hell of it, I’m going to pretend juror number six is wavering.”

Despite the fact that the courtroom was packed, I was able to get the seat with the unimpeded sightline to the jury that I’d had before the weekend. When the jurors entered, I noticed that the very old lady looked well rested, and for no reason whatsoever, I took that as a good sign.

Zack’s closing statement was tight. He thanked the jury for their diligence. He also thanked them for their forbearance in remaining tolerant and restrained when they were confronted with graphic and unsettling testimony. He cited the same evidence the Crown had presented, but he said, as judges of the facts, the jurors were compelled to separate the facts from their reaction to the defendant and how he earned his living.

“I know how difficult that is,” Zack said with a small smile. “I’m a lawyer. I’ve heard the jokes. Nobody even bothers to make jokes about slumlords. My client owns and rents houses in North Central. These are houses that, as he testified, serve the needs of a very specific population. You and I might not like Cronus’s choice of occupation, and we may not share his choice of sexual practices. All of that is irrelevant. As judges of the facts, all you are being asked to do is decide whether the facts in this case are sufficient to declare my client guilty of murder.

“They are not. As the Crown counsel pointed out, this is a curious version of he said/she said. But this equation is more complex than the Crown would have you believe.

“You are asked to find this defendant guilty of murder. You have seen the autopsy photographs and you’ve heard the pathology reports. Arden Raeburn died from gunshot wounds. The bullets that killed her were fired from her own Glock pistol. There is not one iota of evidence connecting Cronus to that pistol. No fingerprints. No witnesses testifying that Cronus was in Arden Raeburn’s apartment at the time the pistol was fired. Nothing. And none of Cronus’s
actions on the night of April 24, 2010, are those of a man guilty of murder.

“You heard his testimony. On that Saturday evening, he and Arden engaged in the same acts that they had indulged in for more than three years. At the ending of the evening, he and Arden had a drink together. Then, as he did every Saturday night, Cronus drove home, played with his cat, and went to bed. He made no attempt to dispose of the clothing he was wearing that night. As usual, he put what he’d been wearing in the laundry hamper where the cleaning lady who came every Tuesday would find it and wash it. He slept well, and when the police arrived to question him Sunday afternoon, he was sitting in his living room having a beer and watching a basketball game.

“These are not the actions of a guilty man, and I ask you to remember that when you determine Cronus’s future.”

As Linda Fritz rose to deliver her closing statement, every eye in the courtroom was on her. With her auburn hair smoothed into a French twist as carefully composed as she was, Linda was a commanding figure. She began by thanking the jury for their attention throughout the trial and commending them for the gravity with which they had accepted their responsibility as “judges of the facts.” She then gave a careful précis of the evidence.

There was no dispute between the Crown and the defence about physical evidence. Both agreed that Arden Raeburn’s regulation Glock pistol was the murder weapon and that it had been wiped clean of prints. There was no dispute about the ballistics reports that measured the distance and angle from which the shots were fired. The physical evidence on Arden’s body and beneath her fingernails could have suggested either that she fought off her assailant or that she had been a willing partner in a session of rough sex. The blood, bodily fluids, and fibre remnants taken from Arden’s body
matched samples from Cronus, just as the blood, bodily fluids, and fibre remnants on Cronus matched samples taken from Arden. The defence had conceded that on Saturday nights, “date nights” for Arden and Cronus, the couple in the neighbouring apartment had often heard signs of struggle, but Zack had established that the couple had never approached Arden with an offer of assistance, nor had she requested help.

Only once did Linda falter. When she touched on what might have motivated Cronus to murder Arden Raeburn, Linda could only suggest that the only two people who knew what happened that night were Arden and Cronus, and Arden was dead. At that point I glanced over at Zack. He wrote something on his legal pad and drew his associate Chad Kichula’s attention to the notation. Without seeing the legal pad I knew that Zack had written the number 3 on the page. For him, the fact that there had been three people in Arden’s apartment the night of the murder had become an article of faith. One of the three was dead, one was unjustly accused, and the third, the real murderer, was still at large.

Madam Justice Rebecca Cann began her charge to the jury by giving the standard instructions about the credibility of witnesses, the weight of circumstantial evidence, and the concept of reasonable doubt. She delivered her charge on the law slowly and precisely. “As defined by the Criminal Code of Canada,” she said, “murder is a culpable homicide with specific intentions. To be found guilty of murder, the person who causes the death of a human being either meant to cause that death, meant to cause the human being bodily harm that he knew was likely to cause death, or was reckless about whether death would ensue or not.” Justice Cann gave further directions on first and second degree murder. She then instructed the jury that they could find the defendant guilty only if the Crown had established all the necessary elements, including intent.

Finally, the judge outlined the evidence presented during the trial, then without drama, the jury filed out to begin deliberations. After they left, there was the usual hubbub in the courtroom. A guard escorted Cronus down to the cell in the courthouse basement where he spent the periods of the day when court was not in session. The judge went back to her office. When the crowd thinned, I walked over to the table where Zack was sitting with his associate Chad Kichula.

It was the first time I’d met Chad, and as Zack introduced us, a smile played at the corner of his lips. Zack had told me Chad was a rock star, and his description was right on the money. Tall and lean, with dark blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a dangerous smile, Chad was indisputably what Taylor and her friends called a stud muffin. The stud muffin and I shook hands and then he left the courtroom for the Barristers’ Lounge.

One of Zack’s favourite quotes was from a Regina prosecutor named Serge Kujawa. Kujawa said that speculating on what a jury was doing and why was a total waste of time, so he spent all his time speculating. As a rule, Zack wasn’t a speculator. He had an uncanny ability to leave a case at the courthouse, but that day I knew that he would carry the burden of this case with him until the verdict came in, and I was worried.

“Chad’s on duty,” I said. “Any chance we could go home for a swim?”

“Sorry, Ms. Shreve. I have to be here. If the jury asks the judge questions, I have to know her answers. I may not agree with her interpretation of the law and that could be a problem down the line.”

“If you don’t get rid of some of that tension, there’ll be another kind of problem down the line,” I said.

“Then I’ll have to deal with it. You know this is my job, Jo. During a trial everybody’s on call: the judge, the staff, the jurors, the Crown, the defence, and the defendant. I don’t
want a mistrial because I was swimming when I should have been in the courtroom.”

Zack looked grey and spent. I wasn’t about to give up. “You trust Chad,” I said. “I’ll leave the phone by the pool. You can be back here in half an hour.”

“Madam Justice Cann will be pissed.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But you’ll be alive, and that’s pretty much all I care about.”

I won that small battle. Zack came home. We swam and he was back at the courthouse in a little over an hour, where he stayed until ten that night. I had a martini waiting for him. He thanked me for the thought, asked me to save the drink for the next day, and fell into bed.

The next morning we reached a compromise. Whenever Zack thought he could safely leave, he’d call me. There wasn’t much down time, but we made the most of what we had. If there was a two-hour lunch recess, we’d eat on the terrace and take a nap or I’d swing by Mieka’s and pick up the granddaughters for some grandparent time in the roof garden.

By Friday morning, there was still no verdict in the Cronus case and we were both on edge. I blinked first. “It’s been two full days,” I said. “What do you think is going on?”

“Probably one of the jurors is holding out,” Zack said. “I’ve been running through their faces in my mind, trying to figure which one of them seemed sympathetic.”

“Does it matter?”

“Nope.” Zack’s smile was self-mocking. “I just get off on playing head games with myself.”

I laughed. “What happens if the juror continues to hold out?”

“The foreperson will announce that the jury is unable to reach a verdict, and the Crown will have the option of running a new trial.”

“And you’ll be back to square one.”

“Not really. The Crown will almost certainly decide to run a new trial, and there are things I’ll do differently. Of course, there are things Linda will do differently, too.”

“But for Cronus, anything is better than a guilty verdict.”

“Yes, but we’re not home free yet. Peer pressure is powerful. It’s hard to withstand the arguments and the frustrations of people you’ve been working with closely – especially when there’s so much at stake.”

“So we just cross our fingers and hope for the best?”

“That’s the usual legal advice,” Zack said dryly.

That afternoon, we were coming home from a late lunch when Chad Kichula called. The verdict was in.

“Time to go back to work,” Zack said.

“Do you want me to come to court with you?”

“I’d be glad to have you there. Cronus isn’t going to have a lot of friends in that room.”

“You think the jury will convict him?” I said.

“There are always surprises.” Zack said, but he didn’t sound as if he was expecting one.

When we got to the courthouse, it seemed that we weren’t the only ones caught off guard. Linda Fritz’s hair was damp. “I was at the gym,” she said.

“I’ll stay down wind,” Zack said.

Linda’s look would have curdled milk. “I showered,” she said.

Zack opened his arms wide. “In that case …”

Linda turned to me. “How do you put up with him?” She didn’t stick around for an answer. Zack shrugged, then wheeled down the corridor to get his barrister’s robe and I headed for Courtroom B.

I was able to get a good seat again. I’d just pulled out my BlackBerry to check for messages when Cronus was brought
in. He was dressed more casually than usual – in slacks, a crisp, casual-Friday cotton shirt, and loafers. He looked like the average guy, exactly the look Zack had been pressing for all along.

When Cronus strode to the prisoner’s box, I saw that his face was drawn and dark circles of sweat were spreading under the armpits of his summer shirt. After the lawyers had taken their places, the jury filed in, and then finally Madam Justice Rebecca Cann entered. The courtroom was packed, and the tension was palpable, but the protocol that governed the delivery of the verdict was low-key.

The court clerk addressed the jury: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?”

The jury foreperson, a balding man who seemed to have grown smaller and more bent during the days of the trial, stood and announced that the jury had indeed agreed upon a verdict.

As Cronus stood to hear his fate, his hands were trembling. So were mine.

Then it was the court clerk’s turn: “How say you? Do you find the accused guilty or not guilty on the charge of first degree murder?”

“Not guilty,” the jury foreperson said.

“Do you find the accused guilty or not guilty on the charge of second degree murder?”

“Not guilty,” the jury foreperson said.

Cronus closed his eyes and exhaled. Chad Kichula and two other associates from Falconer Shreve who had come to watch clapped Zack on the back. It was over. Except for one puzzling coda. As the jury filed out, the very old woman who had dozed during much of the testimony made sure she caught Zack’s eye and then she winked. Zack’s nod of acknowledgement was barely perceptible.

The associates formed a wedge in front of Zack and Cronus so they were able to get out of the courtroom. I joined them
in the lobby. I offered Cronus my congratulations. “I really am innocent, Joanne,” he said.

“I know you are,” I said. “I’m glad the verdict went your way.”

“So am I,” Cronus said.

“Well. that’s that,” Zack said, shrugging off his robe. He turned to Chad and the other associates. “Keep the media away from Cronus till he gets to his car. After that go out and have a great dinner. Charge it to Falconer Shreve.”

Zack looked up at me. “Show’s over,” he said. “Let’s get out of here. Boy, I never figured the old lady would be our salvation.”

I took his robe. “You always say, ‘It only takes one.’ ”

“True enough,” Zack said. “All that matters is that the puck goes into the net, and the red light goes on.”

Having decided to wait till the next morning to drive to the lake, we were in bed and asleep by seven-thirty. We awoke to an acutely beautiful day – cloudless, bright, and warm. Zack and I turned towards each other and embraced wordlessly. Seemingly, the verdict had lifted the heaviness that had been weighing on us since the trial began.

As always, I met Leland at the elevator, and he, too, seemed light-hearted. “I almost stood you up this morning,” he said. “I didn’t want to leave Margot.”

“The good thing about being married is that Margot will be waiting when you come back,” I said.

Leland met my eyes. “I’m a lucky man, Joanne.”

We exchanged a quick smile of camaraderie and stepped into the elevator. As we began our run, the sun was hot but there was breeze enough to keep us comfortable. Except for the sound of our footfalls hitting the sidewalk in unison, the world was silent. It was a perfect day for running.