Let Darkness Come (35 page)

Her gaze sweeps over the jury, lingering on each face. “Your job, ladies and gentlemen, is to decide if Erin murdered her husband. The judge will explain your options, and he will stress this principle of law—unless the prosecution has proven
beyond all reasonable doubt
that Erin intentionally and maliciously killed her husband, you cannot find her guilty.”

Briley rests her hands on the jury box railing. “Thank you for your time and attention. I have every confidence you will weigh the evidence and come to the right decision.”

 

After Judge Trask instructs the jurors and sends them out to begin deliberations, he adjourns the court. Briley begins to pack her briefcase, but looks up when Bystrowski approaches the defense table. “I heard about what happened to your client,” he says, his eyes roving over Erin's long sleeves and bruised face. “I want you to know we're pushing for a full investigation.”

“I would expect no less.” She slides her trial notebook into her briefcase and stands as the bailiff approaches to escort Erin to a holding cell.

Briley gently pats her client's arm. “I'll see you soon. And don't worry—I believe everything's going to work out as it should.”

Erin dips her head in a grateful nod, then follows the bailiff out of the courtroom. Bystrowski watches her go. “She seems like a nice lady.”

“She is.”

“I'm surprised you didn't hire violins to play during your closing statement. You were pulling on every heartstring.”

Briley widens her eyes in exaggerated innocence. “I only told the absolute truth. Besides—” she grins “—I'm sure you've heard worse. You should have objected if you thought I went over the line.”

He snorts. “If I'd objected after you said you held your tongue, the jury would think I had bad manners.”

“Can't blame them.”

“Aw, come on.” Grinning, he shakes his head and slides his hands into his pockets. “You have to admit you came
this close
to expressing your personal belief in your client's innocence. You know that's against the rules.”

“I seem to recall saying I
didn't
believe Erin's story. I didn't say I changed my mind.”

“Well, no matter what happens, it's been a pleasure. You kept me on my toes.”

“That's quite a compliment.” She snaps her briefcase shut. “See you when the jury comes in, Counselor. Then we'll learn if this group is smart enough to recognize the truth when they hear it.”

K
ate swallows the last of her biscotti and makes a face. “So you're saying the chimera did it.”

“Would make an unusual defense, wouldn't it?” Briley wraps both hands around her tall latte, grateful for its warmth. “I knew I couldn't give the jurors the entire truth. Some of them looked skeptical when I presented the Ambien defense, and
that
one has legal precedent in its favor. If they weren't going to buy the idea of a parasomnia, they'd never go for the real story. So I figured I'd let the DNA speak for itself.”

Timothy shakes his head. “What will you lawyers do when the courts realize that DNA can be unreliable? They're releasing prisoners every year on the basis of old genetic evidence. What if some of those prisoners are actually guilty…and dangerous?”

“That'd be a long shot,” Briley says, “because how many of those people are chimeras? We'll never know unless people are routinely tested with swabs or tissue samples from different areas of their bodies. If you're a chimera, your heart cells could have one type of DNA while your saliva swab reveals something else entirely. But nobody goes around comparing saliva swabs to heart cells.”

“Or hair follicles,” Kate adds.

Timothy crosses his arms. “So a rapist could have one DNA profile in his semen…”

“And another in his saliva,” Briley finishes. “Yeah, I know. But chimeras can't be common. So though no system is foolproof, DNA is still the most reliable tool we have. I'm
betting my case on the hope that those jurors believe DNA doesn't lie.”

“I know one thing.” Timothy takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. “I was amazingly proud of you this morning. You had passion, conviction—and I know the jury felt your belief in your client.”

Briley rolls her eyes. “Bystrowski fussed at me about that. It's considered unethical for an attorney to state her personal belief in a case. I
did
cut that one pretty close.”

“You came close to a lot of things,” Kate says, grinning. “Franklin would have been white-knuckled if he'd been in the gallery.”

“Which reminds me…” Briley looks out the window. “I haven't seen William since yesterday. Have you heard from him?”

“Maybe he's still on vacation.” Kate lifts her cup. “He's probably lying low until your trial ends. Then he'll come back to work with a tan and tell us he's been basking on a Bahamas beach.”

When her cell phone begins to play, Briley dives for her purse. She glances at the caller ID and turns to Timothy. “The jury's in.”

He tightens his scarf around his neck. “That was fast.”

“Too fast.” Briley grabs her latte and slides off her stool. “My boss says quick verdicts favor the prosecution.”

W
ith Briley and Bystrowski waiting at their respective tables, Judge Trask asks the bailiff to bring the jury in. The whispering murmur at the back of the gallery is silenced when a door opens and twelve responsible citizens enter the courtroom, each of them studiously avoiding Briley's gaze.

A frisson of anticipation travels up her spine. Their refusal to make eye contact may not be a good sign. If they'd voted to acquit, at least one juror ought to look her way and offer a smile. So either this is a rather businesslike bunch, or…

She refuses to consider the thought of defeat.

Judge Trask straightens in his chair. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor.” The tall woman they have elected as a foreman stands and gives a note to the bailiff, who hands it to the judge. He glances at it and returns it to the bailiff, who returns it to the foreman.

Briley glances at Erin, who is sitting stiffly erect, her head lowered.

The judge folds his hands and looks at the foreman. “In the matter of the state versus Erin Wilson Tomassi, how do you find?”

“In the matter of the state versus Erin Wilson Tomassi,” the woman reads, her trembling hands rattling the preprinted form, “we find the defendant not guilty on all counts.”

Briley releases her breath in an explosive gasp as several spectators burst into noisy speculation. Beside her, Erin clasps Briley's wrist in a clawlike grip. “Does that mean…?”

The judge pounds his gavel and glares at those who would dare disrupt the proceeding. When they have quieted, he turns to the jury. “Thank you for your service, ladies and gentlemen. You are now free to talk to anyone about the case, and you are dismissed.” He shifts his attention to the defense table. “Mrs. Tomassi, you have been declared not guilty, so you are free to go.”

Briley looks across the aisle, where Bystrowski has stood to pack his briefcase. His smooth countenance is as unreadable as stone.

Behind the prosecutor, however, Antonio Tomassi's face has flushed to the color of a ripe tomato. He and his children have huddled together, but two men in dark suits are threading their way through the mob, gold shields dangling from their breast pockets. One of them is Detective Mark Malone.

“Antonio and Jason Tomassi?” he calls, his voice ringing above the hubbub. He reaches for the older man's arm. “We'd like you to come with us.”

“Not now.” Antonio Tomassi bats away the detective's hand. “I don't know what this foolishness is about, but we are grieving—”

“You're under investigation.” Detective Malone calmly pulls a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and dangles them before Tomassi's eyes. “You can come talk with us peaceably, or I'll walk up to the judge over there and ask him to sign this warrant for your arrest.”

“Hey, Counselor.” Bystrowski stops by the defense table, distracting Briley from the scene on the other side of the courtroom. “Tomassi keeps your firm on retainer, doesn't he?”

She nods, not certain where he's headed.

The state's attorney gives her a wink and a grin. “If in a few weeks you find yourself about to defend him, maybe you should stop by our office. We're always looking for committed attorneys.”

Briley is too stunned to do more than nod, but as she watches Bystrowski shoulder his way through the crowd,
she realizes that she has come to a crossroads. The lawyers at Franklin, Watson, Smyth & Morton see her as dispassionate and aloof. Maybe that description fit a few months ago, but not now. And never again.

She turns to Erin and gives her a hug.

“I don't know how to thank you,” Erin breathes in her ear. “You literally saved my life.”

“I think—” Briley chokes on the lump in her throat. “I think you might have saved my career.” She releases her client and steps back to open the swinging gate between the gallery and the front of the courtroom. Timothy waits there, and he wraps an arm around each woman's shoulder as the media mob surges toward them.

“Mrs. Tomassi!” one reporter shouts. “What is your answer to those who still believe you killed your husband?”

From the corner of her eye, Briley sees Erin shrink back. Then the woman lifts her chin and meets the reporter's accusing eyes. “I can't help what people believe,” she says, her voice threaded with new steel. “But though I was a victim in that marriage, I didn't kill my husband. Clearly, someone else did.”

As the listening reporters scribble on their notepads, Briley, Timothy, and Erin stride out of the courtroom.

“M
iss Lester.”

Travis Bystrowski stands when Briley sticks her head into his small office. The cluttered space is nondescript, at best, and a great deal smaller than her old office at Franklin, Watson, Smyth & Morton. Furthermore, the air smells stale.

But that's probably due to the greasy bag of leftover something-or-other on the corner of the lawyer's desk. She lifts her gaze. “It's Briley Shackelford now.” She twiddles her left hand in front of the prosecutor's face. “Been married all of two weeks.”

“Congratulations, then. You want to sit, or is this a drive-by greeting?”

“I've got a few minutes.” Briley drops into an empty guest chair, then looks out the window behind Bystrowski's desk. The horizon is clear and blue, a sky radiant with the promise of spring. “Nice view.”

“Thanks…but something tells me you didn't come up here to check out my office.”

“I came to ask about the Tomassis. What charges are they facing?”

Bystrowski swivels his chair. “We've got dear Papa T on solicitation of murder, solicitation of murder for hire, attempted murder, and aggravated battery, for starters. We've got Jason on all of the above, plus solicitation to commit battery…on you.” He lifts his head like a dog scenting the breeze. “Wait—your firm isn't defending them, is it?”

She laughs. “Not hardly. I came here to drop my résumé in your boss's office. I'm done with private practice.”

“Really?” The prosecutor leans back in his chair, that Boy Scout grin overtaking his face. “Hey, maybe you'll get to prosecute them. But just so you know, I was hoping to take a crack at Papa T myself.”

“You can have them. If the state of Illinois will have me, I was going to ask about the DeLyles case.”

His smile vanishes, wiped away by earnestness. “The drug dealer who killed the single mom and then tried to sell her kids? I don't know, Briley, that's going to be a heavy case.”

“Doesn't matter. I don't want that monster hurting anyone else. If I get the job, assign me to the case. I'm up for it.”

Bystrowski stares at her for a moment, then he squints in amusement. “I suppose you are. I'll put in a good word.”

“Thanks.” She picks up her briefcase and stands, then steps toward the door. “By the way—you might want to add another charge to the Tomassi indictment.”

“What charge?”

“Involuntary manslaughter. My client survived the attack at the jail, but someone else didn't.”

For a moment, Bystrowski looks confused, then his face falls. “Bummer. Was she pregnant?”

“Not quite.” Briley idly runs her hand over the door frame, then raps on the wood. “On second thought, maybe you shouldn't add the charge, but I'll bet you'd be interested in the story. Sometime when you have an hour free for lunch, let me know and I'll share.”

She's two steps through the doorway when Bystrowski's voice halts her in midstride. “Hey, Briley—the grass isn't greener on this side of the fence, you know. Sometimes things are downright messy over here.”

She looks over her shoulder and gives him a confident smile. “I'm counting on it.”