Mark Gimenez - Accused

"Not a clue."

They walked through the sand in silence.

"Scott, why do you think women buy millions of romance novels every year?"

"I don't know."

"Because in romance novels the women aren't dependent on men, not sexually or financially. They're in control of their bodies and their bank accounts, they have the power, they have the money. Not being financially dependent on a man, that's a woman's true romantic fantasy."

"I guess we should make women take polygraphs before marriage."

"We'd find a way to beat it. Truth or lie, right or wrong, black or white-that's a man's life. Women live in shades of gray."

Scott stared down the sand to the girls playing in front of the house with little Maria and Consuela in a Mexican peasant dress. Louis stood nearby reading his book.

"Will Boo and Pajamae lie to men?"

"Yes, they will."

"I don't want them to."

"Then go back to Ford Stevens and make millions so they'll be financially independent. So they can be honest with the men in their lives. So they don't have to hide who they really are. So they won't have to compete for their men every day of their lives."

"Compete for their men?"

"Scott, a woman always has to compete for her man."

"Why?"

"Because in every woman's life, there's always another woman."

Rebecca spoke as if reading a verse from the Bible.

"The players competed on the course, we competed for the players off the course. More tour women working out in the fitness trailer than tour players."

"That's what Nick said."

She patted her flat abs. "Two hundred sit-ups a day, an hour on the StairMaster, another hour on the Bowflex. I could compete."

She was in very good shape. Which was evident in the skimpy yellow bikini. The sea breeze brought her scent to him. He breathed her in.

"And it's worse for a beautiful woman."

"Why is it worse to be beautiful?"

"Because a beautiful girl is supposed to be a sex object, not a person. She's supposed to sell her beauty to the highest bidder-that's a beautiful woman's career path. That's how my mother raised me, to be a thing of beauty, to be admired and purchased by a man. And men expect to buy you, just like they buy a sports car. A beautiful woman is a possession a man shows off to other men, and when that possession gets a little dinged up, he trades it in for a new model. You saw the women out there on tour-you see any ugly women with those rich golfers?"

"No. So you knew about Trey and Tess?"

"No. But I'm not stupid. On tour, there are always women making themselves available to the players. Christ, Tess McBride was a Hooters girl."

"She placed second in the Miss Hooters pageant."

"I placed first in the Miss SMU pageant, and there's not a Hooters girl in the world who can compete with an SMU coed."

She was right.

"I'm going to talk to her. Tess."

"When?"

"Tomorrow, at the tournament. After the grand jury hearing."

"Why?"

"Because I think someone on the pro golf tour killed Trey."

Four fail-safes exist to protect the accused in the American criminal justice system: the grand jury, the district attorney, the judge, and the trial jury.

In Texas, politics quickly overcomes the district attorney and the judge-they're lawyers, they're ambitious, and they're elected. And emotion and prejudice overcome trial juries before they are even seated. By the first day of trial, the publicity surrounding the case-especially a high-profile murder case-has overwhelmed the jurors' impartiality. Judgments have already been made, if not rendered. Every lawyer knows that there is no such thing as an impartial jury. Everyone is partial. Which leaves the grand jury as an innocent person's only hope for justice.

In Texas, one shouldn't hold out much hope.

Grand juries in Texas are selected pursuant to the "key man" system: the presiding judge picks three grand jury commissioners-that is, three friends-who in turn pick twelve grand jurors-their friends-who then sit as the grand jury. A few judges have recognized the bias inherent in the key man system and have opted for random selection of grand jurors from voter registration records-but only a few, because to buck the system is to ensure that you will never move up to higher judicial office.

Judge Shelby Morgan wanted to move up.

The Grand Jury Room was located on the first floor of the Galveston County Courts Building adjacent to the district attorney's office. Which was convenient. The D.A. didn't have to walk far to get an indictment.

Scott sat on the front row and observed the twelve friends-the Galveston County Grand Jury-gathered that Friday morning. Non-lawyers would expect a grand jury to be just that: grand. Special. Noble. It wasn't. It was painfully normal. The jurors were all white men, which did not present a constitutional issue since Rebecca Fenney was white. Only one juror wore a tie; the others wore shirts and slacks or jeans. One owned an Italian restaurant, another a furniture store, a third an insurance agency. One was a dentist, another the plant manager at a refinery. All were BOI-born on the Island. It seemed more like a meeting of the local rotary club than a grand jury about to decide whether an American citizen should stand trial for murder.

They did not appear mean-spirited. In fact, they appeared like the men you might meet on the street, men who smiled and said "hidi" and held doors open for ladies, men who readily stopped and fixed a stranded woman's flat tire, men who attended church. They were just regular folks who cared about their community.

And like regular folks, they feared crime.

They saw on television and read in newspapers about brutal, stupid, senseless violent crimes committed every day in America, and they were afraid. They couldn't keep criminals off the Island, so they did the only thing they knew to keep their Island safe: they indicted every person the district attorney brought before them. And why shouldn't they? They had voted for the D.A. They trusted him. If he said someone should stand trial, who were they to question his judgment? They weren't lawyers. He was. They didn't know the law. He did. And he had promised to keep them safe from crime.

Consequently, no lawyer in America holds more power than a county prosecutor.

At exactly nine o'clock, Galveston County Assistant Criminal District Attorney Theodore Newman, his face aglow with a prosecutor's power, stood and told the grand jurors that Rebecca Fenney had murdered Trey Rawlins by stabbing an eight-inch butcher knife from her own kitchen into his chest while he slept in their bed. He called one witness, Detective Chuck Wilson, who testified that Rebecca Fenney's fingerprints were found on the murder weapon.

None of the grand jurors asked a single question.

By law, no one-not even the district attorney-is allowed inside the room while the grand jurors deliberate and vote to either "true bill"-indict-or "no bill"-decline to indict-the accused. So at nine-fifteen that morning, Scott was sitting outside on a bench in the corridor. The fact that a grand jury was voting at that very moment to indict his ex-wife for murder-and knowing he was powerless to stop it-made his face flush hot. He would have to tell the mother of his child that she would stand trial for murder and that if convicted, she could be sentenced to life in prison.

But not to death.

The death penalty may be assessed only for "capital murders": serial murders; murders of children, cops, firefighters, judges, and prison guards; murders committed in the course of a rape, kidnapping, robbery, or arson; and murders for hire. Simply shooting, stabbing, or beating another human being to death with a baseball bat will get you five years to life in prison.