Tim Green - The Letter Of The Law

"Would you like to go on, Ms. Jordan?" Rawlins asked derisively. "We have a trial to conduct here."

Casey checked herself from rebuking Rawlins. It was absurd to continue without at least a brief recess, but Casey quickly decided to turn the situation to her advantage. She wouldn't try to hide the tremble in her voice. She wanted them to see she was frightened, that Sales was an uncontrollable, vicious, and violent man capable of almost anything.

She stood, shaking and scared, until Rawlins badgered her again.

"Please, Ms. Jordan," he barked. "Continue if you have anything more to say. If not, I will direct the prosecution to proceed with its case."

Casey drew a breath, cleared her voice, and said, "As you see, Mr. Sales is a furious, unpredictable man… And, as I said, you will hear from him and the police and the prosecutor and all of his other witnesses in an attempt to construct a story that is far from the truth… But you must remember this: The most important charge the judge will give to you will be the words 'beyond a reasonable doubt.'

"That means, my friends, that a reasonable person would have not a single doubt that the prosecutor's story is true. But you will see, I will show you, that his story is remarkably doubtful. I will show you a police force so aggressive and a father so bent by hatred that you will understand why they were so eager to point the finger at Professor Lipton. At first glance, yes, his actions are suspicious. But as I said, there are good reasons for why he acted as he did. They make sense, and they will convince you that he is nothing more than a man in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The DA used the first two days of the trial to unveil the evidence that linked Professor Lipton to the scene of the crime. For the most part, Casey did little on cross-examination. She wanted to lull the opposition into a false sense of security before she poured it on. Except for the actual murder, Casey was conceding that Lipton had done everything the police said. Her theory was that, yes, he was at the scene. Yes, he raced away, hitting a car in the process. Yes, he lied to the police and he even tried to flee.

The only point she got aggressive about had to do with the blood on Marcia Sales's underwear. Casey wanted it clear that the women's underwear Lipton was carrying might not have any connection to the murder at all.

"So," she had asked a witness from the crime lab, "while you know this blood belonged to Marcia Sales, you don't know when it got there, do you?"

"No," the tech had answered.

"It's perfectly possible," Casey continued, "that this blood came from a bite in her tongue or the inside of her mouth, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"So it's possible that Marcia Sales, gagged with that underwear as part of a sexual idiosyncrasy, bit into her tongue or her cheek and bled on that underwear, isn't it?"

The lab technician had to admit that it was possible.

At the time, Donald Sales had twisted his face into a silent snarl. Rawlins had allowed him back into the courtroom after giving him a strong warning that another outburst like the first would land him in jail. Since then, he had spent his time shifting his hateful glare between Casey and Lipton and sometimes even Patti. Instead of avoiding eye contact, Casey stared right back at him, taking in his hatred and allowing her own anger to smolder. She would bring it to a flame when she cross-examined him on the witness stand. And with the information that Tony had gathered, it was going to be a hot flame indeed.

It was the night of that second day when Casey received an unusual call at home from the judge's clerk. Casey was requested in chambers before trial the next morning. The clerk wouldn't say what it was about.

"What's the matter?" her husband asked her absently from his side of the plush velvet couch when she hung up the phone. It was nine-thirty at night. Casey was sitting with him dutifully in their cavernous walnut-paneled den while he watched a rented action movie that she had no interest in.

"I just don't like being called to chambers without knowing why," she said.

"Yeah," he told her, "I know. It'll all work out."

Then his attention was back on the movie. Casey knew he hadn't even really heard her. It was his mantra. It'll all work out. That was how he dealt with any unexpected bumps in Casey's world. He dismissed them, presuming she could take care of it.

She wondered if it was some deficiency in her that caused the people closest to her to act that way. She'd experienced the same thing with her parents while growing up. Whether it was an award for something she did in sports or school, half the time her parents weren't even there. And just recently, after she had won the Texas Trial Lawyers Association's highest honor, her father had responded over the phone by saying, "That's real nice. What'd they eat at the dinner?"

"Did you ever think you might like to know why or what I'm upset about, Taylor?" she asked, suddenly mad at her husband for a lifetime of underappreciation.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure." But his feet remained on the coffee table, his eyes on the screen.

"Can you shut that off for a minute?" she said.

"Honey, it's a good part right now," he told her, eyes still glued to the set. "Give me a minute…"

"Fine," Casey said. She shot off the couch and stomped all the way up the broad spiral staircase to get ready for bed. When she was in her nightshirt, she went to the top of the stairs. She could faintly hear the movie echoing through the long hallways and off the marble walls of the magnificent entryway. He was still watching. She returned to the bedroom and lay down but couldn't sleep. He was obviously going to watch to the conclusion. She was in the middle of an enormous case, a case everyone in all of Texas was talking about, and her husband couldn't even pause his sophomoric action movie to discuss her concerns. It was infuriating.

When he finally did come to bed, she gave him a good dose of silence and the stiffest body language she could muster. He kissed the back of her head anyway, pulled on his sleeping mask, and dropped off to sleep like a champion. Casey twisted under the covers in an attempt to wake him and let him know she was still unsettled, but to no avail. Taylor was out. She lay alone for almost an hour and then felt her way past the fluted columns supporting the archway into the bathroom. She carefully closed the door before feeling for the light switch. Beside the sink on her side of the bathroom, she fished through the ornately carved cabinet until she found a sleeping pill. It wasn't something she liked to do, but with the trial tomorrow and the mysterious conference in chambers, she needed some sleep.

In the morning, it was obvious to Casey that Taylor was now mad at her for being mad at him-so she was mad right back.

On her way into town, Casey turned up the music on the radio louder than normal. She found a song she could sing along with and tried to lose herself in the music, but it kept coming back to her. Her marriage was a farce. It wasn't the fight. It was what was behind the fight. There was nothing there. He didn't really care about her. She was a trophy. She had to face that fact. Her career, her efforts, her cares and concerns were simply interesting novelties for conversation at dinner parties. She saw the way he looked at other women. She was no fool.

Or was she? Had she been kidding herself when she brushed off his roving eyes as a man who simply appreciated beautiful things? There had been other signs as well, now that she allowed herself to think about it. Sometimes he would go on trips and she wouldn't hear from him for a day or two. Then there were phone calls to the house late at night. When she answered, the callers would hang up. Was that just chance or was something there? When they argued, how could it not affect him if she was the only thing in his life? Well, maybe she wasn't the only thing in his life.