Brad Meltzer - Dead Even

AT SIX-THIRTY IN THE MORNING ON THE DAY OF THE trial, Sara and Jared sat at their kitchen table, staring silently at each other. Although Sara had made herself her favorite breakfast, a giant bowl of Apple Jacks and a tall glass of orange juice, she’d barely touched it. No matter how well prepared she was for this day, no matter how much thought she’d put into it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to be done. As Conrad had warned her the night before, there was nothing like the anxiety of opening day. No amount of experience could appease it; no amount of preparation could allay it.

Sitting across the table from his wife, Jared was consumed by the same fears. Ten minutes ago, he had toasted two slices of rye toast without the crust. He still hadn’t taken more than a bite. Since the day he’d arrived at Wayne & Portnoy, he’d been involved in at least twenty different trials. He’d personally been first chair on seven of them. And while he had already expertly faced dozens of doubting jurors, opening day was always the same: no appetite, upset stomach, striking pain in the base of his neck. That was the way every trial started, and that was what he felt as he stared across at his wife.

After shoving aside her cereal and orange juice, Sara pulled out a pen and scribbled a quick note on the corner of Jared’s newspaper: “Good luck, my love. See you in court.” Then, as silently as she could, she gave him a tender kiss on his forehead. A minute later, she was gone.

As Jared stood up to throw out his toast, the phone rang. “Hello,” he said.

“She looks good today,” Rafferty said. “Sharp coat, nice shoes, no jewelry. Clearly, she’s dressed to impress.”

“Stay the hell away from her,” Jared warned.

“Don’t make threats – they piss me off.”

“Where are you?” Jared asked.

“In my car. Right outside your front door. I’m here to give you a ride to the courthouse.”

“I don’t need-”

“It’s not an offer, Jared. Come downstairs. Now.”

Jared quickly put on his overcoat and grabbed his briefcase. He’d expected Rafferty to offer a final bit of advice before the trial, but he hadn’t thought it’d be this early.

Outside, the morning was typical for a New York winter: bitter cold, no sun, gray skies. When Jared opened the door to Rafferty’s car, he saw both Kozlow and Rafferty waiting.

“Big day, boss,” Kozlow said. “How do I look?”

“It’ll do,” Jared said, eyeing the suit they’d bought for the grand jury. “Make sure to wear the glasses.”

“I got them right here,” Kozlow said, patting his breast pocket. “Safe and sound.”

As Jared took a seat in the back of the car, he could feel Rafferty staring coldly at him. Attempting to ignore the nausea that was dancing in his stomach, Jared asked, “Everything okay?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know that I hit pay dirt last night. I saw her questions for Doniger and Officer McCabe, I read her opening statement, and I got a look at her evidence list. We’re in good shape – we’re now prepared for everything she’s bringing up.”

“What about jury selection?”

“Do I look like a complete novice to you? I know exactly who I’m after: female, white, college educated – hopefully liberal. They take it easy on defendants. And they hate female attorneys.”

“What about Sara? Who’s she after?”

“Don’t worry about Sara. She’s never even done her own jury selection. I’m sure Conrad will have coached her, but she’ll still be up there alone.”

“So you think you’ve got it under control?” Kozlow asked. “You think the odds are you’ll pull out a victory?”

“There are no odds in criminal-defense work,” Jared said. “Either the jury buys your bullshit, or they see what you’re selling and send you on your way.”

“Well then, they better buy your bullshit,” Rafferty warned.

“Listen, I don’t need your-”

“No, you listen,” Rafferty shot back. “I don’t want to hear that you can’t give us odds. And I don’t want to hear that you’re not sure of the outcome. The only thing I want to hear out of your mouth is that you’re going to win this waste-of-my-time case. In fact, that’s what I want you to do. In your own words, I want you to tell me, ‘Rafferty, we’re going to win this case.’”

Jared was silent.

“Say it. Repeat after me,” Rafferty said. “‘Rafferty, we’re going to win this case. Without a doubt, I’m going to win this case for you.’”

Still, Jared didn’t say a word.

“What’re you, deaf?” Kozlow asked, digging his thumb into the cut on Jared’s chin. “Say the damn sentence.”

Glaring at Rafferty, Jared growled, “Rafferty, we’re going to win this case. Without a doubt, I’m going to win this case for you.”

“That’s great news, Mr. Lynch,” Rafferty said. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Standing outside the courtroom, Sara nervously searched the hallway for Conrad. Although it was still twenty minutes before they were supposed to meet, she’d long become accustomed to Conrad being early. And if he wasn’t early, in Sara’s mind, he was late. Too anxious to wait around, she went to the women’s rest room and ran the water until it was warm. She stuck her hands under the faucet, leaving them there for almost a minute. It was a trick Pop had taught her for her first law firm interview: the only known cure for sweaty hands.

As Sara held her hands under the water, she thought she heard a noise from one of the four stalls on the opposite wall. Shutting off the water, she looked in the mirror. No one was behind her. She bent over and took a quick glance under the stalls. No one in sight. Not again, she thought. Cautiously, Sara approached the first stall. She held her breath as she pushed open the door. Empty. Slowly, she pushed open the second door. Empty. As she moved to the third door, her heart was pounding. She carefully nudged it open. Again, empty. Finally, she reached the last door. She knew this was it. Over her shoulder, she thought she saw something behind her. Spinning around, she realized it was nothing. Just her imagination. Once again, she faced the door. With a quick thrust of her leg, she kicked it wide open. Empty. Shaking her head, Sara tried her best to pull it together. Don’t let him do this to you, she told herself. But no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, she couldn’t help but notice that her hands were once again covered in sweat.

After another regime of warm water on her hands, Sara returned to the waiting area outside the courtroom. Conrad still wasn’t there. Finally, at ten to nine, she saw him turn the corner of the hallway. With his usual confident, determined pace, he brusquely marched toward the courtroom. “Ready?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Am I supposed to feel like I’m about to lose consciousness?”

“It’s your first case – and it’s a hell of a case at that. It’s okay to be jittery.”

“Jittery’s one thing. Vomitous is another.”

“They’re both normal. Now put it out of your head and move on,” Conrad said. “Believe me, the moment the judge bangs his gavel, you’ll get in your zone. Every great litigator has the same reaction. A trial makes you more decisive than usual; the emotion hits later.”

“I hope you’re right,” Sara said as she opened the door and stepped into the courtroom. “Because if you’re not, you’re going to be carrying me back to the office.” As she walked down the middle aisle, toward the front of the room, Sara looked around. Doniger wasn’t there. Neither was Officer McCabe. The only people in the courtroom were the court clerk, the stenographer, and two court officers.