I didn’t respond to Ford, but within a few minutes, he sent me another text.
Closing statements starting in twenty minutes if you want to watch.
I stared at my phone for a few minutes, trying to read something into his message. Did that mean Leary wanted me there? Probably not, because no matter what transpired between the two of us, I know Leary well enough to know that her mind was not on me. I know that her sole focus would be on that jury and what she was going to say to them.
It only took me about five minutes to decide to head over to the courthouse and sneak inside so I could see Leary in action. Although I was officially off the case, there was still something that was bugging me about the rebuttal witnesses, and it had everything to do with the conversation I overheard between Gill Kratzenburg and Tom Collier when I handed in my key. Tom had indicated that they sent the investigator back out to push at the witnesses, which means that their testimony must not have been helpful to begin with. Something happened to get those witnesses to change their minds, and because I had their numbers programmed in my phone, I had intended to call all three of them to poke and prod a bit more into their testimony. It just wasn’t sitting right with me for some reason, and my insatiable curiosity needed to be appeased. I figured I could do that later this afternoon and would rather watch Leary’s argument to the jury.
My chest aches when I first look at her, casually strolling back and forth in front of the jury box as she argues. She chose a conservative dark-gray suit with a pearl-colored blouse. Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail that hangs sleekly down her back. Of course, she’s wearing her sexy-as-shit mile-high black heels that made her legs look even more amazing than I know them to be, but otherwise, she’s conveying to the jury by her look and demeanor that this is some serious shit she’s discussing with them.
“The evidence is clear. If you want to look at this case boiled down into the finest of black-and-white detail, consider this. All three of our expert witnesses emphatically told you that Dr. Summerland had no business doing this type of surgery. Simply put, he wasn’t qualified. Now, you heard Dr. Summerland’s own experts—who we know had some personal bias to consider—hem and haw over their opinions. They said they disagreed with my experts, but remember this: The two general surgeons you heard from admitted to all twelve of you”—and here Leary sweeps her hand out toward the jury—“that they had never attempted to do a breast reduction surgery in their careers. They all admitted to you that they would refer those cases out to a plastic surgeon.”
I watch the jury, noting that every single one of them is listening avidly to Leary. They’re not allowed to take notes, which I find to be a good thing because I often feel like they could miss something important. Several of the jurors are nodding in agreement.
“The medical opinions are clear. Dr. Summerland breached the standard of care by doing an operation he was clearly not qualified to do,” Leary says to summarize the causation issue to the jury. She pauses, looks down at the ground, and takes a deep breath. When she looks back up, her face is troubled.
“But I imagine there are many things that aren’t so clear to you,” she says softly to the jury. “I imagine you have confused feelings over some of the things you’ve heard over the last few weeks. Things that don’t have anything to do with science or medicine or expert opinions.”
She pauses, slowly looks at each juror with open honesty. “Salacious things,” she says ominously. “Dirty, nasty, sordid allegations.”
Leary turns away from the jury, walks over to Jenna, and stands behind her as she sits at counsel table. Placing her hands softly on Jenna’s shoulders, she gives a squeeze and looks back to the jury. “What do you see when you look at Jenna LaPietra?” she asks the jury.
She doesn’t expect an answer. In fact, they can’t give one, but she lets the question lie heavy and pregnant in the air.
“Do you see a whore?” she asks, so quietly I almost have to lean forward to hear her. “Is that what you see?”
Not one of the jurors moves a muscle, and none of them lower their gazes. They all stare right back at Leary.
“That’s what the defense wants you to see,” Leary says, her voice rising a little in pace and tempo. “They want you to be so sidetracked by their smoke and mirrors that you’ll forget all about what you’re really here to decide. They hope you get so incensed over their allegations that you’ll just happen to overlook what this case is really all about.”
The courtroom is so silent you could hear a pin drop. Dropping her hands from Jenna’s shoulders, Leary tucks her hands in the pockets at her hips and strolls back up to the jury, her gaze cast downward. When she reaches the center of the jury box, she looks back up at them.
“Let me ask you this,” she says, again in a softer voice. “If you do believe the defense experts and you do look at Jenna and think she’s a whore, does it even really matter? I mean, in the grand scheme of things, if a woman would go to any lengths to provide for and support her autistic son, would you really hold that against her?”
Leary turns slightly to the left, walks down in front of juror number one, a middle-aged man who, if I recall correctly, is a bank-teller supervisor. She leans in close to him over the box rail and says, “Mr. Vartles, I remember you’re married and have two children. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your kids? Is there anything your wife wouldn’t do for them?”
Then Leary walks down the entire box and addresses each juror with like questions.
Is there anything you wouldn’t do, Mr. Priest?
What about you, Mrs. Cranford? Any line you wouldn’t cross for a sick child?
How about you, Mr. Mason . . . I know you don’t have children, but what about your mother? Is there anything you wouldn’t do for her?
She does this over and over until she’s asked every single juror to put himself metaphorically in Jenna’s shoes. Not one of the jurors looks away, and several give a slow shake of their head although they can’t answer verbally.
When Leary is satisfied she’s made her point, she takes a few steps back from the jury, pulls her hands out of her pockets, and holds her hands out to the side.
“I’m here to tell you that the two witnesses who stood up in front of you and said that Jenna prostituted herself are out-and-out liars. They perjured themselves on the stand. Jenna has denied those allegations in her answers to the defendants’ request for admissions. But I’m also here to tell you, it doesn’t matter one whit if she did or didn’t do it. Because I think we are all in agreement here that a mother’s love shouldn’t be held against her. At least not here, not in this courtroom, when it has absolutely nothing to do with this case. Has nothing to do with Dr. Summerland walking into an operating room and performing a surgery that he was not qualified to do, and while he was intoxicated. Has nothing to do with the fact that Jenna LaPietra was maimed and mangled by a heartless and arrogant man with a God complex, fueled on by alcohol.”
The jury at this point is all unanimously nodding along with Leary. She has them practically eating out of her hand. I really don’t need to see any more. I don’t need to hear one more word out of Leary’s mouth that could make me any prouder of her than I am in this moment.
As I quietly slide off the bench and stand up, I hear Leary’s voice say, “Now . . . let’s talk about how you, the jury, can help right this wrong. How you can help make this travesty a little more tolerable for Jenna and her son.”