Claymore looked crestfallen.
“And what do we need? If we had the ideal choice.”
Andi was about to speak when Alex finally entered the discussion.
“Ideally, we’d have a jury of liberal whites.” He was going to elaborate on his reasons, but held back, realizing that it would sound just a little too cynical.
“So what can we do?”
Alex and Andi exchanged glances. In the end it was Andi who spoke.
“In the real world, the outcome of one controversial case can often have a knock-on effect on the next. In the O J Simpson case, the acquittal of the cops who viciously beat Rodney King was still fresh in the minds of the jurors. The truth of the matter is that a case that may be cast iron and watertight in the courtroom can fall apart in the jury room.”
“So are there any recent cases we can take advantage of?” asked Claymore. The cynical words fell uneasily from his lips.
“Unfortunately not. In this case, the key to winning was getting the right jury,” said Andi. “And that means holding the trial in the right district and then using challenges to prune and cherry pick the jury. Sometimes that might be as simple as getting a jury of the right ethnic group. In the O J Simpson case, the defense were able to get a predominantly African-American jury. In the Rodney King case it was an all-white one in Simi valley where a lot of cops lived.”
“And can we do that?”
Again Andi looked at Alex. Again he nodded to let her know that he was content to let her speak.
“In this case it’s a little more complicated. Even if we can get an all-black jury, it’s by no means certain that such a jury would favor you. Like you said, a lot of blacks have been alienated by your outspoken views.”
After a while, Claymore broke the silence.
“Could I ask a personal question Miss Phoenix? Did you volunteer for this job?”
Alex felt a stab of fear, wondering if Andi’s answer was going to be tactful or brutally honest. But whatever it was to be, he knew that he couldn’t interfere now.
“That’s not a personal question,” she replied with a reassuring smile. Claymore was watching her closely. “I…”
She looked at Alex. But his face offered her no hint of assistance. “I was asked by Mr. Sedaka to help, and I agreed. Alex was… most convincing.”
Alex coughed nervously. In front of him were several copies of the evidence report, at this stage a mere dozen pages stapled together.
“OK, I think we’d better get a move on. We’re working on some research for the change of venue motion, but in the meantime we need to review the evidence.”
He handed copies of the report to Andi and Claymore.
“The case against you appears to be made up of the following. One: a statement of the alleged victim including the second of two photo line-ups. Two: a medical report about the victim’s physical condition right after she reported the incident. Three: police photographic evidence of same. Four, a DNA comparison between crime-scene DNA and reference samples taken from you and the alleged victim. Five: eye-witness evidence after the alleged rape that you were seen running from the crime scene. Six: your arrest record — six counts of rape. We may be able to block that, depending on how we want to fight the case, but in practice it was so high profile, every member of the jury is going to know about it long before they enter the courtroom.”
“I don’t know where they got this stuff,” said Claymore shaking his head, “I mean all that other stuff.”
“Some of it’s easy enough to demolish,” said Alex. “The witness who saw you running away is weak. But the real problem is the DNA and the medical and photographic evidence. The visible injuries to the girl make it hard to argue consent and the DNA makes it equally hard to deny that a sexual encounter took place.”
“I don’t understand how they could’ve got DNA evidence.”
“How do you mean?” asked Andi, suspicion creeping into her tone.
“I never touched her. I’ve never even met her.”
“All right,” said Alex. “We’ll go into that in a moment. But first let me make one thing clear: we can argue that the sex was rough but consensual or we can argue DNA contamination and see if we can come up with anything. But not both. We have to nail our colors to the mast quite early. In effect you’ve already committed us to saying that it’s mistaken identity because of what you told the police. Technically we can still change your story, but it won’t look good.”
“But why should I change it? I never even met the bit…”
For a few seconds they all avoided each other’s eyes as they realized what Claymore had been about to say.
Monday, 15 June 2009 — 13:00
“There goes Uncle Tom.”
There was mocking laughter and jeering as Elias Claymore shuffled his way to the end of the table.
“Watch where you’re sitting!” snarled the man next to him, as Claymore barely brushed against him when he sat.
Claymore tried to ignore the taunts. But when he raised the food to his mouth, he felt a sharp elbow in the rib cage, making him drop it. He knew that this was the test. If he showed weakness now, they would make his life a living hell. He had to stand up to the bullies before they saw him as easy prey.
“Look cut it out!” he shouted, leaping to his feet and turning to face his attacker.
The man rose to face Claymore. They were evenly matched for size, but the man was a lot younger and probably a lot fitter.
“You talkin’ to me Tom!”
The words were backed up by an open-handed shove.
“Yeah you!” Claymore shot back, shoving the man equally hard.
Then the man took a swing at Claymore. Claymore ducked and dove in under the younger man’s guard, clamping on a side headlock and a hooking his right leg around the younger man’s left leg in a grapevine. The young man took a swing at Claymore with his left fist, which Claymore deflected with his open right. But he couldn’t avoid the younger man’s rabbit punch to the back of his head, a second before he swung the man round and grappled him to the ground.
At that point the whole place erupted into pure chaos as a nervous guard hit the panic button
Monday, 15 June 2009 — 16:35
“So when are you going back to LA?”
Alex was sitting with Juanita in the reception of their San Francisco office on the 15th floor of the Embarcadero Center. He had flown back that afternoon, after the consultation with Claymore, and was now briefing his paralegal on the background to the case.
“We’ve got the prelim in twelve days and I’m planning on pushing hard for a change of venue.”
“What are the chances?”
“Well the DA will fight us all the way. It’s Sarah Jensen. I don’t know if you’ve heard of her.”
“I’ve heard of her,” said Juanita. “Ventura County Domestic Violence section. The rumor mill says she’s got her sights set on her boss’s job.”
“And her boss has his sights set on Sacramento.”
“Exactly. Anyway, we already had a fight on our hands about Andromeda Phoenix taking second seat and we won that. But that’s ‘cause she didn’t really have a leg to stand on. That means she’ll be even more determined on this one. And she’s got time to do her homework so it’s going to turn ugly.”
“Maybe you should step aside and let it turn into a catfight. Assuming she’s good enough.”