By the time they reached the vantage point that Nat had selected, they didn’t have long to wait before the first runner came into view over the brow of the hill. They watched Boston’s captain shoot past them, and ten other runners had come and gone before Nat appeared. He gave a wave as he sped off down the hill.
‘He’s the last counter,’ said Su Ling as they set off to take the short cut back to the finishing line.
‘My bet is that he’ll move up two or three places now he knows you’re here to watch him,’ said Tom.
‘How flattering,’ said Su Ling.
‘Will you be taking up the Harvard offer?’ asked Tom quietly.
‘Did Nat ask you to find out?’ she enquired.
‘No,’ said Tom, ‘though he talks of little else.’
‘I have said yes, but only on one condition.’ Tom remained silent. Su Ling didn’t tell Tom what the condition was, so he didn’t ask.
They almost had to jog the last couple of hundred yards to make sure they were back in time to see the Boston captain raise his arms in triumph as he crossed the finishing line. Tom turned out to be right, because Nat ended up in ninth position, and fourth counter for his team. Both of them rushed over to congratulate him as if he were the winner. Nat lay on the ground exhausted, disappointed that he hadn’t done better when he learned that Boston had won by 31 to 24.
After supper with Aunt Abigail, they started out on the long drive back to Storrs. Nat rested his head in Su Ling’s lap and quickly fell asleep.
‘I can’t imagine what my mother would say about our first night together,’ she whispered to Tom as he drove on through the night.
‘Why don’t you go the whole hog and tell her that it was a menage a trois?’
‘Mother thought you were wonderful,’ said Su Ling as they walked slowly back towards south campus after tea the following afternoon.
‘What a woman,’ said Nat. ‘She can cook, run a home and is also a successful businesswoman.’
‘And don’t forget,’ said Su Ling, ‘that she was shunned in her own land for bearing a foreigner’s child and wasn’t even welcomed in this country when she first arrived, which is the reason I’ve been brought up so strictly. Like so many children of immigrants, I’m no cleverer than my mother, but by sacrificing everything to give me a first-class education, she has allowed me a better chance than she ever had. Perhaps you can now understand why I always try to respect her wishes.’
‘Yes, I can,’ said Nat, ‘and now that I’ve met your mother, I’d like you to meet mine, because I am equally proud of her.’ Su Ling laughed.
‘Why do you laugh, little flower?’ asked Nat.
‘In my country, for a man to meet a woman’s mother is to admit to a relationship. If the man then asks you to meet his mother, it means betrothal. If he then does not marry the girl, she will be a spinster for the rest of her life. However, I will take that risk, because Tom asked me to marry him yesterday when you were running away.’
Nat bent down, kissed her on the lips and then placed both his feet gently on top of hers. She smiled. ‘I love you too,’ she said.
20
‘What do you make of it?’ asked Jimmy.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Fletcher, who glanced over at the attorney general’s table, but none of the state’s team gave any sign of looking either anxious or confident.
‘You could always ask Professor Abrahams for his opinion,’ said Annie.
‘Why, is he still around?’
‘I saw him roaming up and down the corridor only a few moments ago.’
Fletcher left the table, pushed open the little wooden gate dividing the court from the public and strode quickly out of the courtroom into the corridor. He glanced up and down the wide marble expanse, but didn’t spot the professor until the crowds near the rotunda staircase parted to reveal a distinguished looking man seated in the corner, head down, writing notes on a legal pad. Court officials and members of the public rushed past him, unaware of his presence. Fletcher walked apprehensively across to join him and watched as the old man continued making notes. He didn’t feel he could interrupt, so waited until the professor eventually looked up.
‘Ah, Davenport,’ he said, tapping the bench beside him. ‘Take a seat. You have an enquiring look on your face, so how may I assist you?’
Fletcher sat beside him. ‘I only wanted to ask your opinion on why the jury has been out for so long. Should I read anything into it?’
The professor checked his watch. ‘Just over five hours,’ he said. ‘No, I wouldn’t consider that long for a capital charge. Juries like to let you know that they’ve taken their responsibility seriously, unless of course it’s cut and dried, and this case certainly wasn’t.’
‘Do you have any feel for what the outcome might be?’ asked Fletcher anxiously.
‘You can never second-guess a jury, Mr Davenport; twelve people chosen at random, with little in common, though I must say, with a couple of exceptions, they looked a fair-minded lot. So what’s your next question?’
‘I don’t know, sir, what is my next question?’
‘What should I do if the verdict goes against me?’ He paused. ‘An eventuality you must always prepare for.’ Fletcher nodded. ‘Answer? You immediately ask the judge for leave to appeal.’ The professor tore off one of the sheets of yellow paper and handed it across to his pupil. ‘I hope you will not consider it presumptuous of me, but I have jotted down a simple form of words for every eventuality.’
‘Including guilty?’ said Fletcher.
‘No need to be that pessimistic yet. First we must consider the possibility of a hung jury. I observed in the centre of the back row a juror who never once looked at our client while she was on the witness stand. But I noticed that you also spotted the lady on the far end of the front row who lowered her eyes when you held up the scorched palm of Mrs Kirsten’s right hand.’
‘What do I do if it is a hung jury?’
‘Nothing. The judge, although not the brightest legal mind currently sitting on the appellant bench, is meticulous and fair when it comes to points of law, so he will ask the jury if they are able to return a majority verdict.’
‘Which in this state is ten to two.’
‘As it is in forty-three other states,’ the professor reminded him.
‘But if they are unable to agree on a majority verdict?’
‘The judge is left with no choice but to dismiss the jury and ask the attorney general if he wishes to call for a retrial, and before you ask, I can’t second-guess how Mr Stamp will react to that eventuality.’
‘You seem to have made a lot of notes,’ Fletcher said, looking down at line after line of neatly written script.
‘Yes, I intend to refer to this case next term when I give my lecture on the legal difference between manslaughter and homicide. It will be for my third-year students, so you should not be too embarrassed.’
‘Should I have accepted the attorney general’s deal of manslaughter, and settled for three years?’
‘I suspect we will find out the answer to that question in the not-too-distant future.’
‘Did I make a lot of mistakes?’ asked Fletcher.
‘A few,’ said the professor turning the pages of his pad.
‘What was the biggest one?’
‘Your only glaring error, in my opinion, was not calling a doctor to describe in graphic detail — something doctors always enjoy doing — how the bruises on Mrs Kirsten’s arms and legs might have been inflicted. Juries admire doctors. They assume that they are honest people, and in the main they are. But like every other group, if you ask them the right question — and it is after all the lawyers who select the questions — they are as prone to exaggeration as the rest of us.’ Fletcher felt guilty that he had missed such an obvious gambit, and only wished he had taken Annie’s advice and sought the professor’s counsel earlier.