Alex blushed, resenting her body’s involuntary response, ducking her head. “She says that I’m old enough to know that there are more colors than black, gray, and white and more styles than pants and jackets.”
“Well, don’t listen to her. You always look just fine when you’re in my court. Professional all the way.”
“Thanks, Judge. I’ll be sure to cite you as my fashion authority the next time Bonnie tries to talk me into wearing a dress.”
Alex wondered why she was getting his charm treatment. They weren’t drunk and she wasn’t pretty like Bonnie, whose blond hair, sapphire eyes, and lush body placed her securely in the one percent. Alex saw herself as part of the ninety-nine percent, her features and shape ordinary, no matter how often Bonnie told her she was extraordinary.
“So what’s Bonnie’s take on all this free-the-guilty or condemn-the-innocent business?”
“She says there’s no good answer, both are equally bad, and that she’d rather make a life-or-death decision in the ER than serve on a jury in a death penalty case.”
“That’s why she’s the doctor and you’re the lawyer. It’s been a long time since you took criminal procedure. What do you think now?” Judge West asked.
“I think it’s not my job to decide guilt or innocence. That’s up to the jury. Innocent people get convicted. We know that from all the ones who were later exonerated. So I have to assume that guilty people also go free.”
“Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Of course it bothers me, but I can’t let it bother me too much. Otherwise, I couldn’t do my job. Besides, no one ever claimed the system was perfect, and no one has ever come up with a better one.”
Judge West refilled both their glasses. “Maybe you could do your job a little differently and it wouldn’t have to bother you.”
Alex squinted, trying to parse his meaning. “I don’t follow.”
“Due process does not require that every conceivable step be taken, at whatever cost, to eliminate the possibility of convicting an innocent person.”
“Justice Byron White wrote that in his majority opinion in Patterson v. New York. I know the case. But that’s not what we’re talking about. The public defender’s office is so strapped we practically have to bring pencils from home. We’re lucky if we can take half the steps we think we should, let alone every conceivable step.”
“It’s not just how many steps you take; it’s which ones. That’s the trick, isn’t it?”
Alex stared into her glass, trying to decide what the judge meant. “I do the best job I can for my clients with the resources I have. I can’t do any less than that.”
Judge West leaned back in his chair, holding his glass. “You know who asked the best question during the whole damn trial? Jameer Henderson. Poor bastard. ‘What am I gonna do now?’ That’s what he asked you when you got through with him. Tell me, Counsel, how are you going to answer his question if your client walks out of here a free man? You said it yourself. It’s not healthy to be a snitch.”
“Jameer Henderson is not my problem. I didn’t subpoena him and I didn’t make him lie to the jury. He knew what he was doing and he knew the risks he was taking.”
“Spoken like a true believer.”
“Spoken like a lawyer who knows her duty to her client.”
West raised his glass, saluting her. “Here’s to doing our jobs.”
Margot Bates knocked and opened the door. “We have a verdict.”
Chapter Six
“You won,” Bonnie said to Alex, “but you look like you lost. I’ve seen longer faces on a funhouse mirror. What’s up with that?”
They were in their den in their matching easy chairs, feet on their ottomans, a wedge-shaped table stacked with books and magazines between them. Quincy, their Wheaten terrier, was asleep in his dog bed in front of the fireplace. Bonnie was still in her scrubs. Alex had taken off her suit jacket. It was their winding-down ritual, chasing the highs and lows of their day with a glass of wine.
“I don’t know,” Alex said, turning on her side, facing Bonnie. “Guess it’s just the post-trial letdown.”
“The last time you got a not-guilty verdict, you wanted to go dancing. You saved a man from death row today. How can you possibly have a letdown after that? If anyone should be moping, it’s Tommy.”
She had introduced Bonnie to Tommy early in their relationship, telling him that she was the one. It wasn’t long before Tommy told Alex that she was right.
Alex swung her feet onto the floor. Quincy stirred, stretched, and trotted to her side, his tail wagging. She buried her hand in the fur behind his neck.
“Tommy’s last witness was the money,” she said, and told Bonnie how she’d dismantled Jameer Henderson. “I talked to the jurors after they came back. They all said that Henderson’s testimony created reasonable doubt. They had to acquit.”
“But. .”
Alex looked at Bonnie, loving how the lamplight bounced off her hair and the way her eyes sparkled. She loved everything about her. Top to bottom, front to back, inside out, she liked to tell her. They’d been together seven years, long enough for Bonnie to know when there was a but at the end of her sentence.
“But they didn’t want to. They were ready to convict before Henderson ever opened his mouth. They said Tommy blew it by putting him on the stand. They were mad at Tommy and they were mad at me.”
“Mad at you? For what? Doing your job?”
Alex rested her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “Yeah. Some of those people live in my client’s neighborhood. Every time they see Dwayne Reed on the street, they’re going to think he got away with murder.”
Bonnie sat up and scooted onto her ottoman. “I’m more interested in what you think. Did he get away with murder?”
“I’ll never know for sure.”
“Are you going to be okay with that?”
Alex shook her head. “What choice do I have?”
Bonnie folded her arms across her middle, eyebrows crunched, studying her. Alex recognized the look as the one she reserved for the patients who stumped her.
“You think I have a choice?” Alex asked. “And why are you giving me your what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-this-patient look?”
“No, I don’t think you have a choice. But there’s something else you’re not telling me. What is it?”
Alex rose and paced the room, Bonnie and Quincy watching and waiting. She stopped at a portrait hanging on the wall that they had posed for a year ago. The photographer had taken it in their backyard. They were on a bench beneath a sun-dappled tree, hands intertwined, Quincy between them, sitting on his hind legs.
Bonnie’s makeup and nails were perfect, her outfit a designer’s ensemble. Alex had consented to a light dusting of makeup at the photographer’s insistence but had refused to wear anything other than chinos and a polo shirt. The photographer, a gay friend, told them to face the camera as he joked that Bonnie looked like a debutante and Alex looked like her escort. They both laughed, the photographer catching the moment.
Alex loved the portrait. It showed them for who and what they were-a family. She brushed her fingertips across the image of Bonnie’s face, unable to imagine ever losing her, certain that she’d do anything to protect her.
“Judge West said that Jameer Henderson asked the best question of the whole trial,” she said, telling Bonnie about their conversation in his chambers. “He made it sound like I was responsible if anything bad happened to Henderson and his family.”
Bonnie crossed the room to Alex, taking her hands. “That’s not right. You were doing your job. He shouldn’t put that on you.”
“I know. I know, but I can’t stop thinking about them. What if something horrible does happen to them because of me?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to them, and if it does, it won’t be because of you. It will be because of the choices Jameer Henderson made and the actions of other people over whom you have no control.”