I want to nail the person who killed Coach and let Jeremy take the blame. But I can tell Chase has done a lot of thinking about this. And I’m not stupid. I’ve heard of reasonable doubt. “Go on.”
“Doubt,” he repeats. “That’s all you need. How hard can it be to get a couple of people on that jury to doubt?”
I turn “doubt” over in my head. “Doubt. Like getting them to believe somebody else might have killed Coach?”
“Exactly. Or even just that Jeremy might not have. You give them a reason. Then they have reasonable doubt.” Chase is now kneeling in front of me, almost begging me to understand. “You can make them doubt, Hope.” His eyes are intense, green as mermaid tears.
My heart quivers because I think he’s right. Doubt is so much easier than proof. “Okay. I’ll make them doubt.” I breathe deeply, taking in clean air, sunshine… and hope. “I just don’t know where to start, Chase.”
“Hey, you two!”
Across the school lawn, I see T.J. waving his arms like he’s flagging down fire trucks. Automatically, I scoot farther away from Chase. He gets off his knees and sits down. My stomach lurches, and I feel guilty, which is silly because there’s nothing to feel guilty about. “Hey, T.J.!” I call.
He jogs toward us. I take the trash out of Chase’s cooler and walk it over to the garbage can. Then I wait for T.J. “Sorry I forgot to turn on my cell this morning,” I say when he’s close enough to hear.
“Not sorry enough,” he answers.
“Huh?”
“It’s still off. I tried to call you again.” He glances over at Chase, then back to me.
“Oops. I don’t deserve the title of Cell Owner.” I hand him my root beer bottle, with a couple of sips left.
He downs it. “So, how was the driving lesson? I’m guessing that’s what’s going on. Sully, down at the site, said he saw you two here. I figured the driving show must be happening without me.” He pulls out that tin laugh again.
“Yeah. I’m giving it a try,” I say, sounding really stupid.
Chase gets to his feet. “Got to say you were right about Hope’s driving disability.”
“Says you.” I snatch the keys off the picnic blanket. “Wanna see if I’ve improved, T.J.?” I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but all I can think is that I don’t want to stand here with the two of them.
“Maybe later. I’ve only got”-T.J. glances at his watch-“twenty minutes before I have to get back. Dad needs to finish the job by tomorrow.”
“Sure. I understand.” I want to offer him a sandwich, include him in the picnic. But we’re out of food.
T.J. sits on the picnic blanket as if he’s put it there himself. “I’ve been working on the suspect list.”
Chase and I join him, sitting on either side. “That’s great, T.J.,” I say. “We were just talking about the case. I’m really glad you’re here. Chase has an excellent idea about strategy. Tell him, Chase.”
T.J. frowns over at Chase.
“I’m sure you’ve already thought of it,” Chase begins. He glances at me, then gives T.J. a shortened version of “reasonable doubt.”
“You’re right,” T.J. says when Chase is finished. “I should’ve thought of that myself.”
“But we still have to get clues or evidence, don’t we?” I ask. “We have to have something that will make the jury doubt. Or at least make them suspect somebody else did it.”
T.J. sits up, straightens his glasses, and takes over. “Means, motive, and opportunity. That’s what we have to work with. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He sounds so logical. I wait for him to explain. “Stay with me. Means is the bat. That’s a given. Coach was killed with Jeremy’s bat. But almost anybody could have used it.”
“Right!” I agree. “Everybody knew he left his bat inside the barn door when he went to the barn.”
“Opportunity and motive,” T.J. continues. “They’re a little tougher, depending on which suspect we want the jury to doubt.”
“I still vote for his wife,” I say. “I know we don’t have any proof or anything. But you should have heard her yelling at Coach.”
Chase nods.
“Okay,” T.J. continues. “But we’re going to need a better motive than an overheard argument, especially since you’re not even sure what the argument was about.”
I try to think. “Rita told me she never thought Coach and his wife were happy together.”
“Still not much to go on,” Chase says.
“Yeah,” T.J. admits. “But if Rita knew they weren’t happy, other people probably did too. We can ask around.” T.J. scribbles in his notepad, a pocket-sized black one.
I feel my blood pumping through me faster. “What about opportunity? Coach’s wife was supposed to be in her house, right? That’s not far from the barn.”
When I glance at Chase, a stray wave of his hair blows across his forehead. He doesn’t brush it back. “If you could prove that Caroline Johnson can walk, it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe she could walk to the barn.” Chase squints at T.J. “Have you ever seen her when you’ve been at the barn?”
I frown at T.J. I didn’t think he ever went to the barn. He’s scared of horses.
T.J. pulls a weed from the ground and begins tearing it into tiny pieces. “I don’t go there anymore.”
“When did you ever?” I ask. “I thought you didn’t like horses.”
He shrugs. “I hung out there sometimes. And I like horses, sort of.”
“Yeah. Right,” I say. I know he doesn’t like horses. If I had to guess, I’d bet he hung out at the barn to be around Coach, not horses.
“Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” T.J. asks.
“You’re right. No big deal,” Chase says. “I just saw you there a few times when I was on my run, so I thought I’d ask.”
“Wait. You run out there?” I’ve pictured Chase running through the streets of Grain every morning, not out in the country.
“Every day except game day,” Chase says. “You know what Coach says-said-about saving your energy for the field.”
“Too bad,” T.J. says. “You might have seen the killer that day.”
“Don’t think I haven’t thought about that,” Chase says.
Me too. If I’d gone to the barn with Jer that morning, or if T.J. had wandered over there, or if Chase had run past… “We need to focus on what we can do now.” I get to my feet and try to think. Means, motive, opportunity. “You know, anybody could have been there. The jury should doubt. It’s crazy not to have reasonable doubt.” Brushing grass and leaves from my pants, I stare down at T.J. and Chase. “It only took a second to kill Coach. One swing of the bat, one moment where somebody lost control. Anybody could have done it, don’t you think?”
Neither of them says anything for a minute. T.J. won’t look at me. Chase looks like he’s going to throw up. I wonder if we’re all picturing the same thing-that one swing of the bat. “Okay, then,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “Let’s show the jury. Let’s make them doubt. And I think we have the best shot at getting that doubt if we go with Coach’s wife. If we can prove she can walk, that she’s not as sick as everybody thinks she is, that would be enough for doubt, don’t you think? Raymond could get the jury to have reasonable doubt with that.” I spot a gum wrapper on the other side of the tree, and I dash over to get it. Then I see a crumpled beer can, and I pick that up and throw it all into the rusty trash can. The words reasonable doubt swirl in my head. I really think we’re onto something.
When I come back to the tree, Chase is grinning. T.J. has his nose in his notebook.
“What?” I ask.
“Does she always do that?” Chase asks T.J.
“Hmm?” T.J. doesn’t look up.
“What?” I ask, confused. “Do what?”
“Hope,” Chase explains, “in the middle of all this, you still pick up other people’s trash. And you don’t even realize you’re doing it.”
I glance down at my hands, but I’ve already thrown whatever it was away.