“But
I thought...”
“That
she was back with Elliot?”
JEFFREYARCHER
,-
“Yes.”
“Possibly,
but whenever I see her, she prefers to talk about you-in very flattering terms,
I might add, though I’m told she tells a different story whenever she’s with
Elliot.”
“If
that’s the case,” said Nat, “why do you think she’s bothering to chase you?”
Tom
pushed aside his empty bowl and began to concentrate on the two boiled eggs in
front of him. He cracked the shell and looked at the yolk before he continued.
“If it’s known that you’re an only child and your father is worth millions,
most women view you in a completely different light. So I never can be sure if
it’s me, or my money they’re interested in. Just be thankful that you don’t
suffer from the same problem.”
“You’ll
know when it’s the right person,” said Nat.
“Will
I? I wonder. You’re one of the few people who’s never shown the slightest
interest in my wealth, and you’re almost the only person I know who always
insists on paying his own way. You’d be surprised by how many people assume
I’ll pick up the tab just because I can afford it. I despise such
people, which means
that my circle of friends ends up being
very small.”
“My
latest friend is very small,” said Nat, hoping to snap Tom out of his morose
mood, “and I know you’ll like her.”
“The
held her hand’ girl?”
“Yes,
Su Ling-she’s about five foot four, and now that thin is fashionable, she’ll be
the most sought-after woman on the campus.”
“Su
Ling?” said Tom.
“You
know her?” asked Nat.
“No,
but my father tells me that she’s taken over the new computer lab that his
company funded, and the tutors have virtually stopped bothering to try and
teach her.”
“She
never mentioned anything about computers to me last night,” said Nat.
“Well,
you’d better move quickly, because Dad also mentioned that MIT and Harvard are
both trying to tempt her away from U Conn, so be warned, there’s a big brain on
top of that little body.”
“And
I’ve made a complete fool of myself again,” said Nat, “because I even teased
her about her English, when she’s obviously mastered a new language that
everyone wants to know about. By the way, is that why you wanted to see me?”
asked Nat.
“No,
I had no idea you were dating a genius.”
“I’m
not,” said Nat, “she’s a gentle, thoughtful, beautiful woman, who considers
holding hands is one step away from promiscuity.” He paused. “So if it wasn’t
to discuss my sex life, why did you call this high-powered breakfast meeting in
the first place?”
Tom
gave up on the eggs and pushed them to one side. “Before I return to Yale, I
wanted to know if you’re going to run for president.” He waited for the usual
barrage of count me out, not interested, you’ve got the wrong person, but Nat
didn’t respond for some time.
“I
discussed it with Su Ling last night,” he eventually said, “and in her usual
disarming way, she told me that it was not so much that they wanted me, as they
didn’t want Elliot. The lesser of two evils were her exact words, if I remember
correctly.”
“I’m
sure she’s right,” said Tom, “but that could change if you gave them a chance
to get to know you.
You’ve
been pretty much of a recluse since you returned to college.”
“I’ve
had a lot of catching up to do,” said Nat defensively.
“Well
that’s no longer the case, as your grade point average clearly shows,” said
Tom, “and now you’ve been selected to run for the university...”
“If
you were at U Conn, Tom, I wouldn’t hesitate to run for president, but while
you’re at Yale...”
Fletcher
rose from his place to face the jury-ninety-nine years was written on every one
of their faces. If he could have turned the clock back and accepted the offer
of three years, he would have done so without hesitation. Now he had been left
with only one throw of the dice to try and give Mrs. Kirsten the rest of her
life back. He touched his client’s shoulder, and turned to seek a reassuring
smile from Annie, who had felt so strongly that he should defend this woman.
The smile disappeared the moment he saw who was seated two rows behind her.
Professor Karl Abrahams graced him with a nod. At least Jimmy would discover
what it took to get a nod out of Homer.
“Members
of the jury,” Fletcher
began,
a slight tremor in his
voice. “You have listened to the persuasive advocacy of the attorney general as
he poured venom on my client, so perhaps the time has come to show where that
venom should have been directed.
But
first may I spend a moment talking about you.
The
press have
made great play of the fact that I did not
object to every
whiteI
juror who was selected; indeed
there are ten of you on this jury.
They
went further, and suggested that had I achieved an all-black jury with a
majority of women, then Mrs. Kirsten would have been certain to walk free.
But
I didn’t want that. I chose each one of you I, for a different reason.” The
jury members looked puzzled.
“Even
the attorney general couldn’t work out why I didn’t object to some of you,”
added Fletcher, turning to face Mr. Stamp. “I crossed my fingers, because
neither did any of his vast team fathom why I selected you. So what is it that
you all have in common?” The attorney general was now looking just as puzzled
as the jurors. Fletcher swung around and pointed to Mrs. Kirsten, “Like the
defendant, every one of you has been married for more than nine years.”
Fletcher turned his attention back to the jury. “No bachelors or spinsters who
have never experienced married
life,
or what goes on
between two people behind closed doors.” was Fletcher spotted a woman in the
second row who shuddered.
He
remembered Abrahams saying that in a jury of twelve, there is a strong
possibility that one of them will have suffered the same experience as the
defendant. He had just identified that juror.
“Which
of you dreads the thought of your spouse returning home after midnight, drunk,
with only violence in mind? For Mrs. Kirsten, this was something she had come
to expect six nights out of seven, for the past nine years. Look at this frail
and fragile woman and ask yourself what chance she would have up against a man
of six foot two who weighed two hundred and thirty pounds?”
He
focused his attention on the woman juror who had shuddered “Which of you
arrives home at night and expects their hus-158 band to grab the bread board, a
cheese grater or even a steak knife for use not in the kitchen for preparing a
meal, but in the bedroom to disfigure his wife? And what did Mrs. Kirsten have
to call on for her defense, this five-foot-four, one-hundred and five-pound
woman?
A pillow?
A towel?
A flyswatter perhaps?”
Fletcher paused. “It’s never crossed
your mind, has it?” he added, facing the rest of the jurors. “Why?
Because your husbands and wives are not evil.
Ladies and
gentlemen, how can you begin to understand what this woman was being subjected
to, day in and day out?
“But
not satisfied with such degradation, one night this thug returns home drunk,
goes upstairs, drags his wife out of bed by her hair, back down the stairs and
into the kitchen; he is bored with simply beating her black and blue.” Fletcher
began to walk in the direction of his client. “He needs some other thrill to
reach new heights of excitement, and what does Anita Kirsten see immediately
when she’s dragged into the kitchen? The ring on the stove is already red hot,
and waiting for its victim.” He swung back to face the jury. “Can you imagine
what must have been going through her mind when she first saw that ring of
fire? He grabs her hand like a piece of raw steak, and slams it down on the
stove for fifteen seconds.”
Fletcher
picked up Mrs. Kirsten’s scarred hand and held it up so that the palm was
clearly visible to the jury, looked at his watch and counted to fifteen, before
he added, “And then she fainted.
“Which
of you can even imagine such horror, let alone be asked to endure it? So why
did the attorney general demand ninety-nine years? Because, he told us, the
killing was premeditated. It was
,
he assured us, most
certainly not a crime of passion carried out by someone defending their life in
a moment of rage.” Fletcher swung around to face the attorney general and said,
“Of course it was premeditated and of course she knew exactly what she was
doing. If you were five foot four, being attacked by a man of six foot two,
would you rely on a knife, a gun, or some blunt instrument that this thug could
so easily turn against you?” Fletcher turned and walked slowly toward the jury.
“Which one of you would be that stupid? Which one of you, after what she had
been through, wouldn’t plan it? Think of that poor woman when you next have a
row with your spouse. After a few angry words have been exchanged, will you
resort to putting the stove on to 350 degrees to prove you’ve won the
argument?” He looked at the seven men on the jury one by one. “Does such a man
deserve your sympathy?
“If
this woman is guilty of murder, which one of you would not have done the same
thing if you had been unfortunate enough to marry Alex Kirsten?” This time he
turned his attention to the five women before he continued.
was
“But I didn’t,” I hear you cry.
“I
married a good and decent man.” So now we can all agree on Mrs. Kirsten’s
crime. She married an evil man.”
Fletcher
leaned on the rail of the jury box.
“I
must beg the jury’s indulgence for my youthful passion, for passion it is. I
chose to take this case as I feared justice would not be done for Mrs. Kirsten,
and in my youth I hoped that twelve fair-minded citizens would see what I had
seen and would be unable to condemn this woman to spend the rest of her life in
jail.
“I
must close my summation, by repeating to you the words Mrs. Kirsten said to me
when we sat alone in her cell this morning. “Mr. Davenport, although I am only
twenty-five, I would rather spend the rest of my life in jail than have to
spend another night under the same roof as that evil man.”
“Thank
God she does not have to return home to him tonight. It is in your power, as
members of the jury, to send this woman home tonight to her loving children,
with the hope that together they might rebuild their lives, because twelve
decent people understood the difference between good and evil.” Fletcher
lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “When you go home to your husbands and
wives this evening, tell them what you did today in the name of justice, for I
am confident if you bring in a verdict of Not Guilty, your spouses will not turn
up the stove to 350 degrees because they don’t agree with you. Mrs. Kirsten has
already suffered a nine-year sentence. Do you think she deserves another
ninety?”
Fletcher
returned to his seat, but did not turn around to look at
Annie,
for fear that Karl Abrahams would notice he was fighting back the tears.
“Hi,
my name’s Nat Cartwright.”
“Not
the Captain Cartwright?”
“Yes,
the hero who killed all those Vietcong with his bare hands because he forgot to
take any paper clips with him.”
“No,”
said Su Ling in mock admiration. “Not the one who flew a helicopter alone
across enemy-infested jungle when he didn’t have a pilot’s license?”
“And then killed so many of the enemy that they
stopped counting them, while at the same time he rescued a whole platoon of
stranded men.”
“And
the people back home believed it, so he was decorated, given vast financial
rewards and offered a hundred vestal virgins.”
“I
only get four hundred dollars a month, and I’ve never met a vestal virgin.”
“Well,
you have now,” said Su Ling with a smile.
“Well,
can you tell her that I have been chosen to run against Boston
University.
”
“No
doubt you’d expect her to stand around in the rain and wait until you trail in
near the back, like all your other adoring fans?”
“No,
the truth is that I need my tracksuit cleaned, and I’m told her mother takes in
washing.” Su Ling burst out laughing. “Of course I’d like you to come to
Boston,” said Nat, taking her in his arms.
“I’ve
already booked a place on the supporters’ bus.”
“But
Tom and I are driving up the night before, so why don’t you come with us?”
“But
where would I stay?”
“One
of Tom’s numerous aunts has a house in Boston, and has offered to put us all up
for the night.” Su Ling hesitated. “I’m told she has nine bedrooms, and even a
separate wing, but if that’s not enough, I could always
spend
the night in the back of the car.” Su Ling didn’t reply as Mario appeared
carrying two cappuccinos.
“This
is my friend Mario,” said Su Ling. “Very good of you to keep my usual table,”
she added.