out? He'd said he loved her. What else could he do?
“Who's going to handle voir dire?” she asked. A professional tone, one partner to another.
“You do the talking. I'll watch the jurors, take notes.”
“Really?”
“You're friendlier. They'll like you more. Hell, they'll fall in love with you.”
Love, he thought. He had love on the brain.
The air horn sounded on the drawbridge at the Miami River. Dammit, they'd be stuck a good five minutes. He wouldn't add it to his laws, but it's a good idea not to be late to court the first day of a murder trial. He pulled to a stop, third car in line.
“So?” he said.
“So?”
He couldn't help himself. He couldn't not ask. “What's the deal? Is this gonna be another ‘it never happened'?”
She stayed quiet. A white egret high-stepped its way up the ascending bridge. On the radio, Jimmy Cliff boasted he could see clearly now.
“It happened,” she said finally.
He waited for her to continue, but she didn't. The egret kept going uphill. Jimmy Cliff claimed it was a bright sunshiny day, but it sure didn't feel that way to Steve. “I'm a little on edge here, trying to figure just where I stand.”
The bridge had gotten too steep. The egret took off and circled over the river, where a freighter loaded with minivans moved ponderously toward the open ocean.
“I can't think about you right now,” she said.
“That's a little cold, isn't it?”
“We have a murder case to try all day, then Bobby's case tonight, then we do it all over again tomorrow. Bruce is breathing down my neck about seating charts for the reception, and he's ordered an avocado tree ice sculpture without asking me. Jackie hates her dress, my period's due tomorrow, and you, Steve Solomon, want me to bat my eyes and tell you how the earth moved, and it's never been that way before, and oh, my God, let's sail off to some island together.”
“Did it? The earth move, I mean.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“First you blast me because I didn't express my feelings. Now I've put my balls on the chopping block, and what do you do?”
“I'm tabling you.”
“Table Bigby and the ice sculpture. Talk to me, dammit.”
“Not until both cases are over. When everything's finished, we'll talk.” The barrier arm on the bridge was lifting. “Now, let's go win a murder trial.”
Forty-one
SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES
Steve and Victoria climbed the front steps of the Justice Building, just as the Voodoo Squad janitors finished their cleanup. The cakes, candles, and skulls-offerings to various Santeria gods from families of defendants-were tossed into garbage bags, and the accused were left to their fate before mere mortals: judges and jurors.
Katrina would be waiting in the lawyer-client lounge. Victoria hoped she had followed instructions on what to wear. They had spent several hours last night in Katrina's vast closet, Victoria spending a good deal of the time saying, “No.”
No to the one-button tuxedo in silk crepe de chine, with the plunging neckline.
No to the metallic cherry red crochet dress with the scoop neck.
No to the shimmering, beaded lace dress with the sheer top.
They had settled on a Carolina Herrera wool flannel skirt suit in pearl gray, a tasteful belt at the waist. Now, on the escalator headed to the courtroom, Victoria listened to Solomon lecture her on jury selection in that annoying, superior tone.
“Watch the body language. Try to figure who are leaders, who are followers.”
“I will.”
“Strike all unattractive women, they'll hate our client.”
“I know,” she said.
“The man who sits with his elbows in his lap is submissive. The guy who encroaches on the next juror's chair is dominant.”
“I know. I know.”
“See who's carrying hardcover books, who's carrying the Daily Racing Form.”
“Got it.”
“Strike anyone reading a book by Bill O'Reilly.”
“Why?”
“They're gonna be obnoxious know-it-alls.”
They got off on the second floor and took the escalator to the third floor. “Watch Marvin the Maven in the front row,” Steve said. “If he tugs an earlobe-”
“He wants me to steal second base?”
“He wants you to challenge the juror. Another thing: Let the panel know right away that our client's guilty of adultery.”
“I'll do it in opening statement.”
“Too late. Do it first thing in voir dire. I want to see their reactions, strike anyone who gets uptight.”
“If we make too big a deal out of it, it'll look like we're afraid-”
“Look, I don't have time for a tutorial here. Just do what I say.”
“I don't need a tutorial.”
Why's he lashing out like this? she wondered. Because she didn't leap into his arms today?
I should never have slept with him. I'm an idiot!
“I'm worried about the infidelity issue,” he said.
You too? she thought.
“We get some religious nuts on the jury, they'll hang her for screwing Manko, no matter what the evidence is on murder. Are you up to speed on cognitive dissonance theory?”
“I studied psychology at Princeton.”
“Congratulations. Do you know this corollary? If you can get people to publicly commit to positions they didn't previously agree with, they'll change their behavior to conform to their new commitments.”
“I've read all the studies.”
“Another thing, don't stand too close to the box. It's intimidating. Be relaxed. Walk back and forth if you want, but maintain eye contact. You're having a conversation with the jurors, not interrogating them.”
“Jesus, Steve, I know how to pick a jury.”
“But when you're cross-examining, stand sniper still. Let the witness squirm.”
“I know how to cross-examine, too.”
“If you'd listen, I could make a great lawyer out of you.”
“That again? You're so damned overbearing.”
“And you're just as frigid as the day we met.”
“What!”
“Rigid. I meant to say rigid.”
“Screw you, Solomon.”
“You already did, Lord.”
