Rough Justice

Jesus. The resemblance was eerie. Christopher had so many questions. Why was Marta here? Was it because she had feelings for him, like he did for her? 'Uh, how did you get past the guards downstairs?'

'I told them I was Elaine, Lainie. I remembered we looked alike. The sheriffs didn't recognize me. In fact, one of them told me he'd seen my picture. I mean, Lainie's picture.'

Christopher nodded. He'd shown the guards his wedding picture once, but he didn't tell them Lainie had run off. Not even Mr. Fogel knew why Lainie didn't visit, because Christopher didn't like to talk about it. One day he'd take the damn picture out of his wallet and throw it away.

'You're wondering why I'm here,' Marta said, suddenly uncomfortable in his gaze. He was looking down at her from his perch on the dresser, his strong legs spread slightly. Christopher's body language was as subtle as an express train, though his expression was still unreadable. 'I have a problem,' she began, and told him the whole story.

Christopher listened intently, resting on the edge of the dresser. His face betrayed no emotion even when she told him about the killings of the security guards, but inside he was horrified. He had never heard anything like it, and the more Marta talked, the more worried he became. She was in danger. 'How can I help?' Christopher asked when she was finished.

'Get the jury to convict. I'll work on finding out why Steere killed Darnton, but I need you to work it from the inside. The jury has to find Steere guilty of murder.'

'Guilty?' Christopher asked, astounded. 'They're about to find him innocent. They're going to acquit.'

'They can't.'

'We voted twice. It's nine to two, with one juror abstaining. We think it's self-defense, just like you said. It's going your way.'

'Not anymore.' Marta had never been so unhappy she was kicking ass. 'Who's voting to convict? Kenny Manning and one of the other black men, right?'

'Not all the black people are voting to convict. Kenny Manning is, I think, but not Gussella Williams.' Christopher heard himself lecturing, but he figured he was entitled. The jury deliberations had made him think a lot about race. Skin color didn't make a difference to Gussella, but it made a difference to Kenny. Just like it made a difference to Ralph Merry. Christopher didn't understand people sometimes. Horses didn't group together by color, and people were supposed to be smarter than horses.

'Okay, fine. Whatever,' Marta said. She had picked an almost all-white jury, figuring they'd favor a white businessman against a black homeless man, and she'd been right. Race wasn't everything, but Marta had to be realistic. Now she was working against herself. Against time. 'What about Mrs. Wahlbaum, the schoolteacher? She wants to acquit, right? Will she stay with it?'

Christopher nodded. He didn't think anything could move Mrs. Wahlbaum when she'd made up her mind, not even Mr. Wahlbaum.

'And the young girl, the computer programmer? Megan Gerrity? Will she hang tough?'

'I don't know. Probably.'

'She'll acquit.' Marta shook her head. Fucking liberals. Any other time she would have kissed their asses, now they could cost her her life. 'You have to hold out. Tell them you're voting to convict and stand your ground.'

'I can't do that.' Christopher crossed his arms in his flannel shirt. 'Today I voted to acquit. I almost convinced them. They want to go home. They're tired of living in a hotel.'

'Tell them you changed your mind,' Marta said. 'You thought about it. You've been wondering why Steere didn't testify and tell his side of the story.'

'Judge Rudolph said that wasn't supposed to matter.'

'Say it matters to you, you can't help it. Juries always wonder why the defendant didn't take the stand. If Steere was defending himself when he shot that man, why didn't he just come forward and explain what happened? Elliot Steere is not a shy man, he's a killer. Announce your vote and stick to your guns.'

'Wouldn't that make it a hung jury?'

'You have to convince them all. I don't want it hung. I don't want a mistrial. Either one of those, Steere is free and I'm dead. It has to be a conviction, nothing less will do. And take your time. I need all the time you can give me.'

Christopher tried to think of what he'd say tomorrow. He pictured the other jurors sitting around the table, looking at him like a crazy man when he told them he'd changed his mind. He'd been so adamant today. Christopher liked to think he was a man of his word, but Marta was in real trouble. Two men had already been killed.

Marta rubbed her forehead with anxiety, and it throbbed in response. 'Who's the foreman? Ralph Merry?'

'No. I am.'

'Wonderful!' Marta took heart. What a break. Maybe her plan would work. Maybe Christopher could make this happen. 'Then you can persuade them. Jurors look up to the foreman. They look for a leader. That's why they picked you in the first place.'

'No.'

'You're being modest.'

'No, really,' he said, but Christopher would die before he'd explain what happened. It was hard enough to talk with Marta here in his room, right across from him. In his bedroom. Christopher felt as if she knew how often he thought about her. So many nights he had pictured her here, and now she was. He had to know. 'Why did you come to me, Marta?'

'I needed to get to the jury.'

'But why me? Why did you pick me? You didn't know I was the foreman. You were surprised.'

'I came to you because you were most likely to help.'