“And anyway,” she adds, “Dars will give all the standard ones, that’s what they all do.”
“Maybe we don’t want the standard ones,” Will says. “Shauna’s going to ask for the jury to consider every possible formulation of the murder charge—first-degree, second-degree, voluntary manslaughter, and involuntary manslaughter. What if we say no. The jury can convict on first-degree or nothing. No compromise, no middle ground.”
How I wonder what you are. Abby stares at Will. “That’s insane.”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Will says evenly. “First-degree was always a reach. I don’t think Shauna’s proved it. But the other counts?” He shrugs. “Criminally negligent homicide—she overreacted to the threat with too much force. Manslaughter? She acted in the heat of passion. After the medical testimony, Jackie, and these last two witnesses, there’s a real risk of conviction on either of those counts, even on second degree. So I say we give them no choice.”
“No, you say we give them two choices, and one of them is to send her to prison for the rest of her life. That is reckless, that is wrong, and we are not doing it.” Abby looks to Antoine for support, but his eyes are on Will and from his expression she can tell he’s giving it serious consideration.
Will’s eyes are on Luz. “Your grandmother is dying. You don’t have any other family. If you go down on any count the prosecutor is allowed to argue to the jury, you are going to prison. Maybe for three years, maybe for five, maybe for fifteen, which means Cristina will be taken away and raised by Travis’s family. Your best chance to keep your baby is to do what I’m telling you.”
Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky.
“That is not true.” But even as Abby says this, she knows there will be no way to convince Will because she hasn’t told him about her visit to the jail and she doesn’t intend to. She looks pointedly at Luz, wishing she hadn’t been so equivocal when Luz had asked her if the legal trick with Estrada would work. “You know that’s not true.”
Luz is looking back and forth between Abby and Will. “It could be,” she says quietly. “And it is true that I’ll be separated from Cristina if they find me guilty.”
“This is not her decision,” Abby says to Will.
“It is if you and I can’t agree.”
Abby laughs harshly. “What—you think the tie goes to the client? That isn’t how it works.”
“You want an acquittal, Abby? This is how we get there.”
“Antoine?” Abby looks to him for help, but he’s shaking his head.
“I don’t weigh in on the legal questions, you know that. You want me to get Paul?”
“No, I don’t want you to get Paul,” she snaps. As if that was an option at this point. “What I want is for my client not to spend the rest of her life in a cage.” Abby turns back to Luz, trying for a softer tone. “Listen to me. We could beat the lesser included offenses. And even if we don’t, it’s not the end of your life. Cristina will visit you in prison and when you get out—”
“I’m not going to prison.” Luz continues to rock the carrier seat in an uninterrupted rhythm, the baby sleeping peacefully throughout. The song ends, starts again. Twinkle twinkle little star.
“This is her decision, Abby,” Will says, in a more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger tone that makes her want to scratch his eyes out, because whatever the legal rules say it is obviously the right answer. It is Luz’s life.
Luz looks at Cristina for a long moment, and then at Will before turning back to Abby. “I overrule you.”
Thursday, March 22, 2007
1:30 p.m.
United States District Court
for the Central District of California
“The defense calls Luz Rivera Hollis.”
These are Abby’s words. They want the jury’s eyes on Luz, and so had delayed the moment when Will would have to stand up. One surprise at a time. The jurors are still adjusting to the sight of a baby’s crib—complete with a plastic baby doll and white blanket—situated incongruously on the green-carpeted rectangle separating the judge’s dais from the defense and prosecution tables.
Known as The Well, it is a sacred space that for security reasons can be entered only with judicial permission. Older attorneys gleefully tell tales of the good old days when the US Marshals would tackle novice lawyers who breached the invisible barrier and strode up to the bench unannounced. Getting permission for this setup had been a headache involving additional security officers, who are now seated in the front row and stationed discreetly along the back wall behind Dars.
Luz walks alone to the witness stand, even more slight-seeming than usual in a man-size white tee shirt and shapeless sweatpants. Her long black hair is tied back in a loose ponytail, the shorter strands lifting and settling around her face as she moves. Bare face. Bare feet. Behind him, Will can hear the murmurs from the packed courtroom. Media coverage, which had escalated when Jackie testified, has reached a whole new level. This was the main show.
Will watches the jurors watching her. For days they’ve been looking at Luz, but only head-on and chest-up, flat and flimsy as a paper doll. Utterly silent. And now here she is, fully realized in a way that Will and Abby have been doing everything they can to suggest she was on that night.
He sees Shauna tense, imagines her considering some way to object already, and feels some mixture of scorn and pity. Lady, you have no idea.
Luz says her name, puts her hand on the Bible, and repeats the clerk’s words about the truth and nothing but. She sits down, head bowed, hands in her lap, twisting at her wedding ring.
Will stands, removes his suit coat and drops it over the back of the chair. He can’t remember
