Abby has gone cold inside. She glances briefly at Will, who now looks as alarmed as Shauna. He says, “Your Honor, that’s not—”
“Shut up, Mr. Ellet.” Dars looks at Abby. “I want you at the lectern with your client. Now.” He snaps his fingers as if she’s a misbehaving terrier. “Get up.”
Abby and Luz get to their feet and walk to the podium, Luz first, her back straight, her arms stiff at her sides. At the lectern, Abby puts her hand on Luz’s arm to turn her toward Dars.
“Ms. Rosenberg, have you told your client to pursue this legal strategy?”
Stunned, Abby realizes that she has become the new Estrada. For a brief moment, she and Shauna lock eyes. “You are asking about a conversation that is protected by the attorney-client privilege,” Abby tells Dars. “I can’t answer.”
“Don’t you dare play games with me.” Dars has gone scarlet. “Answer my question or I will hold you in contempt.”
“No.” Adrenaline is coursing through Abby’s body as her mind sends opposing messages. Tell the truth. But she can’t. Don’t say anything. But she’ll doom Luz.
When Dars speaks his voice is low, dangerously so. “You will tell me and you will tell me right now or I will hold you in contempt. You can have the cell next to Mr. Estrada.” He motions to Jared. “Mr. Marshal, stand up.” Jared rises, an incredulous look on his face. Beside her, Luz reaches for Abby’s hand.
The idea of being jailed, of being away for Cal for even one night, possibly days, has an immediate impact on her body. Abby’s breasts ache and then suddenly she feels the wetness seeping through the blouse she is wearing under her jacket. As her panic rises—jail, leaking, Cal—she forces herself to keep her eyes fixed on Dars. Luz’s hand, hot and dry, grips hers.
“Your Honor.” Abby’s words separate and stretch, like a recorded voice on the wrong speed as she tries to think her way out. “If you send me to jail, you’ll deprive my client of her attorney. That’s grounds for a mistrial.”
“That’s a baseless motion.” Dars inclines his head in Will’s direction. “She still has him.”
“You just said yourself—” Abby shuts her eyes, trying to summon the exact words “—that I run the show and Mr. Ellet is a puppet. A puppet can’t be effective without a puppet master. The Constitution guarantees my client an effective lawyer, not just any lawyer.”
“He is perfectly capable of giving a closing argument,” Dars retorts. “A law student can give a closing argument.”
“He’s not prepared to give this closing argument. I’m giving it,” Abby says. “It isn’t a moot court competition—my client’s life is on the line. Mr. Ellet is not prepared and you have made it clear, repeatedly, that you will not delay this trial—not for any reason, not grave illness, not death. If you prevent me from representing Mrs. Rivera Hollis, she will suffer extreme prejudice as a result. Any guilty verdict will be reversed on appeal.” Abby looks quickly at Will, who has, amazingly, managed not to visibly react. Because what she has just told Dars is a lie. Will is giving the closing argument—or was. He had practiced it not twenty minutes ago for Abby, Antoine, and Luz in the witness room.
Dars looks at Jared. “Mr. Marshal, please approach Ms. Rosenberg.”
Abby wants to fall down but she keeps her voice loud and strong. “The defense moves for a mistrial. Because the grounds for the mistrial were created by the actions of the trial judge, the government cannot retry my client without subjecting her to double jeopardy.”
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you, Abigail?” It is all Abby can do, after everything that has happened, not to gasp at this lapse. Momentarily, Dars has forgotten his place high above her on the dais. He has said her name, an intimacy that calls up their past relationship as courtroom equals, a relationship that now exists only when they’ve been alone. Dars looks at Jared for a moment, then shakes his head slightly. Then he turns back to Abby. “You may come to find out, though, that you’ve been too clever by half.”
Shauna stands up. “Your Honor, respectfully, the government believes that a contempt charge is unnecessary. The court should simply reject the defense’s objection. Lesser included offense instructions are appropriate in this case, it’s that simple.”
“Not so fast, Ms. Gooden.” Dars’s eyes are on Luz now. “The defendant will address the court.” Dars leans forward again, his head tilted slightly to one side, as if attuned to an inner signal. Abby moves away from the microphone and Luz steps forward.
“How old are you, Mrs. Rivera Hollis?”
“Nineteen.” Luz’s voice, too, is clear and strong. She meets his gaze and holds it.
“How much schooling have you had?”
“I have a GED.”
Dars nods. “We’ve been using a lot of fancy lawyer terms here today. Lesser included offense, double jeopardy, scintilla of evidence. Do you understand what has been said here by the lawyers and by me?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Tell me in your own words what you understand to be happening.” Dars settles back in his chair like the most patient of examiners.
“The prosecutor wants the jury to be able to convict me for other kinds of murders that aren’t first-degree. My attorney says, no, it’s first-degree or nothing. You are the one who decides because you are the judge.”
“That’s right,” Dars says approvingly. “But here is what you also need to understand. Your attorney—” he leans forward and points at Abby “—thinks that if the jury is faced with a tough enough choice—all or nothing, as you say—they won’t convict. That’s a risk by someone who likes to gamble. Someone who likes to win.
