“How did this come about?”
“We talked briefly at Neil’s funeral. I got to know her a little. But seeing all that you’re going through with the Sydney Bennett case made me want to follow up.”
“With Andie?”
“Yes. Why does that surprise you?”
“For one, she didn’t mention it to me.”
Sarah smiled like an insider. “I gave her a lot to think about. She’s probably still processing it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She drank from her soda bottle, then seemed to shift gears. But Jack could tell it was going to tie together somehow. “Do you know how Neil and I met?”
Jack tried to remember the eulogies. “A Grateful Dead concert?”
She laughed. “No. It was when I was living in Mississippi. I was married to a man I’d met at Columbia. College is a great equalizer, especially when you’re young and in love. He was from Jackson, so after graduation we went there to live. We bought a little house. Got a dog. I joined the Junior League with all the other well-to-do ladies on the north side of town. The fact that I was Jewish was our little family secret. I never told anyone. Not even his parents-they knew, of course, but they could handle it so long as I was willing never to mention it. One night we were sitting in the living room watching TV. This was the summer of sixty-four. Freedom summer. President Johnson had just signed the Civil Rights Act. The SNCC-Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee-was recruiting hundreds of college students to come to Mississippi and register Negro voters. I was sitting right next to my husband on the couch when that story came on the news, and he just lost it. Started railing against the effing Jew-boy lawyers coming down to change things.”
“I presume Neil was one of them?”
“Actually, he was. But how we rode off into the sunset in his MG Midget is another story. My real point is this: I’d been pretending for so long that I was someone I wasn’t that my own husband had forgotten who I was. Who I
Jack thought back to how this conversation had started-with her remark that she’d given Andie “a lot to think about.”
“Let me guess,” said Jack. “You’re about to tell me that I’m Sydney Bennett’s lawyer not because a judge forced me to take the case. But because this is who I am.”
“Wow,” she said, “you’re a quick study.”
“No, I’m not. Andie and I had this same conversation yesterday. I asked her where it came from, and she said a little birdie sang in her ear. I don’t know how you did it, but you two seem to be singing the same tune.”
Sarah smiled thinly. “I didn’t do anything, Jack. Andie’s a smart cookie.”
“That she is.”
Sarah sat back in her chair, glanced around the room. “Thirty-two years ago this month, Neil and I started the Freedom Institute.”
“That is impressive.”
She looked at him from across the table, her expression very serious. “It’s a shame it has to close.”
“What?”
“We had to let Eve and Johnny go last week. That brings us down to two lawyers. I can’t run this place. I haven’t practiced law in over a decade. I’ve talked to Hannah about taking over, but that’s asking a lot of a twenty- six-year-old lawyer fresh out of law school. And to be honest with you, I’m not sure she has the passion. With Neil gone, it’s going to die.”
“That would really be sad.”
“Yes, it would. Because when it dies, a little corner of justice dies with it. That sounds pretty corny, doesn’t it?”
“From anyone but you it would,” he said.
She reached across the table and squeezed Jack’s hand. “Go home to your fiancee.”
He nodded, rose from his chair, and kissed her good night on the cheek. He was almost to the hallway when he stopped in the doorway and turned. “Thanks for having that talk with Andie.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “But watch out. Someday I could call in that favor. You never know what I might ask for in return.”
Jack gave her a little smile. “Good night, Sarah.”
“Good night, my friend.”
Chapter Forty-One
Monday morning came quickly. Jack and Hannah were in Judge Matthews’ courtroom at the criminal justice center. Sydney Bennett, of course, was a no-show.
Judge Matthews started promptly at nine A.M. “Mr. Swyteck, you may cross-examine the witness.”
“Thank you,” said Jack. The courtroom was exactly the way they’d left it upon Friday’s adjournment. A packed gallery. Ted Gaines seated in the front row of public seating, directly behind the prosecutor. Melinda Crawford and her assistant at the table for the prosecution, near the empty jury box. Brian Hewitt sat alone in the witness chair, wringing his hands as Jack approached.
“Mr. Hewitt,” said the judge, “I will remind you that you are still under oath.”
Jack positioned himself in front of the witness, feet apart and shoulders squared, full eye contact. It was the “control posture,” the body language of a trial lawyer that denied wiggle room during cross-examination. Jack said good morning, then went straight to work.
“Mr. Hewitt, you’ve never met Sydney Bennett, am I right?”
“No.”
“Never talked to her?”
“No.”
“Never got a hundred thousand dollars in cash from her.”
“Well, no.”
“You’ve never met me before.”
“No, sir.”
“Or my colleague, Hannah Goldsmith.”
“No.”
“Never even talked to us before.”
“That’s true.”
“Never got a hundred thousand dollars in cash from us.”
“No.”
Jack walked back to the podium. No real need to. He just wanted to move, make sure all eyes were following him.
“Now, as I understand your testimony, you were offered fifty thousand dollars for a hung jury. And a hundred thousand dollars for a not-guilty verdict.”
“That’s correct.”
“I can see how someone could buy a hung jury. All it takes is one juror. You simply refuse to vote guilty no matter what, even if the eleven other jurors are beating you on the head with a hammer to vote guilty.”
“Is there a question?” asked the prosecutor.
“My question is this,” said Jack, “Mr. Hewitt, you never stood up in the jury room and announced, ‘Hey, folks, I don’t care what you say, I am
“No, of course not.”
“You would never have said that,” said Jack, “because you didn’t want to make them angry at you.”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Your goal wasn’t to get a hung jury for fifty thousand dollars,” said Jack. “You wanted the not-guilty verdict-
