A Reasonable Doubt by Susan Sloan (free novels .txt) 📕

The truth was, he was willing to let them do just about anything if it meant he could get out of his cage and see the sky and feel the sun on his face again -- even if it was only during the twenty-minute drive from the Jackson County Jail to the Jackson County Courthouse and back again.

“Well now, you look quite handsome,” Lily said when she saw him.

“You mean I look more like you,” he said, but he was smiling.

“I didn’t think there was that much difference,” she responded.  “Do you?”

He laughed.  “What’re you sayin’ -- that I been hearin’ it wrong my whole life?”

Lily thought about that for a moment. “I think we hear what we want to hear,” she told him.

He shrugged.  “Okay, you try bein’ a minority and see how it feels.”

Her eyebrows shot up in real surprise.  “You think I’m not?” she said.  “I’ll tell you what -- you spend one day walking around in a profession that somebody has decreed should be only for women, and then you can tell me that I don’t know anything about being a minority.”

He looked her up and down. She was wearing a crisp gray linen suit with the jacket unbuttoned at the neck and high-heeled shoes.  He’d never thought about lawyering being a man’s business.  Actually, he’d never thought much about lawyering at all.  He wondered if she felt any more comfortable in her fancy getup than he did in his.

“What -- am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” he asked.

She grinned at him.  “No sorrier than I’m supposed to feel for you.”

As far as he was concerned, the courtroom they kept taking him to, the one that was supposed to be the biggest and most impressive in the building, was nothing more than old and dark.  The walls were dark, the floors were dark, and the furniture was dark.  The row of windows that ran along his side of the room was the only reprieve, but it didn’t do a lot to lighten the place up.  And, too, there was the smell, the musty smell of age that was sunk deep into everything.

He was put in the chair closest to the windows.  Being able to see out was probably the only thing that made being in that room day after day, hour after hour, tolerable.  The windows were tall and wide, and looking through them was like catching little glimpses of heaven.  He could see blue sky, fluffy clouds, treetops, rooftops, and even the occasional seagull flying by.

Old, dark and musty though the courtroom was, it was still a world apart from the cage where he had spent the last eight months.

A guard removed his handcuffs, but the shackles around his legs and waist stayed on.  They jangled softly every time he shifted his position, and he wondered if the people in the jury box could hear.  He decided it would be best not to move any more than was absolutely necessary.

He studied the jurors that had made the cut, while trying to pretend that he wasn’t.  Although he had been there for every day of the selection process, he hadn’t concentrated on them individually.  Now he did, and they looked to him like pretty ordinary people.  He thought that the oldest was a spry little woman with neatly coifed white hair, and that the youngest was a girl with flowing red hair and a skirt to match.  There were eight whites on the jury, two Hispanics, one African American, and one Asian.  The alternates were both white.  There wasn’t a single Native American.

“How come?” he asked.

“There were only three in the jury pool,” Lily explained.  “And I’m afraid they were all dismissed for cause.”

“Is that fair?” he wanted to know.  She had told him he was going to be judged by a jury of his peers.

“No,” she said with a sigh.  “But it’s legal.”

. . .

At nine o’clock in the morning on Monday, October 13th, the trial of the State of Washington versus Jason Lightfoot began.

The date would be remembered for many years in the Port Hancock area, not just because it marked the start of the trial, but for the record high temperatures that were set that day and every day thereafter for the rest of the month.

The courtroom was stifling.  Packed to the rafters as it was with onlookers who wanted nothing less than the opportunity to second-guess the jurors, the air-conditioning was all but useless.  For members of the jury and spectators alike, summer suits, sundresses, shorts, and tank tops had been pulled from the depths of closets and the bottoms of drawers where they had been stowed only a scant few weeks earlier.  Nylon hose were abandoned, high heels gave way to sandals, and the smell of sweat mixed with perfume and aftershave would linger long after the proceedings ended each day.

Still, there was an unmistakable buzz of anticipation in the room.  It was the biggest trial the city had seen in as long as anyone could remember.  Reporters, not just from the Port Hancock Herald, but from newspapers all around the region were in attendance.  And it would be the first trial in the history of Jackson County to be televised, if only by the local cable station.

It was impossible not to feel the electricity in the air.  Even Dancer, who sat where he would sit every day that court was in session -- in the pew just behind Lily -- could feel it.

John Henry Morgan stood for his opening statement and faced the jury.  He may have looked a bit pompous in his three-piece suit and starched shirt, especially considering the temperature that hovered close to ninety, but his status as the Jackson County Prosecutor spoke for itself.

“Good morning, Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury,” he began with a benevolent smile and a folksy tone, and then waited for the half-smiles and murmurs that came in response.  “Now, I’m not going