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

to waste your time introducing myself, or even introducing this case.  You all know who I am, and you all know why we’re here.  We’re here to right a wrong.  It’s as simple as that.  A veteran police officer has been murdered.  That’s right -- a dedicated man who put his life on the line, day in and day out, for fourteen years, to protect all of us from harm -- was gunned down in a back alley, and it’s going to be up to you to hold his killer accountable.”

He paused to take a sip of water, and to let his words sink in.

“Through evidence and witness testimony, the people will prove that the man who murdered Detective Dale Scott is sitting right over there,” he continued, swinging his arm out in a dramatic arc to point directly at Jason without deigning to look at him.  “And after we prove it, it’s going to be up to you to tell the world that this isn’t some backwoods hick place, inhabited by barbarians, but a lawful society that punishes those who break our laws.”

He waited for a moment, to make sure he had every single juror’s attention, and then he launched into a lengthy recounting of the facts of the case, as he had decided they should be understood, and then he detailed how he intended to prove those facts.

“Of course, the defense over there is going to try to convince you that the defendant was drunk,” he told them as he was coming to the conclusion of his multiple-hour statement.  “They’re going to tell you that he was so drunk that night that he didn’t know what he was doing.  And the truth is, he is a drunk -- which is how come he and Detective Scott knew each other so well.  But whatever they say, we will show you that on February 10th, he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t point a gun at Detective Scott’s head and pull the trigger.”

John Henry pursed his lips and then proceeded to pace the length of the jury box and back again, ending up somewhere in the middle.

“This is a simple case,” he concluded.  “One man is dead by the hand of another.  There’s no argument about that.  We will prove that Jason Lightfoot harbored resentment towards Detective Scott.  We will prove that the two met in an alley where there was a confrontation -- we don’t know why, and we aren’t required to tell you why, but it’s possible the defendant was resisting arrest.  And we will prove that, at some point in that confrontation, the defendant gained possession of the detective’s gun, and executed him with a bullet to the head.  Now in my book, Ladies and Gentlemen -- that’s murder.  And I expect, by the time we have presented our case, it will be murder in your book, as well.”

The jurors shifted in their respective upholstered seats.  John Henry Morgan sat down.

. . .

Lily stood up, her linen suit now more wilted than crisp.  The lunch recess was over, court was back in session, and this was it.

She had practiced endlessly in front of the mirror in her bedroom, forcing herself to remember every sentence, every word, knowing that not only was Jason’s fate in her hands, but perhaps her own, as well.

She had been working for hours with the therapist Amanda had recommended.  She knew how bad it would look if she stumbled, if she lost her way, if she couldn’t communicate what was in her mind and her heart to these twelve people.  She took a deep breath.

“I don’t mind introducing myself to you again,” she began with a friendly smile.  “My name is Lily Burns, and I represent the defendant in this case.  His name is Jason Lightfoot.  And I think I should tell you that, in the beginning, I didn’t want to represent Jason Lightfoot.  I knew Dale Scott, you see.  I grew up right next door to his wife.  I was a bridesmaid at their wedding.”  She paused to look over at Helen and Maynard Purcell, who were seated in the second row, behind the prosecution.  “And I felt just like I expect a lot of others felt, perhaps like some of you probably felt -- I wanted to see the man who killed him punished, not exonerated, for what he did.  But then I started to learn some things about the case, things that suggested that maybe it wasn’t quite as open-and-shut a matter as the prosecutor would like you to believe -- or as simple.  And the truth is -- this case is anything but simple.  And you won’t have to look very hard to figure out why.”

She paused again, this time, taking the opportunity to look each juror straight in the eye.  “We all know that there are two sides to every story,” she told them.  “And there are certainly two sides to this one -- two totally different sides.  So listen carefully as the prosecution presents its side, as they tell you what they want you to believe, and when they’re done, I won’t just tell you the other side -- I’ll show you exactly how easy it is to turn their whole story on its head.”

Lily sat down, breathing a huge sigh of relief that she had gotten through it without a stumble.  The jury let out its collective breath, too, without even realizing it had been holding it, while over at the prosecution table, John Henry Morgan clenched his teeth, and Tom Lickliter, the new suit in the Jackson County Courthouse, smiled a little smile of appreciation.

The battle had been joined.

. . .

The prosecution began its case the next day by calling Martin Grigsby to the witness stand.

“Good morning,” John Henry said, once the witness had been sworn in, taken his seat, and spelled his last name for the record.

“Good morning,” the witness, nervous to have so many eyes focused on him, said in return.

“Will you please