OFFICE OF EADA JACK MCCOY
JUNE 19
"I hate to say it, Jack," Claire confided from the other end of the couch, surrounded by open Chinese boxes and paperwork, "but Prescott is putting on a hell of a case. So far they have managed to provide an alibi we cannot disprove, discredit most of our witnesses, and plant a reasonable doubt in the mind of the jury as to whether or not he's responsible."
"He did do it, Claire," her associate replied from the other end of the room, where he had been pacing the last five minutes. His sleeves were rolled up and collar undone, hair slightly ruffled from running his fingers through it. Jack was never more at home than in the office, but tonight his aggravation was more pressing than his confidence. Claire crossed her legs and didn't move from the depth of the pillows on the couch, replying, "You know that, and I know that, but the jury might not know that."
Halting his pacing long enough to look across at her in the soft light, Jack kept his hands in his pockets. He knew she was right, that they had lost a great deal of ground that afternoon. Prescott was a formidable attorney and his client was remarkably poised, as though he wasn't facing a murder conviction but a simple parking ticket. Just looking at him, it was difficult to believe the seemingly mild-mannered, well-groomed man was capable of terrorizing his wife. But there was something about all of them, something that only those of instinct or who had encountered it in the past could sense, a naturally violent streak betrayed in the tone of their voice, the quiet nature of their movements, the desire to dominate and command.
"When I was eight years old," he said after a moment, standing partially in the shadows, enough that his face was concealed from her appraisal, "my mother brought me home from mass. It was the weekend before Easter and my father, like always, was drunk. Normally, she was able to get me into the house and up to my room before he started in on her, but he was in a particularly foul temperament." He paused, biting his bottom lip, and shook his head. "That was the first time I ever saw him hit her," he said quietly. "For no reason. Well, in his mind I am sure there was a reason, but it wouldn't have made sense to the rest of us."
Claire did not quite know how to respond, maintaining silence, but she dropped her foot to the floor, indicating that he should come and sit beside her. He did not immediately comply with her unspoken invitation, wondering if he had spoken too freely. Resting his hand on her knee, Jack stared at the coffee table overflowing with documents. "I don't think I ever realized how much of an impression it made on me until I was older," he remarked. "I remember the night so well. I was just finishing law school, and had been married six months. She… she made me so furious that just for an instant, I thought about hitting her."
"But you didn't."
"No," he said, "but I thought about it." He turned dark eyes on her and shifted just enough on the couch so that she could see his face in the lamplight. Most of the office remained quiet, all but a few people having gone home hours before. Claire reached out and entwined her fingers with his, her silence more than maintaining her faith in him.
"Hilton takes the stand tomorrow," she remarked.
Jack nodded. "Claire," he said, "call Briscoe and Curtis and have them arrange for Miss Kivenski to come up from Long Island. I have a feeling we may need a rebuttal witness after I cross-examine Hilton tomorrow."