Closing Arguments
" Mrs Montoya had been living a lie," Jack said to the jury.
Claire knew she should be watching the jury, watching the expressions on their faces, judging and assessing how they responded to Jack's closing argument. She tried – but her attention was dragged back, over and over again, to Jack, as he paced slowly before the jury box. He was using what she thought of as his "coaxing" voice, the one he used when the main obstacle to conviction was that the defendant was too sympathetic. Warm, reassuring, yet strangely authoritative – like a paediatrician talking a six year old into getting a needle.
Sometimes alone at night Claire liked to imagine Jack was talking to her in that gentle, irresistible voice. Now take off your shirt, Claire, that's right …
She snapped her attention back to the courtroom. Focus! she told herself sternly.
" Mrs Montoya was, as she saw it, trapped in a loveless marriage. Not just loveless – unbearable. You have heard testimony about Mr Montaya's behaviour. Never going far enough to give her justification to have him charged or to have the prenuptial agreement set aside, nonetheless Mr Montoya, through carelessness, neglect and deliberately vile behaviour, made his wife's life a misery."
"And one day, Elvira Montoya decided that enough was enough. She would not, she could not, take any more." Jack looked away from the jury, the very picture of a man whose thoughts were elsewhere, were in that moment when Elvira Montoya looked in the mirror and decided that something had to give. Then he gave a little shrug, a rueful smile, and looked back at the jury.
Claire managed to drag her attention away from him for long enough to see that the jurors were hanging on every word.
"Up to that point, I have to admit, Elvira Montoya has my sympathy. No doubt she has yours. And if she had made the choice to take that leap into the unknown – to leave her husband, and his money – to start a new life – we would all admire her courage, and wish her well."
Jack ran his fingers through his hair. Claire had no doubt he was well aware of the effect that careless disarray had on the women in the jury.
"But Elvira Montoya wanted to have her cake and eat it to. She wanted to have everything she wanted at no cost – no cost to herself. She was not willing to take the risk – the risk that she might fail in her efforts to be happy. We all know those moments of decision in our lives. We all know the fear of change, the hope of a better future. And we all know that when we make those decisions, we must be sure that the cost of our choices is borne by ourselves. Elvira Montoya was not willing to take a chance or pay a price. Her dilemma is moving – but her solution is unacceptable. Find her guilty."
He looked deliberately from one juror to another, then turned and strode back to the bar table. As the judge began to charge the jury, Jack turned to Claire and leaned close to whisper.
"How was it?" he asked, breath warm on her cheek, stirring her hair. He was so close to her that if she had leaned a little, just a little, they would have been pressed against each other from knee to collarbone. She could feel the warmth of his body, she could smell the warm male scent of him fighting through soap and shampoo.
Claire started to answer him but her mouth was dry and her mind was blank. She could move her hand a little and it would touch his. She could turn slightly and their lips would meet.
And the courtroom would catch fire, she thought.
"What did you think, Claire?" Jack pressed.
"I think you won them over," she said distantly, desperately trying to ignore the ache growing between her legs.
"Do you think she's guilty?" he asked.
That was an odd enough question to distract her. "Of course!" Claire said, turning to look at him, a reckless movement that pressed her knee against his. She heard his breath catch but he didn't move away. "She beat his head in with a hammer, Jack."
"But do you think – do you think I was right? In the closing? Do you think I was right?" He paused, looking away from her, gaze on the bar table where their hands lay side by side, not quite touching. "About risk? About chance?"
"We have to take chances in life, that's true," Claire said. "Take a chance that change will be better. Take a chance that risk will be worth it. Or take a chance that things are better as they are."
"Which do you prefer?" Jack asked, still not looking at her.
"I've taken some big risks in my life," Claire said. "They always ended badly." She meant it as a joke, but her voice came out heavier than she'd planned.
Jack leaned back in his chair, putting some distance between them. "Me too," he said. He smiled at her, but his eyes were dark and serious. "So what should triumph, hope or experience?"
Claire bit her lip and looked down. "Do you want to get a coffee while we wait for the verdict?"
"I've got a ton of prep," Jack said. "You go on. Meet me back here later."
As the jury filed out, Claire stood up and pushed her files into her briefcase. Despite his protestations of work, Jack didn't move. She edged past him to the aisle.
Just as she passed him, he caught her hand. Surprised, she stopped and turned. He was looking up at her, very serious, gaze searching her face.
" Jack?" she asked.
"Nothing," he said after a moment, and smiled at her, a sweet sad smile she'd never seen from him, the smile of a much less cynical man. "Goodbye, Claire."
"I'll see you later," Claire said, nonplussed.
"Yeah." Jack let go of her hand and turned back to his papers. "Go on, then."
She stood a moment longer, indecisive. " Jack?" she asked at last. "I there something – ?"
He raised a hand to cut her off without looking up from his files. "Turns out there's nothing, Claire. Goodbye."
"Okay." Claire hefted her briefcase and headed for the doors. Halfway there she began to suspect he had turned to watch her go. By the time she reached the doors it was a firm conviction. One hand on the door, she turned to wave –
His back was to her, his head bent over his papers, one hand buried in his hair, broad shoulders a little slumped.
Look up, Jack, she willed him. Look up.
He never moved.
