FiFty Fifty

Chapter Thirty

EDDIE
I'd never stood up to give my opening speech to a jury so hostile.
They weren't looking at me, they were focused on Sofia. She looked like a rabbit in the middle of the road, with headlamps coming toward it. Frozen and
shivering, waiting to be run over flat.
I told her it was okay, and Harry patted her hands. She had both hands spread
out on the table, one on top of the other. Her fingers were shaking. Harry steadied them, but really he was using his palm to cover them. Sofia's anxiety could translate as fear. The fear of someone who has done something terrible and has just been found out.
I didn't stand in the well of the court. Kate had done such a number on us, and the jury had clearly liked her, that I didn't want any comparisons in the jury's mind. Instead I walked right up to the jury and stopped only a few feet from the first row. I put my hands in my pockets and I thought about what I was going to say.
I had a speech prepared, but now it sounded flat in my head. I couldn't use it. I had to come up with something new. Kate was riding on Dreyer's coat-tails. Every point Dreyer made in the case, Kate was going to deflect it onto Sofia. There were no easy plays. The jury was being told a story in this case. And right now they liked the one they were hearing.
My story had to be different. It had to be better.
Whoever tells the best story wins.
I cleared my throat, and took my time to make eye contact with some jurors.
The jurors that I had selected in the last few days. Seven women. Five men. One male alternate, one female. Most of the women on the jury were at least ten years' older than Sofia. All of them held jobs. A cleaner. A van driver. A chef. A hotel maid. A coffee shop manager. A retired teacher. The female juror who was about a year or so younger than Sofia was a student at NYU. She at least held my gaze without defiance. This juror hadn't made up her mind yet.
The men were a mix of laborer, telemarketer, web designer and two wannabe actors who both waited tables in chain restaurants while they waited for Mr. Spielberg's call.
I was tempted to ape Kate's chosen line of defense. Whatever she and Dreyer
 
hit me with I could throw it back at them. Kate, despite her inexperience, was a natural. Perhaps an even better opponent than Dreyer.
I looked at Alexandra now. And the jury followed my gaze. To save Sofia I should destroy Alexandra. That's what the job demanded. If the jury believed Alexandra then Sofia was in trouble. To top it all, I believed in my client, which made Alexandra the murderer. I should be going all out to destroy her.
The innocent should be set free. The guilty punished. All of that goes out the window in a joint trial. The only real opponent is the prosecutor – they have the burden of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. If you lose sight of that, and start a war with your co-defendant, they'll fight back and you destroy each other in front of the jury, who will inevitably think both are lying. All the while, the prosecutor gets to put his feet up, and occasionally toss in a ball for the defendants to fight over and hurl at each other.
The best way to lose this case was to fight with Kate Brooks. I believed Sofia was innocent, and the only thing I cared about right then was getting her an acquittal. To do that, I had to focus on Dreyer as much as possible and ignore Alexandra.
Alexandra wiped her red, raw eyes. She looked like any other successful, attractive Manhattan socialite in her business suit, manicured nails and five- hundred-dollar haircuts. She didn't look like a killer. She looked nervous. One hand reached out and I saw her touch the defense table, running her index finger over the wood grain in small, concentric circles. Nerves, I guessed. I glanced back at Sofia, and saw again a young woman in so much pain, just trying to hold it together.
I couldn't do the job of prosecutor and defense attorney. It just wasn't in me.
'Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I represent Sofia Avellino in this case. Like Alexandra, she has lost her father too. I won't say to you that the killer is in this room. That's far too presumptive of me. The only people who get to decide this case are you. Each one of you will listen to the evidence in this trial and then you will decide upon a verdict. I don't have to prove to you that Alexandra is the killer, nor do I have to prove my client's innocence and anyone who says differently in this case, be it Miss Brooks or Mr. Dreyer, well, they're wrong.
'It falls on the prosecution to prove their case, but guess what? The prosecutor isn't going to tell you who killed Frank Avellino. Mr. Dreyer will present evidence that it could have been either one of the defendants. And he'll leave it up to you. I say that's not good enough, members of the jury. You cannot fill in blanks for the prosecutor. He might say both women carried out the murder, but why then did they blame each other and call the cops on each other?'
I paused and took a step forward, so I was closer to the jury. It was working. I asked them a question and beyond all my hopes, some of them were actually thinking about it. I needed them to think, to question everything, not to be blindly fed the facts by the other lawyers.
'It doesn't make sense, does it?'
Two jurors shook their heads.
'Maybe one of the women in this room did kill Frank Avellino, but the
prosecutor isn't going to tell you which one. He wants both of the defendants convicted if possible. But I think you know that's not possible. And if the prosecution does not prove, beyond all reasonable doubt, who killed Frank Avellino then there is one thing you must do, ladies and gentlemen – you must acquit.
'And I will only ask you do to two things in this case. Listen to the evidence. And if by the end of this trial you are not sure who killed Frank Avellino, then you must acquit both defendants, because the prosecution has failed to make its case. Thank you. I know I can rely on you all.'
I sat down, in better shape than when I first stood up. Some of the jury would think and evaluate the case properly and that's all I could ask.
Sofia leaned over, fresh tears in her eyes and determination on her face, and she said, 'Alexandra killed my father. I want you to make sure she pays for it. Don't do it this way.'
'Sofia, I'm trying to save your life. Let me do my job.'
She blinked, and tears fell on the papers laid out on the table. 'He was my dad. And she killed him. She has to pay for it.'