Those Who Spoon

Chapter Twelve

Testimony upon testimony was made; numerous witnesses took the stand. Neil Quickwit caused seeds of doubt and glassy eyes when the medical examiner explained in deft terms how unusual Samantha Limestone’s wounds had been for an accident. Walter Wylee defended Ebenezer to the best of his ability, but, as he could tell by the glances the jurors threw at his client, had not successfully succeeded in slaying every single bit of doubt that had been born out of the prosecution’s fierce words. He had a hard time questioning the psychologist in particular – the man bucked at the lawyer’s every word, was consistent in his statements and refused to admit to anything positive Samantha might or might not have said to him about Ebenezer Soon. By the time the prosecution announced that they rested, he had to press his lips together to abstain from sighing in relief. Next to Walter, Ebenezer didn’t bother to stop himself and huffed quietly. “I thought they were never going to stop,” he murmured.

Walter Wylee stifled a yawn. “It’s not over yet.”

“No, it isn’t,” Ebenezer hissed under his breath. “Now’s the time to give it all. I can’t spend decades in prison . . . I can’t.”

“I know,” Walter said evenly. “And you won’t.”

Ebenezer paused, gazing at the jury. “When I became rich,” he said softly, “I thought I would never have to let people make decisions for me again. Not great ones. I thought I’d be able to choose my own path . . .” He smiled bitterly. “But the Lord doesn’t work that way. It’s not done.”

Walter shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of God. “Life’s tough, Mr. Soon,” he responded hesitantly.

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Ebenezer said in a low voice. “I’ve been through things no one can imagine. I’ve been dragged through hell and back again. You don’t need to tell me my life is tough, because I know that. I need you to ensure it doesn’t get tougher. That’s what I pay you to do!” Taking a deep breath, he added, “I want you to help me . . . please.”

The defense attorney looked at the jurors, examining their eyes. There were blue, brown and green pairs in them; eyes linked with wrinkles; eyes with smooth lids; eyes which nearly succumbed under heavy eyebrows; eyes that were round; eyes that were small. They only had one thing in common, and that was that they allowed Walter to look into their souls and guess what they were thinking. The middle-aged woman who looked like a typical housewife, for example, was staring off in space with glassy eyes. She was either still dazed from the psychologist’s choice of words or thinking about her kids. The girl next to her was younger and continuously threw hesitant looks at Ebenezer, her eyes wide and disbelieving. They couldn’t accept him as a murderer . . . and that was good; great. The two men behind her were murmuring to each other and casting occasional glances at his client. They were doubtful and reproving, but not beyond fixing – by the time the defense would rest, all of these jurors would believe beyond a doubt that Ebenezer Soon was innocent. Whether he was, Walter did not know. Correction – he didn’t want to know. What lawyer ever did? Being certain of your client’s guilt didn’t help his case in the slightest. If anything, it caused one to subconsciously dim their sharp wits, sometimes to purposely lose. Being a defense attorney wasn’t about saving the innocent who had been wrongly accused for Walter Wylee; it was about giving someone a second chance, even when they didn’t deserve it. And whether Ebenezer Soon was wrongly accused or not, Walter was determined to prevent him from spending years in a prison that couldn’t and wouldn’t ever provide accommodation for his needs. He’d seen people who he wished he hadn’t freed of their sentence; people who were truly rotten from the inside out. His current client may be a scumbag, but Walter knew a criminal when he saw one – and quite frankly, Ebenezer Soon was probably the most innocent man he’d ever defended.

Walter stood up to begin questioning his first witness, who was just being sworn in. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes and just sway on his feet. This was going to be tough. Once again, a man’s life rested in his hands. Someone was relying on his ability to twist the truth; to spin a golden magic tale with his voice alone. Someone trusted him to say the right things. Outside, the press waited to see who was going to win this glorious, vicious battle. At home, his wife was baking him a pie. In an expensive villa, a maid was preparing a meal for a man that was sure to be pronounced innocent.

Smiling, Walter opened his eyes and walked forward slowly, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t lose this case. No matter what, he would win and give yet another bastard a shot at life.