Page 93 of The Devil's Advocate

He paused, let his eyes linger on the grief-torn face of Francis Edwards. The jury followed his eyes to that man. He kept his gaze on him, and theirs. He made Francis the focus for the entire room. He wanted the jury to feel that pain. For his grief to make the jury uncomfortable. It was human nature – people have an innate willingness to help those in need. He was tapping into our better instincts, twisting them around for his own purposes.

It wasn’t a theatrical performance by any means. I believed every word Korn had spoken, if I took him at face value. Knowing what I know, I could see underneath that mask. There was nothing so low as a man who would use a parent’s suffering for his own ends. He didn’t care about Francis or his late wife. Didn’t care about Skylar, probably. He wanted to win. If he had to flay those people alive to do it, he would.

‘Only you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have the power to help this man. To do that, you must listen to the evidence in this case.’

Finally, he was through with his emotional hook. Now he turned to the evidence.

‘The defendant, Andy Dubois, confessed to this crime. Twice. Once to his cell mate, John Lawson. And once to law enforcement. That’s right, he fully admitted his guilt to the Sunville County Sheriff’s Department. You will read that confession. Now, it seems he has changed his mind. He wants to suppress that confession, and his motion was denied by the judge. You will get to read it and decide if he was telling the truth when he confessed. His fancy legal team, from New York City, will try to tell you that the confession was coerced from Dubois. It’s up to you to decide for yourselves if that is true.

‘Now, apart from a full confession to murder, what other evidence points to this defendant as the perpetrator of this heinous crime? There’s plenty. He was the last person to be seen with Skylar Edwards on the night she died. His blood was found beneath the fingernails of the victim. There’s a scratch on his back, consistent with the victim scraping at his flesh, in a desperate attempt to be free of his clutches.’

One of the jurors, a woman in a beige cardigan, over a beige blouse, curled her lip in disgust and confusion and pointed her beige face in my direction. She couldn’t really understand why we were having a trial at all. Surely this was all a foregone conclusion – the guy confessed, for Christ’s sake.

She wasn’t alone on the jury stand in giving me some curious and unwelcome looks. A big man in a plaid shirt gave me the eye. It was the same disappointed expression he would use on cold callers and insurance salesmen. We were all just wasting his time.

‘I want you to listen to the prosecution case, and keep in mind all that I have said. But more importantly, keep Skylar’s father in mind. Do not allow yourself to be distracted by the baseless defense arguments. Mr. Flynn and those in his big-time New York law firm will argue that it’s possible Esther Edwards killed her own child, and then took her own life last night because she couldn’t live with the guilt. He’sactuallygoing to put the blame on the victim’s dead mother, before the poor woman has even been buried. And he’ll do that in front of the lady’s grieving husband. Treat this argument with thedisgustit deserves.’

The whole jury was looking at us. Every single one.

Harry leaned over, whispered, ‘The jury want to send us to death row along with Andy.’

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ continued Korn, ‘justice is in your hands. It’s up to you to give it to Francis Edwards. You do that by sending the defendant to the execution chamber. You do that by listening to the evidence, instead of listening to the defendant’sfancylawyer.’

He took another beat, let his eyes roam over the jury. They were small slits of black below his eyebrows, and yet I was sure those eyes would take in every face. When he’d let the silence build long enough, he turned to the judge, nodded and limped back to his seat.

Judge Chandler’s face contorted from a look of respect and admiration for Korn, into surprised dismay when he fixed his gaze on me. Like I was something nasty he’d discovered on the sole of his shoe.

‘Mr. Flynn, do you wish to make an opening statement at this time?’

It sounded more like a threat than an invitation.

I stood and said, ‘I do, Your Honor, can I get a five-minute comfort break?’

‘Make it quick,’ he said.

We adjourned for a few minutes. I went straight to the men’s bathroom, got in the stall and locked it. I unbuttoned my suit jacket, grabbed a hold of the breast pocket of my shirt and yanked it until it tore at one side, exposing an inch of flesh beneath. I closed my jacket, opened the top button of my shirt and loosened my tie.

I was ready.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

EDDIE

‘Members of the jury, my name is Eddie Flynn, and I’m an attorney from New York. That part of Mr. Korn’s opening statement is true. A lot of what he told you isnottrue. Here’s one lie, just by way of example – we arenotclaiming, andneverhave claimed that Esther Edwards murdered her own daughter. He knows we’ve never made that case. There’s not one court filing, not one piece of paper ever lodged with this court that even hints we would make that argument. And if I’m lying about that, the judge will tell you.’

I took a beat, swung around and looked at the judge. What I said was correct. Some defendants hint at their case through discovery or other motions. Judge Chandler’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. He wanted to contradict me, but of course he couldn’t. I’d used the judge to force a wedge between the prosecutor and the truth.

I turned back to the jury.

‘You see? For Mr. Korn to tell you we were making that case is nothing more than an appalling lie, and he should apologize to Francis Edwards for using his wife’s suicide to try to score points with this jury.’

I made sure to turn away from the jury and the judge, right then, and give Korn a wink.

He’d fallen for the trap I’d laid last night. His face, normally a brighter shade of corpse, turned just a little red. That one really burned him. Now the jury at least has the idea in their head that Korn might be misleading them. If they don’t trust Korn, then maybe Andy has a chance.

I wasn’t done with Korn yet, and I turned my attention back to the jury.

‘Iama lawyer from New York City. That part is true. However, I’m anything butfancy. I grew up in Brooklyn, my father never worked a steady job and my mother waited tables all her life. What Mr. Korn left out of his speech is that he’s from New York too, only he grew up in a thirty-million-dollar apartment on the Upper West Side. His father was a Wall Street powerbroker. He got his law degree in a private college – I got mine from night school. Look at Mr. Korn. That’s a nice suit. Hand-cut Italian cloth, and that’s a gorgeous silk shirt beneath it. My suits are Italian too. I get two of ’em every winter from Big Momo’s Warehouse in Jersey. Not the same quality, though,’ I said, and opened my jacket letting the jury see the small tear on the breast pocket of my shirt.