A Reasonable Doubt Susan Sloan (chrysanthemum read aloud TXT) 📖

knew Tom called him a workaholic, and there was truth to that.  So much so that he blamed himself for not having spent more time with his wife, for not realizing how sick she was, for not being able to save her.  It was her ruddy complexion that deceived him -- deceived everyone.  After all, how could anyone who looked so healthy and been so cheerful have been so sick?

Lily Burns was nothing like his late wife, nothing at all.  Where Jean had been short in stature, Lily was rather tall.  Where Jean had been a bit on the plump side, Lily was trim.  Where Jean had been dark-haired and dark-eyed, Lily was fair.  And where Jean had been content to putter around the garden or in the kitchen, or work behind the scenes for worthy causes, Tom suspected that Lily more often than not put herself right out front, championing her causes, challenging the system.  No, she was nothing at all like his wife.  But there was something about her that, in spite of himself, he was starting to find very appealing.

. . .

For the first time since being summoned to Grace Pelletier’s chambers back in February, Lily was beginning to think she might actually have a chance to win this case.  “Self-defense is looking better and better every day,” she told Megan with a satisfied smile.  “And if you want to know the truth, I could very easily be convinced that’s exactly what it was.”

“You mean you could have argued it, even if you didn’t believe it?” Megan asked.

“Legally, you can argue almost anything,” Lily replied.  “It just makes it more convincing when you believe what you’re arguing.”

“You seem pleased,” Megan observed.  “You didn’t used to be, you know -- you used to want this case to go away and you wanted Dale Scott’s killer brought to justice.  Even if he was you own client.  Now you don’t seem so sure.”

Lily shrugged.  “The justice system is supposed to be about the search for truth, about holding the state to the highest standard, but it’s really all about winning,” she told her paralegal.  “This time, though, in little old backwater Jackson County, the system may just end up working the way it’s intended to work.”

Megan smiled.  “It’s not only about the search for truth,” she said.  “Or even that you hate to lose, which I’m in a unique position to know you do.  No, if I’m not completely misreading the signs, I’d say it isn’t just your case that’s looking better every day, it’s your client, too.”

“I do have to admit,” Lily conceded, “I’m learning a few things that do make him seem a lot more credible.”

And it was true -- Lily was indeed thinking better of Jason Lightfoot.  She liked the way he handled himself in court.  He was quiet and he was respectful, and other than an occasional murmured question indicating he was paying at least partial attention to the proceedings, he didn’t interfere, or make any demands.  He just let her do her job.

And, too, she had just about persuaded herself that he could have killed Dale Scott in self-defense, and that made a huge difference.  Not to mention how relieved she was that he had refused to take the deal that would likely have put him in jail for the rest of his life.  He was slowly earning her respect and, in return, she was growing more and more willing to go to the wall for him.  In other words, she was finally prepared to admit how wise Grace Pelletier had been eight months ago.

. . .

Carson Burns was indeed following every single word of the trial on the local cable television channel.  Half an hour before court was called into morning session, he made Diana help him up out of his wheelchair and into his favorite recliner in the library, with a sizeable mug of coffee and a plate piled with biscuits that he largely ignored on the small table by his side, and then, as soon as she left, he would turn on the television.  Each time the proceedings broke for lunch, or some other reason, she would make him take a break, too, to eat something, or go to the bathroom, or take a nap, or do whatever she could get him to do.  In turn, when court reconvened, he insisted on being taken right back to the library.

Grace Pelletier had made the controversial ruling to allow cameras in the courtroom after the local cable channel petitioned on the basis of educational value as well as the people’s right to know, and neither the prosecution nor the defense voiced any serious objection.  As a result, two cameras, one in the rear of the courtroom and the other along the side, covered the proceedings.  It was a first for the county, and it afforded Carson a unique opportunity to watch his daughter at work.

“All the theatrics are fine, and you’re making some good points,” he told her over dinner on Friday evening.  “But none of it will matter if you can’t get around the fact that your client fired the gun.  That’s what John Henry is going to drum into the jurors’ heads at every opportunity.  And I worry that, even if you can prove that Dale was up to his eyeballs in cocaine and dirty policing, the best you might get out of a self-defense argument is a hung jury, which means you’ll have to start all over again.”

Lily sighed, because she knew he was right.  “I have the weekend,” she said.  “Let’s see what else I can come up with.”

. . .

Jason’s cell was stifling -- air-conditioning not being a high priority in the penal budget.  His orange jumpsuit was soaked with sweat.  He pulled the bedding off his bunk, stripped down to his shorts, and stretched out on the bare metal, hoping for some relief, but it made little difference.  With nowhere to go, the hot air just hung in