Judge & Jury - James Patterson [11]
The door finally opened near the rear. A buzz of anticipation rippled through the air.
Two burly-looking marshals led the defendant inside. Cavello’s hands were cuffed in front of him. He was dressed in a brown checked sports jacket and a restrained olive tie, his graying hair nicely trimmed. He didn’t look like the animal everyone was expecting. More like a normal, everyday citizen you might see riding next to you on the train.
Cavello took a look around and nodded, as if impressed with the crowded room. The marshals took him to a chair next to his lawyer. They freed his hands. Kaskel leaned over and whispered something in Cavello’s ear that made the defendant smile. Our gazes met for a second. His eyes lit up, and he smiled again as if to say, Good to see you here, Nicky. You really think you can beat me?
Sharon Ann Moran, the judge’s clerk, stood. “All rise.”
Through the side door, Judge Seiderman entered the room. She was a smallish, attractive woman with graying hair, a pleasant face, and a tastefully short skirt beneath her judge’s cloak. This was the biggest case of her life, too. She took her seat behind the bench and motioned everyone down.
“Mr. Goldenberger, is the government ready?”
“We are, Your Honor.” The prosecutor stood and nodded.
“Mr. Kaskel?”
“Yes, Your Honor. The defendant is ready too, and eager to prove his innocence.” The Ferret arched his eyebrows. He looked like he was itching for a fight.
“Then, Ms. Moran”—the judge nodded to her clerk, who headed over to the jury room—“you can bring in the jury now.”
Chapter 10
ANDIE DEGRASSE was fifteen minutes late that morning. That morning of all mornings. How could it have happened? Well, easy . . .
First, Jarrod couldn’t find his math book. Then the IRT was backed up, signal switches down. Then, when she finally reached the City Hall station, the two blocks to the courthouse were barricaded off, all because of this damn trial.
It took her fifteen minutes just to get herself through security. A heavyset female guard in a blue blazer went through her purse like it had al Qaeda emblazoned on the buckle. They checked her cell phone like it was a WMD. Finally, Andie said, “You know that big Mafia trial up on the seventh floor?” The security guard nodded. “Well, it’s not starting without me.”
By the time she had burst through the jury-room doors, everybody was sitting around the large conference table, looking nervous and tense.
“Sorry.” Andie sighed loudly, acknowledging a few familiar faces. “You don’t even want to know.”
“Ms. DeGrasse,” Sharon Ann announced, checking off names, “it’s really good you could make time for us in your busy schedule.”
Already in trouble. Andie sat down sheepishly. She found herself next to Rosella, the Hispanic woman she had been next to during jury selection.
“That leaves only Mr. O’Flynn.” Sharon Ann looked at the list, unamused.
A couple of men were reading or doing crosswords. Two of the women had brought paperback novels. There were bagels and muffins and coffee on the table, courtesy of the judge.
“Here,” Rosella said, passing her the tray.
“Thanks.” Andie smiled, delighted to shift the attention off herself. She took a muffin in a napkin. “No latte, I see.”
There were a few chuckles. She looked toward Sharon Ann for at least a hint of a smile. The clerk was as tight as a drum this morning.
The door swung open, and in burst John O’Flynn, red-faced and sweating profusely. “Jeez, guys, it’s like a jungle out there, a zoo. The L.I.E. at rush hour. Unbelievable.”
“O’Flynn,” Sharon Ann confirmed derisively, “I was starting to think I was going to have to put out an APB on you. Nine-thirty tomorrow, Mr. O’Flynn.” Sharon Ann tapped her pencil.
“Aye, aye, ma’am.” O’Flynn saluted. He plopped himself on a chair next to Andie.
“Nine-thirty tomorrow?” Hector, a cable guy, groaned. “You mean this trial’s gonna last that long?”
“Eight weeks, Mr. Ramirez,” Sharon Ann replied. “Something