She Wanted It All - Kathryn Casey [178]
The twins rarely left the courthouse, worried about being pounced on by reporters and television cameras. They were taken in hidden elevators and out private doors. At the jail, Tracey Tarlton watched for snatches on the television news, and at home, Donna Goodson found she couldn’t turn off the TV, afraid the jury would come in without her hearing.
As the first evening of deliberations turned into the second day, the defense lawyers grew more confident. An old adage said that a quick verdict was usually a verdict of guilt. The longer a jury stayed out, it was thought, the better it was for the defense. DeGuerin, however, was still gnawing on his closing remarks. He’d had plans that in the tight time constraints he hadn’t gotten to, including drawing a timeline he said would have proved Celeste couldn’t have done all Tracey said she did the night of the shooting. And he was angry, spitting angry, about the judge, who’d ruled that he wasn’t allowed to present the testimony from Zan Ray and Reginald Breaux. “If we’d been allowed to put on the case we wanted to, I’d feel better,” he said. “She didn’t let us do that.”
For her part, Catherine Baen prowled nervously through the tight quarters of the small defense room and the courthouse corridors, the hours wearing her down. She’d received a call inviting her back to The Hague to work on another war crimes trial. She’d agreed to go, but any excitement was squashed under the weight of what this jury would decide.
Rumors floated through the courthouse that this was an organized jury. Many were managers at their companies. When lunches were brought in, it was noticed that charts and lists were taped to the walls. They were dissecting the case, moving from issue to issue.
Meanwhile, Wetzel and Cobb weren’t worried about the passing hours. The jurors had asked the bailiff for evidence to be brought to them: the two calendars and the phone record summary. All were items they’d suggested the jury consider in their closings. Still, they had asked for other things that didn’t bode as well for the prosecutors, including Tracey’s journal, which DeGuerin had urged them to read.
On the third day, Wednesday, March 19, at 10:00 A.M., the jurors sent out a request for more evidence, including the photos from the lake house party, the cards the women had sent to each other, and Justin’s photos of Celeste’s infected hands. But it was something else that caught all the attorneys’ attention: The jurors wanted the photos from the autopsy—the autopsy itself—and Steve Beard’s death certificate.
To Wetzel this held good news and bad news. The good news: It appeared the jury had decided Celeste was involved, otherwise they wouldn’t be considering cause of death. The bad news: They were discussing the cause of death.
Nearly seven hours later, at 4:40 P.M., the attorneys were called. The jury had reached a verdict.
The interested flooded the courtroom, even more than for closing arguments. Again Steve’s family, including the twins and their friends, packed the front pews. Justin, Kristina, Jennifer, their friend Amanda, and Ellen Halbert sat together, holding hands. Moments earlier Justin had led them all in prayer. “Help the jury see what we know in our hearts,” he said. “Give us justice for Steve.”
Behind Celeste and her attorneys sat her friends, Marilou and her daughters, and Celeste’s husband Cole, who’d told the media he stood behind his wife’s innocence. The only one missing from the courtroom was Gary Cobb, who’d gone to pick up his youngest son at school. The jury walked in without smiling. The bailiff handed the decision to the judge, who read it and returned it to him. He then took it to the jury foreperson, Shelly Rosales, a blond, matter-of-fact woman, who looked directly at Celeste.
“We the jury find the defendant, Celeste Johnson, guilty on the charge of capital murder,” she read.
Tears flooded Celeste’s eyes. DeGuerin