The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [130]
Dan Ford caught Scott’s eye; his ex–senior partner’s expression asked a silent question: You gave up your career for a murderer?
Judge Buford adjourned for the day. Shawanda Jones’s defense would begin at nine in the morning. Now all Scott had to do was come up with a defense.
Dinner on the kitchen floor was like a funeral reception.
“Everything Hu said is true,” Bobby said, “except it doesn’t prove Shawanda’s guilt. Problem is, she was in that room with him that night, they fought, and her gun was the murder weapon. So any reasonable person would assume she did it. And without Hannah Steele to back up a claim of self-defense—which is unavailable so long as Shawanda refuses to admit to shooting Clark—we can’t ask the jury to acquit her on that basis.”
“So what’s left?”
“We’ve got to answer one question for the jury, Scotty—what they want to know: Who killed Clark McCall? If Shawanda didn’t, who did? Who came into that house right after she left, before Clark could get up off the floor and get dressed, picked up her gun, stuck it to Clark’s head, and pulled the trigger?”
Scott shook his head. “Have you heard from Carl?”
“He’ll call when he gets something.”
“Well, he’s got twelve hours to save us. Right now all we’ve got is Shawanda, her word against the evidence.”
Pajamae said, “Mama’s going to testify?”
“Yes, honey. She has to.”
“What’s she gonna wear?”
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“We saved some of Mother’s things at the yard sale,” Boo said, “for Pajamae’s mother. For when she gets out.”
Scott turned to Karen. “Will you help the girls pick out some clothes?”
“Sure.”
“At least she’ll be nicely dressed.”
They ate the take-out Mexican food in silence now. Scott absentmindedly watched the girls eat, wondering how Pajamae would handle life with her mother on death row and then life without her mother after the execution, when he noticed something: Boo was holding her fork in her left hand.
“Boo, come over here.”
She got up off the floor and stepped over to him. Scott took the aluminum foil wrapping from his entrée and fashioned it into the shape of an L. An aluminum foil gun. He placed it on the floor.
“Please pick that up.”
Boo frowned. “What’s it supposed to be, a gun?”
“Yes.”
She shrugged, leaned down, and picked up the foil gun with her left hand.
“Now grab my hair.”
She stood directly in front of him and with her right hand grabbed his hair above his left eye.
“Now point the gun at my forehead like you’re going to shoot me.”
She put the barrel of the foil gun to Scott’s forehead, above his right eye.
Bobby said, “Clark was shot above his left eye.”
“By a right-handed killer.”
Seeing Boo hold her fork with her left hand, Scott had remembered his first meeting with Shawanda, when she had held his pen with her left hand.
“Pajamae, your mother’s left-handed, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Fenney, she sure is.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE DEFENSE CALLS FBI Agent Henry Hu.”
Ray Burns was out of his chair.
“Your Honor, Mr. Fenney declined cross-examination of Agent Hu yesterday; now he’s calling him as a defense witness?”
The judge looked at Scott: “Mr. Fenney?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Your Honor.”
“Proceed.”
Scott had been so sure that his client had killed Clark McCall that he had failed to ask a basic factual question of the government’s forensic expert: Was the murderer right- or left-handed? He had been so sure his client was lying that he had failed to even consider that she might be telling the truth. Now, for the first time since he had been appointed to represent the defendant in United States of America versus Shawanda Jones, Scott knew his client was innocent. Shawanda Jones did not kill Clark McCall.
But then, who did?
Agent Hu took the stand, with the judge reminding him that he was still under oath, and Scott said, “Agent Hu, your testimony yesterday was quite illuminating, and I mean that as a compliment.”
“Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to reenact