The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [143]
Shawanda Jones and her three lawyers stood and turned to the jury. Several jurors, black and brown and white, had tears in their eyes, as Shawanda did in hers. Scott felt Shawanda’s hand next to his, trembling, her entire body shaking. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
The foreperson of the jury handed the verdict to the bailiff who handed it to the judge. Judge Buford put on his reading glasses, gazed at the piece of paper, then raised his eyes to the defendant.
“In the matter of United States of America versus Shawanda Jones, the jury finds the defendant not guilty.”
Shawanda sagged and would have fallen to the floor if Scott had not caught her. She buried her face in his chest and embraced him. He held her tightly, his tears mixing with hers. Boo and Pajamae ran to them as the courtroom erupted in cheers and shouts and applause. The jurors hugged each other, reporters crowded Scott and Shawanda, Ray Burns sat at the prosecution table shaking his head, and Bobby and Karen kissed like newlyweds. Senator McCall pushed his way through the crowd and out of the courtroom. Dan Ford sat shaking his head in wonderment at the turn of events. Shawanda whispered in Scott’s ear, “That a righteous name, Atticus.”
Scott turned to the bench and his eyes met Judge Buford’s. The judge nodded at Scott and Scott nodded back.
Shawanda Jones was free. Half an hour later, they finally made their way through the mob of reporters and cameras and to the sidewalk fronting the federal building. Dan Ford was waiting there. Scott sent Shawanda and the girls ahead and walked over. Dan held out his hand and Scott took it.
“Scotty, my boy, you are one fine lawyer.”
“Dan, I’m not your boy anymore.”
“Yes, well…look, Scotty, Mack won’t be in the White House now, so why don’t you come back? You can have your old office, I’ll fix things with Dibrell and the bank, you can buy another big house, get the Ferrari back…you can go back to your old life—with a substantial raise, say a million a year. Not bad for a thirty-six-year-old lawyer. What do you say?”
There was a time. And a place. And a lawyer.
But they were no more.
“Dan, I’m just not the Ford Stevens type.”
Scott turned away from Dan Ford only to find his path blocked by another familiar face: Harry Hankin.
“Harry! How you doing, buddy?”
During his four-year tenure as a member of the country club, Scott had played golf with Harry most Saturday mornings—and usually won a hundred bucks from Harry most Saturday mornings. Harry fought a wicked slice. They shook hands, and Scott threw a thumb back at the courthouse.
“You got a trial?”
Harry Hankin was the premier divorce lawyer in Dallas, admitted to the membership of the country club only after his written promise never to represent a member’s wife.
“Uh…well…no.” Harry glanced down at his shiny shoes, then back up. “Here.”
Harry held out a thick document, almost as if he were embarrassed. Scott took the document and his trained eyes immediately found the caption: PETITION FOR DIVORCE.
“I wanted to do this personally, Scott, so I could explain.”
“She filed for divorce?”
Harry nodded. “Trey, the pro, he hired me—or he’s paying me. He’s already won a tournament, a million bucks, so he can afford me.”
Scott almost laughed. “We played golf how many times, Harry? A hundred? And you’re taking money from the guy my wife ran off with?”
“I couldn’t say no, Scott—he cured my slice.”
Scott laughed now. “Well, sure, Harry, straightening out your golf swing, that’s pretty goddamned important.”
“You thought so once.” Harry turned his hands up. “Look, I’m sorry, Scott.”
“Is she happy?”
Harry shrugged lamely. “I was married to a woman like her. With them, you never really know.”
“Does she want Boo?”
“What?”
Scott held up the petition. “Does she want custody of Boo?”
Harry shook his head slowly. “No. She said the PGA tour is no place for a little girl. And she said you need Boo more than Boo needs her.”
Scott started to walk away, but stopped when Harry said, “Scott.” Scott turned back to the divorce