For the Defense (7 page)

A good-looking man could turn her head. A smart man could earn her respect. But it was always the considerate man whose company she’d choose.

“Y
OU SELL YOUR HOUSE YET
?” Jack asked his brother as he sat in the chair in front of Richard’s desk.

Richard studied him with the same probing stare that their father possessed. The rest of the Knight brothers had tried their hands at other jobs. Richard hadn’t needed to. He knew he was a born private investigator.

“Since when did your taste in women change?” Richard asked.

“What makes you think it has?”

“Hell would freeze over before you’d give up your perfect bachelor pad. Your buddies are kindred souls. None of the sophisticated, fast-track females you keep company with would be interested in a small home away from the night life. So who’s your new female friend?”

Richard was good all right.

“Diana Mason’s mother is getting married,” Jack explained. “New hubby’s moving in, and Diana and her daughter are looking for a house. They currently live in the country so they’re probably used to being awakened by noisy birds instead of noisy neighbors. Chances are good that they’d go for your place.”

Richard sat up straight. “Diana told you she was interested in buying?”

“I was thinking you might offer them a lease option for six months, maybe a year.”

Richard shook his head, his initial interest fading fast. “A clean sale, okay. But I’m not interested in becoming her landlord. She’s a valued client of this firm. Better for all concerned not to complicate matters.”

Jack wasn’t daunted. Convincing Richard of something was never easy. “How long has the house been on the market now, a year?”

“Eleven months.”

“Have you had an offer?”

Richard shifted in his chair. “The real estate agent tells me finding the right buyer takes time.”

Jack shook his head. “You could be sixty before the right buyer comes along for that place. Diana and her kid can’t find a house. You want them to end up in some dump of an apartment in town?”

“Her personal life is not our concern. Besides, not every apartment in town is a dump. Or have you forgotten I live in one?”

“The image of your place was what brought the dump description to mind,” Jack said, big grin on his face.

Jack was trying to get Richard to lighten up and see the opportunity. His brother was never going to sell his small, ridiculously decorated home in the hills. Not unless the Munchkins decided to relocate to Silver Valley.

“Have you talked to her about this?” Richard asked after a moment.

“Of course not,” Jack said as though the thought would never have entered his mind. Naturally, telling her about Richard’s place had been his first inclination. But after some consideration, he knew that this way had more chance of success.

“I wanted to check with you first to make sure you were comfortable with the idea.”

Richard rubbed the back of his neck. Jack recognized the unconscious mannerism. His brother was letting himself think about the possibilities. What he needed now was a little nudge.

“The real estate agent could handle the lease option contract, security deposit, collection of the monthly payments,” Jack said. “You wouldn’t have to be personally involved. You don’t even have to tell her you own the place.”

Richard’s neck rub became more vigorous. “Let me think it over.”

Jack got up to leave. He’d made a good case, but like any expert salesman, he was ready with his closing line.

“What’s to think over? You’d be doing Diana and her daughter a good turn and getting some money to cover your expenses on that place. No way you can lose.”

When Jack reached the door, he turned back to his brother. “Diana will be working with me in my office today should you decide to tell her about the house.”

“You invited her here?” Richard asked.

“Best place for us to work.”

“Inviting clients to work in our offices isn’t protocol, Jack. Part of keeping their cases confidential is keeping them out of here so other clients don’t see them. And vice versa.”

How like Richard to spout all the time-honored rules that the ingrained private investigator in him lived by so assiduously. Those rules might fit Richard. But they were way too tight for Jack.

“Couldn’t be helped,” Jack said. “I need to use my computer programs to generate a jury questionnaire. Be a lot easier for me to follow up on these people later if I have everything in my database.”

“Couldn’t you have accomplished the same thing by e-mail? Or taken a laptop to her office?”

“We’re under a tight time constraint. Besides, my office is a lot more comfortable than hers and affords us uninterrupted privacy. I can have food sent in and there’s even a couch to stretch out on.”

Richard squinted at his brother ever so slightly. His tone remained even, but the delivery of his warning was no less emphatic. “Please, be careful.”

Jack was pretty sure he knew what Richard meant, but he wanted to see if his brother had the balls to say it. “Careful about what?”

“Not to step over the line with Diana.”

Yep, he did. Jack almost laughed. Here he was thirty-three and his big brother still thought he had the right to warn him off inappropriate women. That was
really
funny, considering Richard’s mistakes with women.

But what the hell. Jack was easygoing enough not to take offense.

“Relax, Richard. I don’t date women with kids even if they’re interested, and Diana is definitely not interested.”

The suspicion in Richard’s tone rose a notch. “How did you learn she wasn’t?”

Some guys might have been tempted to aim for a brother’s chin after being challenged like this. But Jack had learned long ago that humor packed more punch than a fist ever could.

“A woman lets a man know when she’s interested,” Jack said. “Don’t tell me you’ve been out of the game so long that you’ve forgotten how it’s played?”

Richard shook his head in good-natured defeat.

“The lady’s in distress,” Jack said, keeping his tone light. “You going to ride in on your white steed carrying a six-month lease and save the day like a real knight or
leave her and her innocent child to the nefarious rent hikes of a landlord with larceny in his heart?”

Richard chortled. “Damn good thing they insisted you only
read
the lines and not write them.”

“Everybody’s a critic. Come on, Richard, be a hero. Beats being a villain any day.”

Jack flashed his brother a brilliant smile before leaving his office.

A
S OFTEN AS
D
IANA HAD
employed White Knight Investigations, she had never been inside their offices. The sign outside the building read, When You Need Help, Call On A White Knight.

She took the elevator to the top floor and followed an arrow that led to reception. The furniture was a tasteful light-oak, the carpet a soft gold, the paintings peaceful landscapes. The view outside the panoramic windows of the busy wet city below was positively energizing.

When she approached the desk, the receptionist stood as though at attention.

“Good morning, I’m Harry Gorman. How may I help you?”

Harry’s clipped speech and crisp movements put Diana in mind of a drill sergeant ready to whip some new military recruit into shape. She had spoken to him on the phone many times. Now she had an image to go along with the voice.

“I’m Diana Mason, Harry. Good to finally meet you in person.”

Harry executed a quick head bow in her direction. “Likewise, ma’am. Mr. Jack Knight is expecting you.”

Harry depressed an intercom key, told Jack that she had arrived and proceeded to lead her down the hall to his office. Harry knocked once, opened the door for her, stepped aside so she could enter and then closed the door behind her.

The office was spacious, full of deep blues lightened by touches of silver. The pictures on the wall were modern art splashes in the same hues. The couch in the corner had clean lines and was man-size, the desk an enormous expanse of stainless steel with a large, flat-screen computer monitor in the center.

Jack’s suit coat was off and his sleeves were rolled up. He was in the process of moving a cushioned guest chair next to his. “You’ll be able to see the computer monitor better from here. Sit down and I’ll show you what I have so far.”

Radiating an infectious energy, he retook his seat and started to punch keys. Diana set down her briefcase and bag before slipping onto the comfortable cushioned seat.

As she leaned toward the screen, the first thing she noticed was that Jack smelled good, a combination of clean male skin mixed with sandalwood. With more effort than should have been necessary, she switched her focus to the blinking cursor.

“These are the hundred and fifty prospective jurors’ names, listed alphabetically,” Jack said as he scrolled down.

“You’ve already entered all of those names into your computer,” she said with a note of surprise in her voice. He had left her office ninety minutes before.

“Harry and I worked on them together,” Jack explained. “We’ve also entered in the other information from their questionnaires. The addresses were helpful in giving me a general idea about them.”

“How do you mean?”

Jack faced her. “Market research groups learned long ago that people who share the same socioeconomic background and similar lifestyles tend to live near one another. A kind of birds-of-a-feather-syndrome. Market research
groups have classified neighborhoods based on this principle.”

“I’d be interested in seeing an example.”

“Coming up,” he said as he looked at the monitor once more. “Let’s take Ross Abbott, prospective juror number one. His address tells me he lives in a neighborhood that has been labeled by market research as Silver Power.”

Jack explained that people in this neighborhood had been identified as affluent retirees over the age of fifty-five. They were most likely to be married, have a safe deposit box, take a cruise vacation, own two late-model cars, be a member of AARP, disapprove of graphic violence in any medium, be disappointed in the current education system and vote in favor of any proposition that promised to lower property taxes.

“Where did the market research groups get all that information?” she asked.

“Census data, real estate data, insurance underwriters, credit reports, consumer surveys. Advertisers know more about us than the FBI ever will. Every time you buy something, someone’s database records the sale. Every time you use the Internet, the Web sites you’re accessing are tracked.”

“Big Brother is watching,” Diana said. “Only George Orwell got it wrong. Big Brother isn’t the intrusive bureaucratized state. He’s an advertiser.”

“They’ve studied the makeup of most neighborhoods in the U.S. in order to know who to target their products to.”

“Do another one,” she suggested.

“We’ll try the middle of the list this time and highlight Judy Nolan.”

Diana soon learned that Judy lived in an area advertisers had labeled Young Families. It was generally comprised of four-person families with two adults between the ages of twenty-two and thirty-four and two children under the
age of fifteen. They had a large mortgage on their small house and both parents worked. The husband was most likely to be a boxing and basketball fan. The wife belonged to the PTA and a book club. They shopped at Wal-Mart and an SUV was one of the vehicles parked in their two-car garage. They would approve any proposition that increased taxes for schools since they considered their children’s education to be of primary importance.

“Scary,” Diana said. “I have a feeling I know Ross Abbott and Judy Nolan without ever having met them. How accurate is the information?”

“Fairly, but individuals can and do vary from their neighborhood’s established norms. Still, the generalizations can be a place to start when you’re trying to get a fix on the basic background and attitudes someone might possess.”

“This is great,” Diana agreed. “Having the information on a computer database is definitely going to facilitate analysis.”

A knock came, and Harry entered with two cups of coffee. He approached Diana, handed the first cup to her. “Nonfat milk, no sugar,” he said.

Diana smiled as she took the cup. That
was
the way she liked her coffee. But she’d never mentioned that to Harry.

“Is everyone here a private investigator?” she asked.

“I called your office to check on your preferences when Mr. Knight told me you would be spending some time here,” Harry explained.

She couldn’t imagine Kelli thinking of doing that for one of their clients, but then Kelli had held only one other job before coming to the law firm seven months before. Harry had close to five decades of experience on her. While he was serving Jack his coffee, she took a sip of hers. Perfect.

When Harry left, she turned to Jack. “Some smart client
with gobs of money is going to lure Harry away from your firm.”

“I used to worry about that, too,” he admitted. “I even kidded Harry about it once. He told me he’d never leave. Something about a debt of honor he owed my dad.”

“Were they in the military together?”

“Harry was a career military man, but my dad never served. When I tried to question Harry further about the debt, he clammed up.”

“Did you ask your dad?”

Jack nodded. “He said it was nothing. And when my dad says that something is nothing, that’s his polite warning to back off from his personal business.”

Diana understood. She’d always found Charles Knight to be congenial and accommodating. But she’d sensed the hardness beneath his amiable air, as she had sensed it in Richard. She did not sense it in Jack.

What she did sense was a complex man of contrasts. On the one hand, he was easygoing with an ingrained sense of fun. On the other hand, he possessed a remarkable intelligence and sincere compassion.

“So, what do we start with?” he asked, bringing her wandering mind back to business.

Diana had him enter questions about the prospective jurors’ marital status, current and past occupations for the past ten years, their spouses’ current and past occupations, their children’s ages and occupations if any, their length of residency in the community, highest level of education, organizations that they belonged to, magazines they subscribed to, favorite TV shows and the last two books they’d read.

After he’d entered all the questions, he said, “Prospective jurors must feel like they’re filling out a job application.”

“They are,” Diana responded. “They’re being consid
ered for one of the most important jobs imaginable—deciding the fate of another human being.”

Jack nodded his understanding. “Their occupation, education and entertainment preferences should give us some hints as to whether they’re intelligent.”

“And hint at those who aren’t. Jury selection is often more about deciding who to eliminate than include.”

“Other than smarts, what qualities do you want Connie’s jurors to possess?”

“Honesty and open-mindedness. Too bad the market researchers haven’t learned to predict those qualities by zip code.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

“You have some way of checking whether someone is honest and open-minded?” she asked, aware of the doubt in her tone.

“Finding out if they answered this questionnaire we’re preparing truthfully should give us a clue.”

“How do you determine if they lied?”

“When the time comes, I’ll show you.”

The look he gave her hinted of friendly mischief. She didn’t think he would do anything against the law. He didn’t strike her as that kind of man.

“What else do you want to learn about the prospective jurors?” he asked.

“Everything I can. But learning about the jury isn’t the only purpose of
voir dire.
I also take the opportunity to educate the prospective panel. This is the first time most will have sat on a jury. They have to understand that Connie is innocent unless she is proven guilty in a court of law.”

“I thought the phrase was innocent
until
proven guilty.”

“I’ve always disagreed with that phraseology,” Diana said. “Saying someone is innocent
until
proven guilty implies that it’s only a matter of time before they are proven
guilty. But saying someone is innocent
unless
proven guilty reflects what a trial is really all about.”

Jack sipped his coffee. “I would imagine that most people think that because someone has been arrested, they must have done something wrong.”

“A very common first reaction. It’s yet another hurdle we have to overcome. Most prospective jurors are very busy people, showing up to serve because of duty, not desire. After filling out forms that require them to reveal very private things about themselves, they’re made to sit around for hours, waiting to be called into the courtroom. If a defense attorney doesn’t acknowledge their inconvenience and show them courtesy in the
voir dire,
she can appear incompetent or inconsiderate or both. That’s one way to lose a case before the trial even starts.”

Jack gave her an understanding nod. “We should have employed you as an adviser when
Seattle
was doing legal scenes. Every courtroom episode pretty much treated the jury as insignificant to the outcome of the trial.”

When the intercom suddenly buzzed, he picked up the phone. “Yes, Harry?”

As Jack listened to the message Harry was relaying, Diana sipped her coffee and watched him. She liked the questions he asked—and the way he listened to her answers.

“Thank her for the invitation, but tell her I’ll be tied up for the next few nights,” he said into the telephone.

Diana found herself wondering if Jack was turning down a date with some steady lady friend. She rejected the thought. If he had a steady lady friend, he wouldn’t be so cold as to have Harry deliver that kind of message.

“Just a minute, Harry,” he said as he put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece and turned to her. “Do you want to have something brought here for lunch or have Harry make us reservations somewhere?”

“Here,” she decided.

“Any preference as to cuisine or are you willing to leave the menu to me?”

She shook her head. “Last time I let a man order for me I ended up with a hot dog.”

He smiled. “I’m not a hot dog kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy are you?”

“There’s one way to find out.”

His expression was so full of dare, Diana couldn’t resist. “All right. But I feel I should warn you. Mel’s comment about the family failing when it comes to tact goes double in judging food selection.”

“Two of my usual for lunch,” he said into the phone. “And if anyone else calls, tell them I’m in conference and will have to get back to them tomorrow.”

Jack hung up the phone, wearing a pleased smile. As they made eye contact, Diana felt a disturbing quiver of excitement.

The next instant, Jack looked away and scooted his chair closer to the keyboard. Diana felt reassured by his quick return to business, wondering if she’d read too much into the moment.

“What are some of the specific questions you’ll want to ask the prospective jurors that pertain to Connie’s case?” he asked.

“Sensitive questions that they might find difficult or embarrassing to talk about openly in court,” she said. “First on the list would be if they had ever lost a child through disease or accident.”

“Staker will want to get them on the jury if they answer affirmatively,” he said, “especially since Bruce Weaton’s father died after seeing his son killed right before his eyes.”

“I’ll have no objection to their sitting on the jury. We’ll
be presenting evidence that Connie lost her child as well, right before her eyes.”

As soon as he typed in the question, Diana was ready with another.

“Which brings up the fact that we’ll also need to ask the prospective jurors if they, their friends, or any of their family members have been involved in a motor vehicle accident and if that accident involved injuries.”

Jack nodded. “And to make sure we’ve covered all the bases, the final, related question would be if they’ve had a friend or family member who was the victim of a violent crime.”

He’d caught on quickly.

“Anything else?” he asked after typing the last question mark.

“There’s a category of questions called juror self-perception,” Diana said. “Let’s ask the jurors if they consider themselves to be leaders, followers or neither and why.”

“What kind of answer would make you want to eliminate someone from the jury panel?” he asked.

“I always suspect those who describe themselves as leaders. Too often I’ve found they’re egotists with a need to control others. Get two of those people on a jury and they’re bound to be disruptive. They can even end up circumventing its purpose.”