Natural Suspect (2001) Read Free Page A

fist.
    "Great," Julia said. "Leftovers again."
    It may have looked as if Devin Gail McGee was sitting calmly at the defendant's table, but in fact her brain was rehearsing her canned opening statement for at least the sixteenth time since breakfast. She'd been working on it all week, but there were still a million unresolved variables. Should she refer to her defendant--that is, her client --as Julia, or Mrs. Hightower? Julia seemed more personal, and suggested that Devin liked her and felt intimate toward her, but the honorific reminded the jury that the woman had been married for thirty-seven years and was a member of one of the most prominent families on Long Island. Should she reveal Julia's alibi--such as it was--now, or save it until Julia was on the stand? Should she describe what a miserable human Arthur was and suggest that he deserved to die, or save that until closing? And on and on and on . . .
    And none of these questions were trivial. As well she knew, cases were won and lost in opening statements. Juries' first impressions often remained unchanged. She had to make a decision--and she had to choose correctly. Julia had placed her trust in Devin. She couldn't let the poor woman down.
    The prosecution's table was still unoccupied, which was a definite cause for concern. Day before yesterday, Kent Conrad, the assistant D . A . who was handling the case, went to the hospital with appendicitis. Rather than delay the trial, the D . A . announced he would assig n a nother lawyer, but as of last night, they still couldn't tell Devin who would serve as lead counsel. This murder was so high-profile that virtually every lawyer in the office had been working on it in some capacity. And there were some Devin would rather be up against than others.
    Devin glanced at Julia, who was sitting beside her at the table. She was wearing a simple blue dress with buttons down the middle, as per Devin's instructions. There was no point in denying that Julia was obscenely rich--especially now that her husband was dead. But there was no reason to flaunt it, either.
    Julia was a grab bag of nervous mannerisms--a scratch, a twitch, a flutter with her hands. Devin supposed she had every right to be tense. Who wouldn't be, when they were accused of such a heinous crime, and their very life was at stake?
    Devin was distracted by a commotion in the back of the courtroom. The gallery was already packed, so the only likely incoming traffic would be . . . yes . Her esteemed opponents. The D . A .'s team was finally putting in an appearance, and standing front and center was--oh, dear God, no\
    Devin swiveled back around, her hand pressed against her forehead. Was this some sort of cosmic karmic revenge? What could she possibly have done to deserve this? Was it that time she was playing with her mother's makeup and got mascara all over the carpet? Or that time when she was nine and she wouldn't let her cousin Megan bounce on her trampoline? Or did Fate just generally hate her size-six guts?
    Trent Ballard was lead counsel for the prosecution, damn it. She hadn't seen him since the trial lawyers' conference at Barkley Beach in May. And actually, she hadn't seen him there, except for Saturday night, late, in the hot tub, when she was wearing that new form-fitting swimsuit she'd gotten from J. Crew and she'd had way too much to drink . . .
    "Hiya, Devin. How's tricks?"
    Devin stood and simulated something like a smile. "Hello, Trent. Uh--it was Trent, wasn't it?" She almost winced. What a stupid thing . . .
    He grinned. "Yeah, no name change since May."
    "So you're handling the Hightower case?"
    "Lucky me, huh?" The ambitious sparkle in his eye told Devin he really did consider it a lucky break. "I thought for sure McCandliss would keep it for himself, but at the last moment he passed it down to me. I guess he decided it was too politically charged to be desirable, even if the press is likely to be all over it." He took a tiny step closer to her. "But