No! Jennifer prayed. Don’t!
“Sit down!” Di Silva thundered. “Is that the way you lost your temper when you killed Raymond Thorpe?”
“Thorpe was tryin’ ta kill me.”
“With these?” Di Silva held up the butcher knife and the pair of tongs. “I’m sure you could have taken that knife away from him.” He waved the tongs around. “And you were afraid of this?” He turned back to the jury and held up the tongs deprecatingly. “This doesn’t look so terribly lethal. If the deceased had been able to hit you over the head with it, it might have caused a small bump. What exactly is this pair of tongs, Mr. Wilson?”
Abraham Wilson said softly, “They’re testicle crushers.”
The jury was out for eight hours.
Robert Di Silva and his assistants left the courtroom to take a break, but Jennifer stayed in her seat, unable to tear herself away.
When the jury filed out of the room, Ken Bailey came up to Jennifer. “How about a cup of coffee?”
“I couldn’t swallow anything.”
She sat in the courtroom, afraid to move, only dimly aware of the people around her. It was over. She had done her best. She closed her eyes and tried to pray, but the fear in her was too strong. She felt as though she, along with Abraham Wilson, was about to be sentenced to death.
The jury was filing back into the room, their faces grim and foreboding, and Jennifer’s heart began to beat faster. She could see by their faces that they were going to convict. She thought she would faint. Because of her, a man was going to be executed. She should never have taken the case in the first place. What right had she to put a man’s life in her hands? She must have been insane to think she could win over someone as experienced as Robert Di Silva. She wanted to run up to the jurors before they could give their verdict and say, Wait! Abraham Wilson hasn’t had a fair trial. Please let another attorney defend him. Someone better than I am.
But it was too late. Jennifer stole a look at Abraham Wilson’s face. He sat there as immobile as a statue. She could feel no hatred coming from him now, only a deep despair. She wanted to say something to comfort him, but there were no words.
Judge Waldman was speaking. “Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“It has, Your Honor.”
The judge nodded and his clerk walked over to the foreman of the jury, took a slip of paper from him and handed it to the judge. Jennifer felt as though her heart were going to come out of her chest. She could not breathe. She wanted to hold back this moment, to freeze it forever before the verdict was read.
Judge Waldman studied the slip of paper in his hands; then he slowly looked around the courtroom. His eyes rested on the members of the jury, on Robert Di Silva, on Jennifer and finally on Abraham Wilson.
“The defendant will please rise.”
Abraham Wilson got to his feet, his movements slow and tired, as though all the energy had been drained out of him.
Judge Waldman read from the slip of paper. “This jury finds the defendant, Abraham Wilson, not guilty as charged.”
There was a momentary hush and the judge’s further words were drowned out in a roar from the spectators. Jennifer stood there, stunned, unable to believe what she was hearing. She turned toward Abraham Wilson, speechless. He stared at her for an instant with those small, mean eyes. And then that ugly face broke into the broadest grin that Jennifer had ever seen. He reached down and hugged her and Jennifer tried to fight back her tears.
The press was crowding around Jennifer, asking for a statement, barraging her with questions.
“How does it feel to beat the District Attorney?”
“Did you think you were going to win this case?”
“What would you have done if they had sent Wilson to the electric chair?”
Jennifer shook her head to all questions. She could not bring herself to talk to them. They had come here to watch a spectacle, to see a man being hounded to his death. If the verdict had gone the other way…she could not bear to think about it. Jennifer began to collect her papers and stuff them into a briefcase.