got other questions for you, things to go over,” Juliet said next, “but first, we need to discuss your pretrial hearing.”
The mandatory hearing, thirty days after arraignment, was to discuss any issues that might hamper the trial—challenges of admissible evidence, for instance—to verify the trial start date, and to set probable length of trial. He’d read that the night after his arraignment. After a couple of whiskeys and a middle-of-the-night run with Freedom on the beach.
Juliet glanced up from a legal pad she’d been perusing, and when he nodded, she continued.
“This morning I received disclosure of the state’s evidence, all of which we need to discuss, but at the moment, I’m concentrating on anything we’ll want to bring up at your pretrial.”
A part of Blake sat outside the discussion, watching. It had been weeks, and he still couldn’t believe that this guy listening to the details of a potentially life-ending criminal trial was him. At the same time, his panic had subsided somewhat.
He had an attorney who was in complete control.
“First, there’s mention of the Cayman Islands bank account,” she said almost casually. “Schuster is submitting that document showing the opening of an account with your name attached.”
Blake told himself it didn’t matter. He didn’t open the account.
“We won’t have a problem getting that thrown out,” Juliet said, slowing his heart rate once again. “There has to be real paper evidence—bank statements, letters addressed to you, anything official that proves the account was active in your name—and there is none.”
And because the account was in the Cayman Islands, where an account number could not be traced, there was no way to get that evidence. One hurdle down.
Sunlight from the window caught the golden flecks in her auburn hair. Blake remembered being fascinated by strands of that hair covering silky white breasts…
“Second, Schuster’s planning to use the testimony Eaton James gave at his own trial as evidence against you.”
Blake slammed back down to reality with a painful thud. How could any human being fight a dead man?
“Can he do that?”
Juliet’s eyes were warm, personal, as she glanced over at him. “It’s possible, but that’s where we’re going to put our pretrial energies.”
Watching her, listening, Blake’s nerves calmed a bit. God she was beautiful. And smart. And determined. And on his side.
He’d known, that night nine years before, that he’d met someone special. He’d had no idea how special.
“If he uses the testimony, he’s in violation of the confrontation clause.” She spoke with respect, not down to him, not even like a teacher with a student. But as an equal. “That states all defendants have the right to personally confront anyone making statements against them.”
“Is there a way around it?” he asked.
“Schuster has to prove that there was another opportunity for you to cross-examine or call James on what he said.”
“I wasn’t even in court!”
“I know. But Schuster will say you had opportunity after court that day to make a claim against James.”
“Schuster was the only attorney advising me then.”
“Which is a point I intend to make with the judge,” Juliet assured him.
“I told Schuster the entire story was a lie,” Blake said. “I was his witness. We were on the same side. James was the opponent. I didn’t think for one second anyone would actually believe my father would resort to blackmail. Nor did I see the point in pressing formal charges. James was going to jail, and I just wanted the whole thing over.”
“I know.” Juliet set her pad aside, leaned over, her arms crossed on her thighs. “I think we’ll beat this.” She didn’t smile, but her expression reassured him. “The fact that James…uh…did what he did…so soon after the testimony should be enough to show that you did not have ample opportunity for rebuttal.”
She was still bothered by James’s suicide. Blake wished he could speak with her more about it. And knew that would be crossing a line he couldn’t afford to cross.
At least not now.
So, okay. Concentrating on business, James’s testimony was one battle almost down.
He wondered how many more hundred there’d be before this war was finally over.
And if, in the end, winning battles would matter.
It was the war he had to win.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AFTER SPENDING a couple of hours perusing Ramsden Enterprises’ tax records and bank statements, Juliet left work early on Monday to take Marcie to her first prenatal visit. And then, when the doctor reported that, yes, Marcie was approximately six weeks along and everything looked perfect, Juliet and Marcie picked Mary Jane up from school and went for ice cream to celebrate. That led to a trip to the mall to look at baby clothes. A late dinner at the food court had to come next. And then, long after the sun had gone down, the threesome went home to the cottage.
Mary Jane skipped off to bed with a smile on her face.
Which made up for the time spent away from figuring out how to prove to a nameless jury that Blake Ramsden had nothing to do with the Cayman Islands bank account bearing his name. Lack of paperwork aside, if the prosecution found a way to bring up the account, he could play on the Cayman Islands confidentiality laws as the sole reason for the lack of paperwork. To make that stick, all he had to do was convince the jury.
Unfortunately, Juliet’s time with her sister and daughter didn’t take her away from other thoughts that continued to spiral out of control at unforeseen moments throughout her day. Thoughts of Blake as he’d been, naked in her arms, nine years before.
Of the man who’d laughed with her over drinks just weeks before.
And of the strong, ethical man who was attempting to stand against the lies and disasters plaguing his life.
A man she had no business thinking about.
THE PILE OF MAIL on her desk on Tuesday was twice as thick as usual, because she hadn’t yet attended to Monday’s stack. Going through the usual briefs, invitations and junk that just took up space and killed trees, she was surprised by a legal-size envelope toward the bottom of the pile.
For two reasons. The return address was Eaton James’s. And there was something little and hard inside.
Staring at the envelope gave her an eerie feeling, raising all of the dark emotions her client’s death had evoked several weeks before. How could Eaton James have sent her anything?
It didn’t take long to find out.
The letter had
