Alex Cross's Trial

appear as the mighty Darrow? Would he try to play humble country lawyer? Would he be a preacher hurling fire and brimstone, or a kindly old grandpa proffering wise advice?

    Of course he would be all those things.

    “Gentlemen, I begin with a simple question… Where is the evidence? What the prosecution calls evidence is not what I would call evidence. If it seems to you that Mr. Curtis and Mr. Corbett have paraded the entire population of the Eudora Quarters in front of you, one after the other accusing these citizens of Eudora of murder, rioting in the streets, and general mayhem—well, sir, that’s because that is exactly what they’ve done.

    “But now, when you consider charges of this magnitude and gravity, you must, as Mr. Corbett told you, consider the evidence. The prosecution’s evidence, mainly the statements of various witnesses, is like any kind of evidence: it’s only as good as the people who give it.

    “And where does this so-called evidence come from? Who are the people giving this testimony? What is the quality of these people that would lead us to believe their testimony? Well, I’ll tell you.

    “These allegations come from people who wash your clothes, and chop your weeds, and clean out your barns. They come from the old uncle who sits in front of the store all day, shooting the breeze. From the people who pick cotton all day. This is testimony from people who resent you because you happen to have the blessing and good fortune to be white, and therefore you have more privileges than they have.”

    A dramatic pause. Then he whipped around.

    “And you are being asked to take their word as truth.

    “Why on God’s green earth would anyone suppose that you would take the word of this bunch of worthless rabble-rousers over the word of three gentlemen from Eudora?”

    I shot a glance at my father, who was watching Lewis with the same contemptuous expression he’d been aiming at me since the trial began.

    I wanted to shout, “The people who wash your clothes and pick your crops can tell the truth. The truth is not based on how much money you have. It’s based on… the truth.”

    Of course, I did not interrupt the summation.

    “Gentlemen,” Maxwell Lewis continued. “Be aware. There are forces at work here that would like nothing better than to take away your freedoms, your right to live life the way you have always lived it here. I warn you to do what you must to make sure that does not happen. Gentlemen, be alert. And acquit these three innocent men .”

    I turned to Jonah. He shrugged.

    Lewis went on in a quiet, humble voice.

    “Gentlemen, I am sorry for the rough times the people in the Quarters have had. But that gives them no license to come here and lie to you. And it gives you no license to ignore the plain facts in front of you.”

    What facts? I thought. Moody’s dramatic lie had undercut the entire thrust of the Raiders’ argument. They had no facts on their side. Lewis wasn’t anything like a great lawyer; he hadn’t even bothered to counter that revelation. He was counting on the famous prejudices of white juries to carry the day for him.

    “Mr. Corbett quoted the Good Book to you. He quoted a verse from First Samuel. Well, I too would like to leave you with a phrase from God’s holy word. The book of Exodus.”

    He paused, and then spoke in a clear, loud voice: “Thou… shalt… not… lie! ”

    That was it? That was Lewis’s big dramatic finish?

    I wanted to laugh, and I could swear I saw my father roll his eyes.

    Chapter 123

    JUDGE CORBETT’S INSTRUCTIONS to the jury:

    “All right, that brings the evidentiary phase of this proceeding to a close,” said the judge.

    He rubbed his chin, then adjusted his spectacles. He took a sheet of paper from a folder and placed it in front of him.

    “Gentlemen of the jury, I need not remind you that many people outside Eudora are watching our little town now, because of this case. You have seen the signs of it—the streets of our town are filled with strangers, including, but not limited to, the so-called gentlemen of the press. And I understand that over at the Slide Inn Café they keep running out of chocolate pie as fast as they can make it.”

    He paused, waiting for a laugh.

    It didn’t come.

    The courtroom was too tense for frivolities now.

    The sight of all those soldiers outside had made everyone nervous.

    “You heard the testimony as it was presented,” he said. “And now it is up to you to decide the truth as you see it, using