seen him in stressful situations like this, and they tend to increase his hypochondria fivefold. Right now I’m afraid he’s going to have urology issues under the defense table.
Judge Gordon takes his seat at the bench and asks that the jury be brought in. It takes either ten seconds or ten minutes for them to do so; time doesn’t seem to have structure or meaning at moments like this.
For some reason it always bothers me to know that the jury’s decision has already been made, even though we’re first finding out about it now. It’s like watching a football game on tape and not knowing the final score; it doesn’t help to root, because the boat has already sailed.
This verdict has already sailed.
Judge Gordon asks the foreman if a verdict has in fact been reached, and he confirms that it has. He hands the verdict slip to the clerk, who hands it to Gordon.
Gordon reads it, and his face remains as unrevealing as those of the jury members. He hands it back to the clerk and asks Richard to stand. Richard, Kevin, and I all do so, and out of the corner of my eye I see Karen rise in her seat, a gesture of total solidarity. If I’m ever in a foxhole, I want her with me.
I put my arm on Richard’s right shoulder, as much to support myself as him. He grabs my arm and holds it, and we brace ourselves. Here it comes…
The clerk starts to read at the pace of what feels like one word every three hours. “In the matter of the State of New Jersey versus Richard Evans, we the jury find the defendant, Richard Evans… guilty of murder in the first degree.”
Richard lowers his head for about fifteen seconds, then turns to Kevin and me and says, “We gave it our best shot.” The courtroom is deathly quiet, and I can clearly hear Karen behind me, sobbing.
I put my arm on Richard’s shoulder and lean down toward him. “It’s not over,” I whisper. “I swear to you, it’s not over.” He doesn’t answer, probably because he doesn’t believe me. And there’s no reason he should.
I’m sure Richard feels worse than I do, but right now it seems impossible that anyone could. My client was innocent, and I couldn’t get a jury to believe me. Hawpe got twelve people to vote on his side, even though his side was wrong.
Judge Gordon thanks the jury for their service and schedules sentencing for three weeks from now. The gavel pounds again, bringing the proceedings to a close. The jury files out, and the guards lead Richard away.
If there’s a moment in my life that I’ve hated more than this one, I don’t remember it. Maybe when my father died.
Maybe not.
BEFORE I LEAVE, I ask the court clerk to get me in to see Judge Gordon.
It is not necessary to include Hawpe in the meeting, because the trial is over. This is just between Judge Gordon and me.
The clerk gets me back into his chambers right away, and Judge Gordon starts the conversation with “Tough loss in there.”
I nod my agreement. “Very tough. Your Honor, I am here to report that I am aware of a crime about to be committed.”
He’s obviously surprised to hear this. “By whom?”
“My client, Richard Evans. As you know, even though it was told to me in a privileged conversation, I am permitted to reveal it because it involves a future crime. I am actually compelled to reveal it.”
“What is the crime?” he asks.
“Suicide. Mr. Evans had revealed to me his intention to kill himself in prison should he be convicted.”
“What is it you want me to do?” he asks.
“My request is that you take affirmative action to stop the crime from occurring, by ordering that Mr. Evans be kept on a suicide watch in prison.”
Judge Gordon thinks about this for a while, but he really has no choice in what to do. He nods and says, “Thirty days, at which point we will revisit this.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Karen and Kevin are waiting for me back in the courtroom when I leave the judge’s chambers. Karen comes toward me and we hug, one of the longest hugs I can remember, without either of us saying a word.
When we break it off, she says, “You’re not going to give up, right?”
“Right. Whatever it takes.”
I want to talk to Karen about what she can do to keep Richard’s spirits up, but I don’t want