Man to Count on

The moment the judge leveled his gavel and an- nounced, "Court is dismissed," E. D. Martel began shaking. Act One, Scene Two accomplished, but she didn't give herself good odds for making it through the next one, let alone the rest of the day. "We've received word there's a growing swarm of reporters outside, Ms. Martel," her associate and junior counsel Bruce Littner said near her ear. "Some are un- familiar to me and probably from out of town. I don't know that we can assume they're here for this verdict. You want me to ask the bailiff for a sheriff's deputy to escort you out of here through a back exit?" More than that, she wanted to wake up in her bed and realize the last several hours had been a bad dream; but she knew better than to accept any protection from the press. There was no denying she was breathless from shock, hurt to the point of wanting to dive into the ladies' room and sob, and angry enough to show Trey what a receding hairlinereallylooked like. None of that was an option, though, as Bruce was right; this extra media attention was personal business. Hers. Any outward sign of distress or resentment on her part would serve her, Emmett and the office badly. With a veteran's ability to press her lips into a sem- blance of a smile, she touched the concerned young lawyer's shoulder, hating that his biggest professional moment to date ultimately would be reduced to trash. "With your help, I think we can manage. If you'd be so good as to accompany me," she told him, "I'll make the usual 'justice has been serveD' statement and then, as the give-us-gossip queries begin, excuse us ." The brown-eyed blonde, who could have passed for her kid brother if she'd had one, nodded with emphasis. "You've got it, Ms. Martel. And if any of them get pushy, don't worry. I was a champion wrestler in high school and college. Nobody's going to muscle us ." He was as sweet in his concern as he was thorough in his work. She made a mental note to mention his value to their boss, D.A. Emmett Garner. Who could say--with her luck, he'd be replacing her before Christ- mas. "Make that E.D. You've earned it. As for trouble, I suspect the only threat we need to worry about is a chipped tooth from having a microphone jammed into our faces ." As she slipped the strap of her purse over her shoul- der and reached for her briefcase, she wondered at her calm voice and hoped that the sweat starting to trickle down her back and between her breasts didn't bleed through her red suit. She traditionally wore this suit with the double-breasted gold buttons on final argu- ments day, when murder one was on the table, to keep the jury's attention. She opted for a black one on the day she expected a jury verdict, to signify her aware- ness that another life had been lost, and that everyone loses in a conviction. Only today the jury hadn't taken two hours to reach their decision. It was just as well, she reasoned. The red could sub- stitute as her internal grieving for what her children must be going through. So help me, Trey, you will pay for this. Operating on reflexes that she'd honed from almost sixteen years with the district attorney's office, E.D. accepted the teary thanks, emotional hugs and powerful handshakes from poor Misty Carthage's family and friends. That barely slowed her path toward the double doors, beyond which cameras would click madly and video cameras would catch every nuance. Knowing she had seconds before the full circus started, she told Bruce, "When you get out of here, take that patient girl of yours out for a terrific dinner. If you want to try Bruno's, use my name and have them charge it to my account. One of us deserves a good meal out of this ." Usually someone with above-average reflexes, the attorney had to reach twice for the door handle. "Uh--thanks. you're sure?" E.D. blocked thoughts of what Trey had done with their joint acMyers, Helen is the author of 'Man to Count on ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373248308 and ISBN 037324830X.